Untitled by cenagurl [Rated PG-13]
Celebrate the Season fic request for Camille
Author: Cenagurl
Title: Untitled
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Harry Potter does not belong to me.
Summary: Hermione Granger helps Draco Malfoy in purchasing his Halloween costume. What chaos could possibly ensue?
Untitled by cenagurl
A/n: Okay, so first of all I would like to apologize to the person whom I offer this request to, because of my unforgivable tardiness (but my computer crashed, so wouldn’t that be sort of a valid reason?). This fic goes out to Camille, and these are her requirements:
Rating(s) you’re willing to write: PG-13 to NC-17
Rating(s) of the fic you want: PG-13 to NC-17
Three things you want your fic to include: 1. To take place during Halloween and for it to be a masquerade. 2. Make Draco dress up as Zorro (dress Hermione into any costume.) 3. Have some snogging and
all that good stuff >P
Three things you do not want your fic to include: 1. Going too fast, make some kind of -adventures- for them during the preparation. 2. Slutty characters.
Anything specific that you do not want to write: Don't make it too boring, I want some adventure! Steal other plots, make your own! No fully light fiction, I want something dark, man. >P
Well, I hope I have met at least half of your expectations. =) Read on…
Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me, by the way.
000000
You are invited to a Halloween Ball this coming October 30th at Malfoy Manor. The costume you are to wear is found in a separate parchment enclosed with this invitation. Please keep in mind to wear the exact costume, so nobody in the celebration would be wearing the same outfit.
The ball would start at exactly eight o’clock, so please be on time because latecomers would not be allowed entrance.
We are hoping to see you on the said event.
Narcissa Malfoy
The graceful form of Narcissa Malfoy crossed the threshold of her luxurious bedroom into the balcony overlooking the well-trimmed garden below, her long mane of pale blonde hair swaying daintily with each movement. She scanned the parchment in her hand with meticulous blue eyes, trying to see if its contents looked suspicious or questionable.
She knew the girl was intelligent, and she didn’t want her apprehensive of her plans.
She read the letter again and again until she was satisfied, then walked back to her bedroom where she placed the piece of parchment in an envelope, sealed it with the Malfoy mark, and called for a house-elf to bring it to the manor’s owlery.
“But mistress, all the owls have been used up in sending the other invitations already, and not one has returned yet,” said Twinky, looking a little anxious. Even though almost seven years had passed since the war, she was still not quite used to the changes in the manor since Lucius Malfoy had passed away. Thankfully, her former master’s wife and son had not been as cruel as he was. In fact, they had been very kind, almost treating them like equals.
“It’s quite alright, Twinky, you wouldn’t mind waiting there until an owl comes back, would you?” Narcissa asked, and the elf quickly said, “Of course not mistress, Twinky would be going there now to do what mistress wants!” and with a small cracking sound, the elf disappeared, leaving Narcissa alone in her room once more.
She slowly walked towards her bed and sat down on the side, her hand moving towards the drawer of her bedside table to bring out a red rose encased in a glass box, which she gazed at with overwhelming emotions visible in her eyes.
She couldn’t help but give a bittersweet smile as she ran an idle finger on the cool surface of the glass. The memory of what happened seven years ago drifted into her mind, making her heart pang with pain, her insides curl with disgust and hatred. But as she gazed at the rose once more, the negative feeling seemed to fade away, replaced with hope and faith.
It was pretty hard to believe, but an enemy had saved her. A mudblood, no less. Narcissa had been locked away in Voldemort’s mansion then, as a punishment for Lucius’ failure and Draco’s treachery. It had been all her fault. After Lucius’ death, the Dark Lord had begun to treat them differently. He wanted to use Draco with his plans, but Narcissa wouldn’t let him. Lord Voldemort was not a man to be crossed, so he had her beaten up to submission that she give permission to use her own son as a pawn for his evil campaign.
But Draco did not let himself be used. He had tried to escape with his mother to seek protection from the Order, but his mother was captured while he almost died from the curses impaled upon him.
Narcissa then spent weeks in a dungeon, occasionally visited by her husband’s so-called friends to receive yet another round of beating, and sometimes, even rape. She had wished then and there that she would just die, but then her savior arrived in the form of a young lady named Hermione Granger.
She had been brought inside the dungeons a prisoner like her. But she did not look as bad as Narcissa did; her robes were torn in several places, and there was a long gash at the side of her face, but other than that, she looked fine.
Narcissa saw her doe brown eyes fill up with tears as they looked at each other. Then, the girl whispered in a tender voice, “What have they done to you?” as she crumpled down in front of her.
Narcissa felt her heart contract as she stared at the weeping girl in front of her. A mudblood was crying for her… she felt the warm liquid of her tears brimming up her eyes, then rolling into rivulets down her cheeks.
Without giving a damn about their bloodlines, their differences, and their social statuses, Narcissa reached over and hugged the girl as tightly as she could, finally letting out all the emotions she had been bottling inside her for the past weeks in the cold, dark dungeon.
After that, they had become very close; Narcissa had someone to lean on to during those hard times, and since then, she had found the will to live again. The girl was a very optimistic person, always assuring her that there are many people who care for them outside the Dark Lord’s manor, probably walking that instant to Voldemort’s lair to take them away.
Narcissa never lost faith in her. Then, one day, as she promised, the people who loved them came over to take them away, fighting to the death. That was the moment the prophecy came to life; nobody lives while the other survives. Yes, the Boy who Lived had finally defeated the Dark Lord, and everyone was saved.
Narcissa remembered clearly how her son came running to him during their reunion, his face streaked with tears as he enfolded her in his arms, apologizing again and again for not coming sooner. She saw Hermione looking at them with a smile on her face, and suddenly, a very odd yet brilliant idea came into her mind.
She was about to prod further into that idea when she fainted from exhaustion.
She awoke back into their manor, her son seeing to her every need. It was the first time she been that close to her son, and since then, their bond had grown stronger. One day, as Draco was bringing in her breakfast (he wouldn’t let the house elves take care of her), she told him, “I want to see Hermione.”
The boy looked confused for a moment, then he remembered how the mudblood had helped her mother during her days of imprisonment in Voldemort’s dungeons. “Alright, mother.” He responded, then immediately sent an owl to the girl telling of his mother’s wish.
The girl had come the next day, and Narcissa was ever so happy for her company.
“I can see you’re doing fine, Narcissa,” Hermione said, taking a seat beside her bed. “After all, it has been almost three weeks,”
They had talked for a long time, asking about each other’s welfares, and Narcissa found out that Hermione would soon be leaving the country for a job assignment in Romania. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss; after all, it had been a long time since she had a close companion like Hermione, who had become like a daughter to her.
Before the girl left, she gave Narcissa the rose, saying, “You are a rose, Narcissa. You will keep fighting with your thorns, no matter how difficult the challenges are. You will stay beautiful and graceful. Always keep that in mind; you are a rose.”
Narcissa then embraced the girl and cried when she left, as though she had lost something precious, something quite valuable to her.
Up to the present, Narcissa had kept the rose, which, she supposed, Hermione had charmