Chapter Text
Hermione stood at the grand entrance of Malfoy Manor, her heart pounding in her chest. The evening air was crisp, and the manor was illuminated with a warm, inviting glow. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. Tonight was the gala, and she was both excited and anxious.
She had spent hours getting ready, making sure every detail was perfect. Her dress, a stunning red gown with a deep V-neck and flowing cape sleeves, hugged her curves in all the right places. The fabric shimmered under the soft lights, making her feel like a goddess. Her hair was styled in a voluminous updo, with loose tendrils framing her face. She wore elegant diamond earrings that sparkled with every movement, and her lips were painted a bold red, matching her dress.
As she stepped inside, the grandeur of the manor took her breath away. The foyer was adorned with lavish decorations, and the sound of soft music and laughter filled the air. She could see guests mingling, their faces lit up with joy and anticipation.
Hermione's nerves began to settle as she took in the scene. She had always loved galas, the elegance, the excitement, and the chance to dress up. But tonight was different. Tonight, she was at Malfoy Manor, and she knew Draco would be there. The thought of seeing him again sent a thrill through her, a mix of excitement and apprehension.
She wondered if he’d been plagued by nightmares after their Twilight marathon. The wizard had looked utterly scandalised by the sparkling vampires. That memory alone was enough to bring a smile to her lips now, though she quickly chased it away, determined to remain focused on the more pressing – the letter and possibility of seeing him .
She walked further into the manor, her heels clicking softly on the polished marble floor. As she entered the grand ballroom, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. The room was breathtaking, with its high ceilings, ornate chandeliers, and walls lined with exquisite artwork. The air was filled with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sound of clinking glasses.
Hermione scanned the room, her eyes searching for a familiar face. She spotted Pansy and Theo near the bar, laughing and chatting with a group of friends. She made her way over to them, feeling a sense of relief at seeing her friends.
"Hermione, you look absolutely stunning!" Pansy exclaimed, her eyes widening as she took in Hermione's appearance.
"Thank you," Hermione replied, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. "You both look amazing as well."
Theo grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ready for a night to remember?"
Hermione nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "More than ready."
Hermione’s conversation with Theo and Pansy flowed effortlessly, the familiar banter easing her nerves as they stood near the grand bar. Pansy, radiant in an emerald gown that hugged her figure, was halfway through a story about Blaise’s latest escapades when a regal voice interrupted them.
“Miss Granger,” came the smooth, commanding tone.
All three of them turned to see Narcissa Malfoy approaching. The matriarch of the Malfoy family was a vision of winter elegance. She wore a midnight blue gown adorned with silver embroidery that sparkled like frost in the light of the chandeliers. Her platinum blonde hair was swept into a sophisticated chignon, and a delicate diamond necklace rested on her collarbone. Despite her stern composure, her smile was warm and genuine.
“Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione greeted, a bit startled but quickly recovering her poise. “Thank you for inviting me. This gala is… breathtaking.”
Narcissa inclined her head graciously. “I’m delighted you could join us. Your presence here means a great deal to our family.”
Hermione felt her cheeks warm at the compliment, but before she could respond, Theo stepped in with his usual charm.
“Narcissa,” Theo said, his voice dripping with playful admiration, “you are the epitome of grace and beauty this evening. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to outshine every other guest here, and frankly, it’s working.”
Narcissa raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. “Theodore, you are as incorrigible as ever.”
“And you’re as radiant as ever,” Theo shot back with a wink, clearly enjoying himself. “Though, to be fair, you’ve set an impossible standard for the rest of us. How are we mere mortals supposed to compete when you’ve clearly made a pact with some benevolent deity of elegance?”
Pansy groaned beside him, covering her face with her hand. “Merlin, Theo, you’re unbearable.”
“I prefer ‘charming,’” Theo said, not missing a beat. He leaned in slightly toward Narcissa, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. “Tell me, Mrs. Malfoy, is there a hidden portrait of you aging in some dusty attic? It’s the only logical explanation for how you’ve managed to look even younger than you did last year.”
Narcissa let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re relentless.”
“It’s one of my better qualities,” Theo replied with a grin. “Though I must admit, your laugh is reward enough. If I could bottle it, I’d have a fortune rivaling your family’s.”
Hermione couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle, watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and secondhand embarrassment.
Pansy, however, had reached her limit. She smacked Theo on the back of the head – not too hard, but enough to make her point. “Stop embarrassing us,” she scolded. “You’re going to make her regret inviting us.”
Theo rubbed the back of his head dramatically, feigning pain. “Pansy, please! Violence against art is a crime.”
“Art?” Pansy repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You’re calling yourself art now?”
“Of course,” Theo said with mock indignation. “Narcissa, back me up here. Don’t I at least qualify as an installation piece? Something avant-garde, perhaps.”
Narcissa chuckled softly, her gaze filled with a mix of amusement and indulgence. “You’re certainly unique, Theodore.”
“Unique! I’ll take it,” Theo declared, striking a theatrical pose as if accepting an award. “It’s about time my genius was recognised.”
Pansy rolled her eyes but couldn’t entirely hide her smile. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” Theo said, turning back to Narcissa with a flourish, “here I stand, unyielding in my mission to bring levity and charm to this already exquisite evening.”
Narcissa shook her head fondly. “You certainly know how to make an impression.”
“Oh, I aim to do more than that,” Theo quipped. “By the end of the night, you’ll be telling Draco to adopt me into the family.”
“That’s enough, Theo,” Pansy interjected, dragging him away by the arm. “Leave Narcissa alone before she actually considers it.”
As Pansy pulled him back toward the bar, Theo called over his shoulder, “Narcissa, think it over! I promise, I’d be the least troublesome addition!”
Narcissa’s soft laughter followed them, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile. Despite his antics, Theo had managed to make the intimidating Malfoy matriarch laugh – a feat in itself.
As Pansy quietly bickered with Theo, their voices low but filled with an edge of amusement, Hermione let her gaze drift across the grand ballroom. She needed a moment away from their antics to take in the breathtaking surroundings.
The ballroom was a winter wonderland. Garlands of holly and ivy adorned the walls, intertwined with strings of twinkling fairy lights that cast a gentle glow over the space. A massive Christmas tree stood proudly at one end of the room, its branches heavy with ornate glass ornaments and shimmering tinsel that reflected the light like tiny stars. Overhead, chandeliers sparkled like icicles, sending a warm golden glow cascading over the elegantly dressed crowd. Everywhere she looked, festive charm abounded – from crystal snowflakes dangling from the high ceiling to lush poinsettia arrangements that added a vivid pop of red to the otherwise frosty palette.
Hermione let out a soft breath of appreciation. It truly was magical, and for a moment, she allowed herself to simply admire the beauty of it all. But then, her gaze caught on a figure moving across the room – a tall, broad-shouldered man with a familiar gait and a head of dark hair.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Viktor Krum.
She blinked, almost disbelieving. It had been years since they’d last exchanged letters, years since they’d drifted apart. Hermione would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t regret the way things had ended. She’d always thought fondly of him, and seeing him now, so unexpectedly, stirred something bittersweet in her chest.
And then there was the dream – or was it a memory? She hadn’t been able to forget it since, the vivid image of his touch, his voice, their connection in The Veil. It had felt so real, followed too closely by her seeing his name in the paper, that it left her questioning everything. The dream, the letter, and now… here he was. Could it be?
She shook her head slightly, as if trying to dispel the fog of confusion. But the questions lingered, refusing to be ignored. Perhaps I should go over to him.
For a moment, the idea seemed absurd. What would she even say? Hello, it’s been ages. By the way, were we having sex together in the sex club? But the thought of letting the opportunity pass, of leaving tonight without even speaking to him, made her stomach twist with regret.
Hermione glanced back at Theo and Pansy, who were now mock-glowering at one another, clearly locked in their own playful quarrel. If she were to slip away for just a moment, she doubted they’d even notice.
Her feet shifted slightly, her nerves battling with her curiosity as she hesitated, caught between the pull of nostalgia and the uncertainty of what she might find.
Before Hermione could gather the courage to approach Viktor, another pair of polished black shoes stepped into her path. She stopped abruptly, her gaze traveling upward until she met the piercing silver eyes of Draco Malfoy.
For a moment, his expression seemed unreadable, but then something flickered. His gaze roved over her, lingering in a way that made her skin prickle with a mix of nerves and something else she couldn’t quite name. He looked as though he was drinking her in, overwhelmed, before – blink. The mask was back, and his face was as composed and guarded as ever.
“Granger,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate.
“Malfoy,” she replied, her tone more hesitant than she’d intended. She wasn’t sure where they stood anymore, not after everything that had happened – or hadn’t happened – between them.
Draco’s lips quirked, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Enjoying the festivities?” he asked, but his voice had an edge, as though the question was more of a prelude to something else.
Hermione crossed her arms, a nervous reflex she immediately regretted. “They’re… lovely,” she said cautiously, glancing around the room. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt the need to be on guard. “Your mother has impeccable taste.”
Draco nodded slightly, but his attention was fixed on her, not the room. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice dropping lower. It wasn’t a request.
Hermione stiffened. “Talk? About what?”
“About us,” Draco said bluntly. His gaze didn’t waver, and the intensity in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. “It’s long overdue, don’t you think?”
Hermione crossed her arms, arching a brow at him. “This again, Malfoy? You were at my house just a week ago. No one was stopping you from talking then, so why now?”
Her tone was sharp, laced with frustration, but her heart was pounding in her chest. Whatever Draco Malfoy wanted to say, it had to be important – or infuriating – if he’d waited until now to bring it up.
“I know, so come with me, please,” he said, nodding toward a nearby hallway. “The library. It’s quieter there.”
Hermione’s stomach flipped, and she shook her head, her voice firmer this time. “I don’t think so, Malfoy. If you’ve got something to say, you can say it here.”
Draco exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. “Stop being difficult, Granger. This isn’t the place for – ”
“For what?” she interrupted, her own nerves giving way to irritation. “What exactly do you want to talk about, Malfoy? What is this, anyway?”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might snap at her. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice low and controlled. “You know exactly what this is.”
Her breath hitched, but she refused to let him see how much he was affecting her. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, forcing herself to sound calm. “Don’t you have other guests to entertain? Or,” she added, tilting her head, “shouldn’t you be using this gala to find a wife? I’m sure your mother has a shortlist prepared.”
That struck a nerve. His expression darkened, and for a split second, she thought she saw something raw flash across his face. He straightened, his hands flexing at his sides. “You really think that’s why I’m here? Why I’m talking to you right now?”
Hermione bit her lip, suddenly unsure if she’d pushed too far. But before she could answer, Draco stepped back, his gaze cold and cutting. “Fine,” he said, his voice clipped. “Enjoy the party, Granger.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there, her heart pounding in her chest and her thoughts more tangled than ever.
Hermione stood frozen for a moment, staring after Draco as he disappeared into the crowd, his shoulders tense and his steps purposeful. She felt a mix of frustration and confusion bubbling inside her, unsure of whether she should feel relieved or insulted by his abrupt departure.
Before she could dwell on it any longer, Theo appeared at her side, a champagne flute in one hand and a mischievous grin on his face. “Well, that looked intense,” he remarked, his tone light but curious.
Hermione groaned, brushing her hands down the front of her dress in an attempt to calm herself. “It’s Malfoy,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. “I don’t even know what’s going on with him.”
Theo chuckled, handing her a fresh glass of champagne as if it were the universal solution to all problems. “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s been in a foul mood for weeks. Something about brooding in his study and terrorising the house-elves.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Give him a drink or two, and he’ll be much more tolerable. Maybe even amusing.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, taking the glass but not sipping from it. “You’re saying I should just ignore him?”
“Absolutely,” Theo said with a nod, his grin widening. “If there’s one thing Draco hates, it’s being ignored. Drives him mad. It’s practically therapeutic – for the rest of us, anyway.”
Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in her chest loosening slightly. “Therapeutic? For who? You or him?”
Theo winked. “Everyone involved.”
She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Theo’s antics were infectious, and she decided then and there to take his advice – at least for the moment. “Fine,” she said, raising her glass in a mock toast. “To ignoring Malfoy.”
“To ignoring Malfoy,” Theo repeated, clinking his glass against hers before taking a sip. “Now go have fun. This is a gala, not a Gryffindor self-reflection hour.”
Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled as she turned away, letting herself be drawn back into the swirl of people and conversation. The room was alive with energy, laughter and music mingling with the clinking of glasses. She let the festive atmosphere wash over her, deciding to push Malfoy – and his maddeningly cryptic behaviour – out of her mind. At least for now.
Suddenly, it was nearly midnight. The buzz of excitement rippled through the ballroom as guests began making their way toward the terrace, eager to watch the promised fireworks display. Hermione lingered behind, finishing her champagne and laughing at a passing joke from Theo before realising she was one of the last still in the room. She wasn’t drunk, but she was definitely tipsy, her steps light and her mood lifted by the festive atmosphere.
She made her way toward the grand double doors, the cool night air already seeping into the marble corridors. The distant sound of chatter and laughter from the terrace beckoned her, and she followed the stream of guests at her own leisurely pace. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she turned into the wide hallway that led outside.
Then, without warning, the ground disappeared beneath her.
“Hey – what the – ” she yelped, her voice echoing off the high walls of the corridor. She flailed instinctively, her hands clutching at the nearest solid object – unfortunately, the chest of whoever had decided to hoist her up like a sack of potatoes.
Her indignation flared as she twisted, craning her neck to see who had the audacity to carry her. The world tilted as she caught a glimpse of pale blond hair.
“Malfoy!” she snapped, her voice a mix of shock and fury.
He didn’t say anything right away, his grip firm and purposeful as he carried her down a side corridor. His strides were long and confident, as though carrying Hermione Granger over his shoulder was the most natural thing in the world.
“Put me down this instant!” she demanded, her fists pounding against his back – not that it seemed to faze him in the slightest.
“No,” came his calm reply, his voice laced with infuriating nonchalance.
“No? What do you mean, no ?” she shot back, her voice rising. “You can’t just – Malfoy, put me down right now, or so help me, I’ll – ”
“You’ll what?” he interrupted, his tone cool and sharp. “Hex me? Bite me? Scream for help?”
Her breath caught, and for a moment, she was too stunned to reply. His voice wasn’t angry, but there was an undercurrent of something – determination, maybe? Frustration? Whatever it was, it silenced her long enough for him to turn down another hallway, where the sound of the crowd on the terrace faded into the background.
“Malfoy,” she said again, her voice quieter but no less indignant. “What are you doing?”
He finally stopped, setting her down gently but keeping a hand on her arm to steady her. His expression was unreadable as his stormy silver eyes met hers. “Talking,” he said simply. “Somewhere quieter and alone.”
Hermione looked around, her breath catching as she took in her surroundings. They were standing in a library – no, not just a library. It was the library, a magnificent, sprawling sanctuary of books that seemed to stretch on forever. The shelves were carved from dark mahogany, reaching all the way to the ceiling, and every inch of them was crammed with books, some so ancient they looked as though a touch might turn them to dust. Rolling ladders were attached to the shelves, gleaming in the soft light of the enormous chandelier above.
The chandelier itself was a masterpiece, its golden arms adorned with crystals that caught the light like tiny stars. Long, velvet curtains framed tall, arched windows, and the flickering light of a roaring fireplace bathed the room in a warm, golden glow. A faint scent of parchment, leather, and something vaguely spicy lingered in the air, grounding Hermione in the space’s history.
Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she forgot everything – where she was, how she’d gotten there, or the fact that she wasn’t alone. She took a step forward, her fingertips brushing against the spine of a nearby book, her mind racing at the sheer wealth of knowledge surrounding her.
“Are you done?”
The voice broke her reverie, pulling her abruptly back to reality. Hermione spun around, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Malfoy. He was leaning casually against one of the shelves, his arms crossed and a small, infuriatingly smug smile tugging at his lips.
“What is going on?” she demanded, her voice sharp as she tried to push down the sudden quickening of her pulse. “Why am I here? What are you playing at, Malfoy?”
He raised an eyebrow, unfazed by her tone. “Relax, Granger. You looked like you were about to start cataloging the shelves. I thought I should intervene before you got carried away.”
Hermione glared at him, her cheeks flushing. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Draco sighed, his smirk softening just slightly. “We need to talk.”
“About what?” she pressed, folding her arms over her chest. “Is this about...?” She hesitated, her mind racing. Was this about the kiss? Or – her stomach flipped – was it about the club?
Her heartbeat quickened at the thought, a mix of nerves and something else she couldn’t quite name. She hated the way her thoughts felt out of her control around him.
“I’m not playing games, Granger,” Draco said, his voice low and steady. “I brought you here because I need to talk to you. Properly. Without an audience.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and curiosity warring within her. “Fine,” she said slowly, lifting her chin. “But this had better be good, Malfoy. Because I don’t take kindly to being manhandled.”
His smirk returned, just the faintest curve of his lips. “Oh, Granger,” he said, his tone maddeningly amused. “You’ll want to hear this.”
Hermione crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on Malfoy with unyielding determination. “Well?” she prompted, her voice sharp. “You dragged me in here, Malfoy. Let’s hear it. I don’t have all night, you know. There’s a gala happening out there, and I’d rather be enjoying it than standing here playing twenty questions with you.”
Draco didn’t react immediately. He stood there, his posture relaxed but his expression unreadable. His silver eyes met hers, lingering for a moment that felt almost too long. Hermione’s frustration grew as the silence stretched, the faint sound of music and laughter seeping in from the distant ballroom, a reminder of where she should be.
“I don’t recall dragging you,” he said at last, his voice infuriatingly calm. “Though if you wanted me to carry you again, Granger, all you had to do was ask.”
Hermione’s cheeks flushed, both from irritation and the memory of being slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “That’s not funny,” she snapped. “You’re stalling, Malfoy. Just get to the point.”
Draco tilted his head slightly, as if weighing her words. “You Gryffindors are always so impatient. No sense of pacing.”
“Malfoy,” she said, her voice tight with warning. “Either you say what you dragged me here to say, or I’m leaving.”
His smirk faltered slightly, replaced by a flicker of something more serious. “Fine,” he said, straightening. “I wanted to talk to you about… us.”
Hermione blinked, caught off guard despite herself. “Us?” she repeated, her voice laced with skepticism. “What us ?”
Draco exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping briefly before snapping back to hers. “Don’t play dumb, Granger. You know exactly what I mean.”
Her heart gave an involuntary flutter, but she quickly shoved the feeling aside. “I really don’t,” she said, her tone clipped. “If this is about that incident – ”
“This isn’t about one moment,” Draco interrupted, his voice firmer now. “This is about the fact that you – ” He paused, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “That you can’t stop being in my head. That I – ” He stopped again, as if the words themselves were refusing to come out.
Hermione’s breath hitched, but she kept her composure. Barely. “Malfoy, I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but – ”
“It’s not a game, Granger!” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through her sentence. He took a step closer, and she instinctively stepped back, her shoulders brushing against the bookshelf behind her. His gaze locked onto hers, intense and unrelenting. “It hasn’t been a game for a long time.”
The room felt suddenly too small, the air thick with tension. Hermione’s pulse pounded in her ears as she stared up at him, unsure of what to say, unsure of what he even wanted her to say. The faint sound of the gala outside seemed miles away, as if the rest of the world had faded into irrelevance.
“Malfoy…” she began, her voice softer now, but the words caught in her throat.
Before Hermione could fully process his words, Draco stepped closer, his hands reaching out to grip her shoulders firmly but not harshly. His silver eyes locked onto hers with a burning intensity that made her breath catch.
“I’m talking about us, Granger,” he said, his voice low and raw. “About this. ”
Before she could form a reply, his lips crashed against hers.
The kiss was nothing like she had expected – if she had ever dared to imagine it at all. It wasn’t tentative or hesitant; it was hungry, demanding, filled with a kind of desperation that sent a shiver down her spine. Draco’s hands slid from her shoulders, one tangling in her hair, the other moving to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.
Hermione’s initial shock melted away in an instant. Her hands found his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as if anchoring herself to him. A soft moan escaped her lips, muffled against his mouth, and the sound seemed to spur him on.
Draco’s lips moved with an intensity that left no room for hesitation, his tongue brushing against hers, deepening the kiss as his hands roamed over her back. Hermione felt herself arch into him, her senses consumed by the scent of him – something sharp and clean, like winter air mixed with a hint of spice.
She gasped as her back hit the hard surface of a bookshelf, the cool wood pressing into her spine. Draco had her pinned now, his hands bracing against the shelf on either side of her, caging her in. The movement should have been alarming, but instead, it sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t ignore.
His lips left hers only for a moment, trailing hot kisses along her jawline and down her neck. Hermione’s head fell back against the books, a breathless moan escaping her as his teeth grazed her skin. Her hands slid upward, clutching at his shoulders, her mind hazy with the overwhelming heat of his touch.
“Draco,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, and she felt him freeze for a split second before his lips found hers again, hungrier than before. His name on her lips seemed to ignite something in him, his hands gripping her hips now, pulling her impossibly closer.
Time seemed to blur, the sounds of the gala outside fading completely as the only thing that mattered was the press of his body against hers, the way his hands and lips seemed to claim her in a way that felt both overwhelming and inevitable.
His lips pressed harder against hers, his hands tightening their grip on her hips as if anchoring her in place. Hermione’s mind spun, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps between their fevered kisses. She was barely aware of the world around her anymore – just the warmth of his body, the taste of him, and the electric charge that coursed through every nerve.
And then –
“Draco.”
The sharp, authoritative voice cut through the haze like a splash of cold water. Hermione stiffened, her hands clutching Draco’s shoulders as her eyes flew open. He pulled back slightly, his breathing uneven, his lips still grazing hers as if reluctant to leave.
“Draco,” Narcissa’s voice came again, firmer now. Hermione turned her head to see the Malfoy matriarch standing in the doorway, her icy blue eyes sharp as they flicked between the two of them.
Hermione’s cheeks burned as reality came rushing back. Her hair was mussed, her breathing heavy, and she had no doubt her lips were red and swollen from their kiss. She could still feel Draco’s hands on her hips, his warmth seeping into her skin. She was certain Narcissa had noticed every damning detail.
Draco stepped back reluctantly, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he turned to face his mother. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his own breathing betraying the intensity of what had just transpired. “Mother,” he said, his voice strained but calm.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Narcissa said, her tone clipped. Her gaze shifted to Hermione for a fraction of a second, her expression unreadable, before snapping back to Draco. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. A young witch from a respectable family. She’s been waiting for an introduction.”
Draco’s jaw tightened, and he glanced back at Hermione, his eyes lingering on her flushed face and the way her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her dress. “Now’s not a good time,” he said, his voice curt.
Narcissa’s expression hardened. “Draco, you’re the host. It is your duty to make her acquaintance. You can’t just disappear and – ” She stopped, her eyes narrowing slightly. “ – neglect your responsibilities.”
Draco straightened, his shoulders squaring. “I’m not neglecting anything. I’m in the middle of something important.”
“Enough,” Narcissa snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. “This is not up for debate. You will come with me. Now.”
For a moment, Draco looked as though he might argue further, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. But then, with a visible effort, he exhaled and nodded tightly. He turned back to Hermione, his gaze softening. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “I’ll find you later. We’re not done.”
Hermione’s throat felt dry, and she could only nod, her mind still spinning from everything that had just happened. Draco hesitated, then shrugged off his jacket and placed it gently over her shoulders, the gesture so unexpectedly intimate that it made her breath hitch.
Then, without another word, he turned and followed Narcissa out of the library, leaving Hermione standing there, her pulse pounding in her ears and her thoughts in complete disarray.
Hermione found herself back in the ballroom, weaving through the clusters of elegantly dressed witches and wizards who had returned from the terrace after the fireworks. She had missed the display entirely, but she didn’t care. Her mind was too full – too preoccupied with the charged encounter in the library, with every second of her time with Malfoy. The weight of his jacket still lingered on her shoulders, though she’d left it behind before returning to the crowd. Every moment in the library had left her with more questions than answers. What had she been thinking, letting herself get swept up like that? What was he thinking? And why had he been so adamant about talking to her – about them ?
Hermione’s gaze flitted across the ballroom as she scanned the room for him. But Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. Instead of relief, a strange pang twisted in her chest at the thought of what he might be doing – and who he might be with. The idea of him charming some elegant young witch, a potential future bride chosen by Narcissa, made her stomach churn. She pushed the thought aside, trying to focus on the present.
But the present wasn’t offering her much clarity either. Her thoughts circled back to the library, to his touch, his voice, and the way he looked at her – as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. It wasn’t just physical. There had been something real in the way he kissed her, something unspoken but undeniable. How could she ignore that? For all his arrogance and impossible demeanor, there was something about him that drew her in like a moth to a flame. It was almost frightening to admit it, but maybe – just maybe – there was something genuine between them.
Hermione shook her head slightly, trying to steady herself. Malfoy had always been a puzzle, but in the real world, here and now, something between them made sense. They were no longer children at each other’s throats, nor were they bound by the past. She couldn’t deny that when she was around him, there was a spark – one that had been growing steadily, no matter how much she tried to ignore it.
And yet, there was the other half of her tangled reality – the mysterious man from the club. Her mind immediately conjured Viktor’s face. It had to be him. It made sense, didn’t it? He had always been intense and focused, and the way he looked at her tonight felt familiar, like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. He’d been on her mind for years, even in passing, and now he was here, as if fate had orchestrated the reunion.
It was too coincidental. Of course, Viktor would be the one seeking anonymity, escaping into a world where titles and expectations didn’t matter.
Her chest tightened as the weight of it all pressed down on her. The room, filled with the laughter and chatter of the remaining guests, felt too loud and too quiet all at once.
“Granger, this night is a bloody disaster,” Theo’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, startling her.
She blinked, turning to find Theo and Pansy standing at the bar. Theo was leaning dramatically against the counter, his face a mix of exasperation and something bordering on panic. Pansy, meanwhile, was nursing a cocktail, looking entirely unbothered.
Hermione seized the distraction, grateful for anything to pull her out of her own head. “Why? What happened?” she asked, moving closer.
Theo straightened, waving a hand as if to emphasise the magnitude of the catastrophe. “What happened?” he repeated, his voice rising. “What happened is that Blaise and I thought we’d seize the moment – this grand, sprawling manor, the romantic ambiance – and, you know, sneak away for a little private time.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, unsure if she wanted to hear more. “Private time?”
“You know,” Theo said with a grin that quickly faltered, “a quick, ah, interlude in one of the many beautiful rooms this place has to offer. And we found the room, Granger. Stunning. Rich green walls, a four-poster bed with curtains, a fireplace that practically begged for us to use it as a backdrop. The whole thing was perfect.”
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, already anticipating where this was going. “Theo…”
“Wait, I’m not done!” Theo continued, clearly enjoying both his role as the storyteller and Hermione’s growing horror. “So there we are, in the middle of things – really, the middle of things – when the door swings open, and guess who’s standing there?”
Hermione didn’t answer, dreading the answer even though she already knew.
“Narcissa Malfoy,” Theo announced dramatically, throwing his arms into the air. “Yes, Narcissa . Do you know how terrifying that woman is when she’s glaring at you while you’re – well, you get the picture.”
Hermione couldn’t stop herself from laughing, covering her mouth with her hand as Theo launched into an exaggerated re-enactment of Narcissa’s icy expression.
“I mean, how was I supposed to know it was his bedroom?” Theo continued, clearly on a roll, his hands gesturing wildly. “This place has about a thousand bloody rooms! What are the odds?”
“They’re quite high if you don’t check the portraits,” Pansy interjected dryly, taking a sip of her drink. “Malfoy’s smug face is right above the fireplace in there, glaring down like he owns the place. Which, incidentally, he does.”
Theo groaned dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, brilliant, Pansy. That’s so helpful. I’ll just remember next time to check for Draco’s looming presence before I decide to, you know, live my life!”
Pansy rolled her eyes, her lips twitching with barely contained amusement. “You’re lucky it was Narcissa who found you. She wasn’t just wandering, you know – she was looking for Draco. She was probably already annoyed and then found you two idiots in his room. Honestly, I’m amazed you’re still standing here.”
Theo winced. “She was looking for Draco, wasn’t she?” He leaned heavily against the bar, burying his face in one hand. “No wonder she looked like she wanted to Avada me on the spot. She was probably expecting to drag him out to meet some future Mrs. Malfoy and instead found us. ”
Hermione, who had been silently sipping her drink, choked at the words. “You were in Draco’s room?” she asked, her voice full of disbelief.
“Yes!” Theo threw his hands in the air. “How was I supposed to know? It’s not like there was a neon sign that said, ‘Enter Here for Malfoy’s Bedroom.’ ”
“There is literally a portrait of him,” Pansy flatly repeated.
Theo shot her a look of betrayal. “You could’ve warned me!”
“I assumed you had some sense of self-preservation,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes.
Theo ignored her, turning back to Hermione with an expression of sheer panic. “Do you think she’s going to hex me? Or worse – ban me from the manor forever? This could be the end of me, Granger.”
Hermione shook her head, trying to stifle her laughter. “I think you’ll survive, Theo.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Theo said, running a hand through his hair. “Narcissa is practically a second mother to me. I can’t ever look her in the eye again. She’ll see my shame.”
“Would you shut it?” Pansy said, smacking him lightly on the arm. “You’re making it worse. You should be thanking her for not cursing you into next week.”
“ Thanking her?” Theo sputtered. “I barely escaped with my dignity!”
“You didn’t escape with any dignity,” Pansy muttered.
Hermione tilted her head, curiosity sparking. “Wait a second. How is it that you and Blaise, as his best friends, have never been in his bedroom before?”
Theo paused, looking oddly sheepish. “Draco’s always been...particular about his space,” he admitted reluctantly. “The only one who’s ever been in there was Pansy, back when he was madly in love with her at fourteen. After that? No one.”
Pansy let out a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t remind me. He used to read me poetry. Awful poetry. He thought it was romantic.”
Theo smirked, the panic momentarily forgotten. “Still better than Blaise’s idea of romance. Remember when he – ”
“Do not finish that sentence,” Pansy warned, narrowing her eyes.
Hermione suppressed a laugh, but her curiosity flared again. “Speaking of Blaise, where is he anyway?”
Theo let out a snort, shaking his head. “Terrified of Narcissa. He went running, naked arse and everything.”
“Merlin’s sake,” Pansy muttered, rolling her eyes.
Theo grinned, clearly enjoying himself now. “He’s probably nursing a bottle of firewhisky somewhere, drowning his shame.”
Hermione couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer, her previous worries momentarily forgotten as Theo continued to spiral. The absurdity of it all was too much, and she found herself leaning against the bar, shaking her head as Theo dramatically vowed never to enter another Malfoy property again.
Hermione glanced at her two friends, their banter and bickering a comforting normalcy in the whirlwind of her evening. But the weight of what had just happened in the library pressed on her, and before she could stop herself, the words spilled out.
“Malfoy kissed me,” she said, her voice soft but clear.
The effect was immediate. Theo and Pansy froze mid-sip of their drinks, their gazes snapping to her like a pair of synchronised Bludgers.
“What?” they exclaimed in unison, their voices loud enough to draw a few curious glances from nearby guests.
Theo leaned forward, his expression a mixture of shock and protective outrage. “What happened? Tell us everything. Was he drunk? Did he do something to you? Do I need to go punch him? Because I will. Just say the word.”
Hermione’s chest warmed at Theo’s earnest concern, and she reached out, patting his hand reassuringly. “No, Theo. Nothing like that. He didn’t hurt me.”
“Well, then what the hell happened?” Pansy demanded, her dark eyes narrowing.
Hermione hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. “I… I don’t know. I mean, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”
A second, louder chorus of “What?!” erupted from her friends, drawing even more attention from the surrounding crowd. Pansy hissed a curse under her breath and pulled Hermione closer to their huddle.
“You’re telling me this is the second time Malfoy’s kissed you?” Pansy said, her voice sharp with incredulity. “And you’re just now mentioning it?”
Theo shook his head, looking genuinely baffled. “Granger, this is… I mean, Malfoy? Are you sure he’s not having some kind of identity crisis? Or maybe he’s been Confunded?”
Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, another voice cut through the din.
"Her-my-own-ninny," Viktor Krum said, his thick accent rolling over the syllables, his deep voice unmistakable.
The three of them turned, and Hermione felt her breath hitch as her eyes landed on Viktor Krum.
He had changed so much since the last time she’d seen him. His shoulders were broader, his frame more solid, the athleticism of his youth now tempered with the confidence and strength of maturity. His square jaw was clean-shaven, his dark eyes sharp beneath thick brows, and his hair, slightly longer than she remembered, framed his face in a way that made him look even more striking. He wore a perfectly tailored suit in deep navy, and the way he carried himself – calm, deliberate, commanding – turned heads as he crossed the room.
But what struck her most was the way he looked at her. His gaze was unflinching, focused entirely on her, as if she were the only person in the room.
“Viktor,” she breathed, her heart skipping a beat. “I… I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I had to be here tonight,” he said, his deep voice heavy with his accent, the words deliberate. “This is not a night I could be missing.”
Viktor stepped closer, his gaze never wavering. “I have been waiting to speak with you,” he said, his tone softening. “The whole evening.”
Hermione blinked, her thoughts racing. She felt Pansy and Theo exchange glances beside her, but she was too focused on Viktor to care.
“I…” She trailed off, unsure of how to respond. The intensity in his eyes made it impossible to think clearly. “What did you want to talk about?”
Viktor smiled faintly, but there was something serious in his expression. “Everything,” he said simply.
Hermione’s heart leapt again, this time with an almost painful jolt of hope. Could it be him? Could Viktor really be the man from the club? Finally, the endless questions swirling in her mind might find their answers. She opened her mouth to respond, to say something that would push her closer to the truth, but before she could, Pansy’s voice sliced through the air.
“Hey,” Pansy said, her tone sharp and full of mischief. “Sorry, big boy, but girls need to talk.”
Hermione barely had time to register the words before Pansy grabbed her arm and began pulling her toward the hallway.
“Pansy, what are you doing?” Hermione protested, trying to dig her heels in, but Pansy’s grip was surprisingly firm.
“That’s twice tonight someone’s dragged me somewhere!” Hermione muttered, more to herself than anyone else, as she stumbled after Pansy.
Behind them, Theo trailed after the pair, looking more amused than alarmed. “This should be interesting,” he remarked, sipping his drink as he followed.
Once they were out in the hallway, Pansy finally released Hermione, who spun around, her face a mixture of confusion and irritation.
“What the bloody hell , Pansy?” Hermione snapped, her voice low but heated. “I need to go back. Now.”
Pansy raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Why? You haven’t seen that man in years. Why’s he suddenly so bloody important?”
Hermione exhaled sharply, as if the answer were obvious. “Don’t you get it? Viktor’s him . The man from the club. It all makes sense!”
Pansy froze, her mouth hanging slightly open. She blinked once, twice, and then her expression twisted into one of utter disbelief. Beside her, Theo mirrored the look, his brows shooting up as if Hermione had just announced she was secretly a goblin.
“What?” Hermione said, glancing between the two of them. “Why are you looking at me like that? It makes perfect sense. Viktor is my man from the club. I’m going back right now to – ”
She didn’t get to finish.
“What the fuck ?”
The voice came from behind her, sharp and unmistakable.
Hermione froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as she slowly turned around. There, standing just a few feet away with an expression that could only be described as a storm barely contained, was Draco Malfoy.
His gray eyes narrowed as they flicked between her and her friends, lingering on Hermione with an intensity that made her heart skip. “What the hell is going on here?” he asked, his tone low and dangerous.
Theo, ever the opportunist, stepped in before Hermione could answer. “Nothing to worry about, mate,” he said cheerfully, raising his glass as if to toast.
Draco’s gaze snapping back to Hermione. “Granger?”
Hermione swallowed, her mind racing. How was she supposed to explain this without sounding ridiculous? She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, she took a step back, her eyes darting toward the ballroom.
And then she made a decision.
“I need to go,” she said quickly, her voice firmer than she felt. “Excuse me.”
Draco’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching, but he didn’t stop her as she turned on her heel and walked away, her steps purposeful despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her.
Gathering her courage, Hermione strode into the ballroom, doing her best to appear confident and composed. Her eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on him – Viktor Krum. He was standing near the edge of the room, speaking to an older wizard with a polite nod. As if sensing her gaze, he turned, his face lighting up with genuine recognition.
Gathering her courage, she strode over, doing her best to appear confident and composed. Viktor turned as she approached, his face lighting up with genuine recognition.
“Herm-own-ninny!” he greeted warmly, his thick accent wrapping around her name like a familiar hug.
“Viktor!” she exclaimed, smiling too brightly, her nerves barely concealed. “It’s so good to see you! I – uh – I didn’t realise you’d be here tonight.”
“I vas hoping to see you,” Viktor said earnestly. “I thought, maybe, ve could catch up.”
Hermione’s breath hitched. He wanted to see me. He thought about me. Her brain, already spinning from her theories about The Veil, latched onto this as further confirmation.
“Oh,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Of course. Um… did you want to talk somewhere... more private?” She glanced around as if to emphasise how crowded the gala was.
Viktor frowned slightly, looking puzzled. “Private? Vhy vould ve need private? I just vanted to catch up. It has been so long.”
Hermione blinked, her confidence faltering. “Oh, I just thought – well, you know, after everything. It might be better to talk... discreetly?”
“Discreetly?” Viktor echoed, tilting his head. His confusion deepened, and he added cautiously, “Herm-own-ninny, I don’t understand. I just vant to talk, catch up. My vife wouldn’t like it if ve vent somewhere... private.”
Hermione’s stomach plummeted. “Your wife?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“Yes,” Viktor said, his brow furrowing further. “Ve got married last month. You didn’t know?”
Her mind reeled. Married? He was married? And – oh Merlin – he was here, at The Veil? How could he? Did his wife know? Was she okay with this? Was he one of those wizards?
“You’re married?” she repeated, louder this time, her voice tinged with incredulity. “And you’re coming to The Veil?!”
Viktor took a step back, holding up his hands as if to fend off her sudden intensity. “Vait, vot? The Veil? Vot is that?”
Hermione froze, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “You don’t know what The Veil is?” she asked weakly.
“Some restaurant?” Viktor guessed, looking genuinely baffled. “Ve just got back from our honeymoon, and I vas thinking of taking her somewhere nice in London.”
The words hit her like a tidal wave of humiliation. He wasn’t the mystery man. He wasn’t the one who kissed her, touched her, or whispered in her ear at The Veil. He wasn’t anyone except a kind, married friend who wanted to catch up.
She had just accused him – publicly, loudly – of cheating on his wife.
Hermione’s face burned so hot she swore she could feel her hairline singeing. “Oh! Oh, right. Of course. A... restaurant. How lovely.” She forced a laugh that came out more like a strangled choke.
“Herm-own-ninny, are you okay?” Viktor asked, concern creeping into his voice.
“Me? Yes! Absolutely! Fine!” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I just – I remembered – I have to – um – get something. From – over there. Excuse me!”
Without waiting for his response, Hermione spun on her heel and bolted toward the farthest corner of the room, her heart hammering and her brain screaming at her.
What were you thinking, you absolute idiot?
She found refuge behind a decorative pillar and pressed her back against it, closing her eyes and groaning. The night replayed in vivid detail in her mind – her confident stride toward Viktor, her ridiculous assumption, her accusation.
You’re married? And you’re coming to The Veil?! The words echoed in her head, each one more humiliating than the last. She cringed so hard she nearly folded in on herself.
“Hermione,” she muttered under her breath, “you need to stop talking forever.”
Across the room, Draco Malfoy watched her with an infuriatingly amused smirk, his grey eyes glinting with barely contained laughter. By the look of him, he’d caught every second of the exchange – and he was thoroughly enjoying her discomfort.
Kill me now .
Hermione leaned against the bar, a half-empty glass of champagne in her hand. She had lost track of how many she’d had after the fifth, but the pleasant buzz had settled into a steady hum that made the evening marginally bearable. Viktor had left hours ago, sparing her any further mortification. As for Draco – he seemed to be avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him, which was a blessing in itself. The last thing she needed was another emotionally charged encounter with him tonight.
The ballroom was quiet now, most of the guests having left or moved to smaller groups scattered across the space. The remaining crowd was subdued, the lively energy of earlier replaced by a mellow ambiance. Hermione sighed, resting her head in her hand.
“This night just needs to end,” she muttered.
And then it didn’t.
A commotion at the front of the room drew her attention. She squinted, realising with growing confusion that someone was on the stage – the same stage where Narcissa Malfoy had given her poised and elegant speech hours earlier.
Wait. Was that Theo?
“What the fuck,” Pansy hissed next to her, her expression a mixture of alarm and incredulity.
Hermione’s stomach dropped as she recognised her friend, swaying slightly, a glass of firewhiskey in his hand. Theo had definitely been next to her just moments ago. How had he managed to get up there so quickly? And more importantly – why?
The soft murmur of conversation in the ballroom quieted as heads turned toward the stage.
Theo cleared his throat dramatically, his free hand gripping the microphone stand for balance. “Ladies… and gentlemen!” he began, his voice loud and slightly slurred but still oddly charming. “I have something very important to say!”
“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione whispered, her face already heating with secondhand embarrassment.
“Malfoy’s going to murder him,” Pansy muttered, though she sounded more intrigued than worried.
Theo looked out at the audience, his grin wide but unsteady. “First, I’d like to say that this gala has been absolutely exquisite . Hats off to our lovely host, Narcissa Malfoy!” He raised his glass as though to toast, nearly spilling it in the process.
There was a polite smattering of confused applause, but most people were too busy whispering and exchanging puzzled glances.
“And speaking of Narcissa,” Theo continued, his grin faltering into something softer, more earnest, “I need to – well, I must – address the elephant in the room.”
“Oh no,” Hermione groaned, already bracing herself for the train wreck.
Theo’s expression grew serious as he took a step closer to the edge of the stage. “Narcissa, I know you’re here somewhere, and I want you to know – I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t plan for it to happen. It was a mistake, and I’m so sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.”
Pansy choked on her drink, clutching Hermione’s arm. “Is he… is he doing what I think he’s doing? ”
Hermione didn’t have time to answer before Theo kept going, his voice growing louder and more dramatic.
“Narcissa, it was wrong of me to… to… use your son’s bedroom inappropriately ! It was a lapse in judgment. An act of sheer stupidity! I didn’t mean to disrespect you or your home. I just – ”
“ What?! ”
The outraged voice echoed through the ballroom, and all eyes snapped to the figure striding toward the stage. Draco Malfoy, looking equal parts livid and mortified, was making a beeline for Theo.
Theo, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing, raised a hand toward Draco as though he were calling on a dear friend. “Draco! Yes, I was just getting to you! I also owe you an apology!”
Draco’s expression darkened further, and Hermione could practically see the steam rising off of him.
“I didn’t mean to use your room,” Theo said earnestly, turning back to the audience. “It just – well, it’s a bloody magnificent room! And sometimes inspiration strikes, you know? But Narcissa – ” He turned back to the crowd, his voice full of theatrical emotion. “You are, and will always be, my one true love!”
A collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by a few poorly stifled snickers.
Pansy was now doubled over in laughter, clutching the bar for support. “I can’t – he’s actually doing it – ”
Hermione, on the other hand, wanted to disappear into the floor. “This can’t be happening,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands.
Draco finally reached the stage, his expression a thunderstorm of rage and humiliation. “Get down,” he hissed, grabbing Theo’s arm.
But Theo, ever the showman, held his ground. “Not until Narcissa knows the depths of my regret!”
“You’re going to regret everything in about three seconds,” Draco growled.
Theo, despite Draco’s increasingly aggressive attempts to drag him off the stage, clung to the microphone stand with one hand while gesturing dramatically with the other. His glass of firewhiskey teetered precariously in his grip, but he seemed entirely oblivious.
“Narcissa!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the ballroom. “I don’t care about the difference in our ages! True love knows no boundaries, no barriers of time or propriety!”
Hermione buried her face in her hands, feeling her soul leave her body from secondhand embarrassment. Beside her, Pansy was in tears – not from sorrow but from laughter.
“All my previous loves,” Theo continued, his voice growing softer, almost reverent, “they were nothing compared to you. You, Narcissa Malfoy, are the light of my life! The fire in my soul! The – ”
“ Theodore Nott! ”
The sharp, authoritative voice cut through Theo’s drunken monologue like a knife. Everyone turned toward the entrance to see Narcissa Malfoy herself standing there, her icy blue eyes narrowed and her expression a picture of barely restrained fury.
The room fell silent. Even Theo, swaying slightly, froze as he processed her words.
Narcissa’s heels clicked against the polished floor as she strode toward the stage, her composure regal despite the chaos her son’s friend had unleashed. She stopped at the edge of the platform, looking up at Theo with a gaze that could have felled a Hungarian Horntail.
“That is enough, ” she said, her voice calm but firm, each word laced with steel.
Theo blinked, his drunken haze momentarily pierced. “But, Narcissa – ”
“ Enough, Theodore,” she repeated, cutting him off. Her tone left no room for argument. “You and your friends have caused more than enough damage for one evening. I suggest you collect yourselves and leave. Immediately.”
For a moment, Theo looked as though he might argue, but something in Narcissa’s unwavering stare made him pause. He nodded slowly, stepping back from the microphone with surprising obedience.
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, his usual bravado utterly deflated.
Hermione exhaled in relief, grateful that Theo hadn’t tried to escalate the situation further. She and Pansy exchanged a look, the latter finally wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.
“Come on,” Hermione said, standing up and grabbing her clutch. “Let’s get him out of here before Draco throws him into the Black Lake.”
Pansy snorted but nodded, the two of them making their way to the stage where Theo was now being unceremoniously hauled down by Draco, who looked ready to murder him on the spot.
“We’re leaving,” Pansy announced to Draco, grabbing Theo by the arm.
“Good,” Draco snapped, his grey eyes flashing. “Get him out before he starts proposing.”
Theo, still too dazed to comprehend much, allowed himself to be led toward the exit, though he turned back once to call out, “Narcissa! If you ever change your mind – ”
“ Theo! ” Hermione and Pansy hissed in unison, dragging him out the door before he could say anything else.
The crisp night air hit them as they stepped outside, and Hermione inhaled deeply, finally feeling like she could breathe again. Behind them, the towering Malfoy Manor loomed, its grandeur undiminished despite the chaos that had unfolded within.
“Well,” Pansy said, slinging an arm around Theo’s shoulders as they walked toward the Apparition point, “I’d say we’ve made quite the impression tonight.”
Hermione groaned, shaking her head. “Let’s just get home before Narcissa sends a Howler.”
Theo, stumbling slightly but grinning again, raised his nearly empty glass. “To love!”
“To silence,” Hermione muttered, earning a laugh from Pansy as the three of them disappeared into the crisp night air.
As they reached the Apparition point, Pansy paused, glancing between Hermione and Theo with a rare softness in her eyes. “You know,” she said, her tone quieter, “for all the chaos, I suppose it’s fitting for us. Merry Christmas, you lunatics.”
Theo beamed, despite his unsteady footing. “Merry Christmas! And may the New Year bring even more poorly thought-out decisions!”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Merry Christmas,” she echoed, her voice warm despite the lingering exhaustion of the night.
They stood there for a moment, the three of them enveloped in the stillness of the night, before Pansy clapped her hands together. “Right. Let’s get out of here before we’re banned from another Malfoy event forever.”
And with that, they Apparated away, leaving the grandeur of Malfoy Manor and the chaos of the evening behind.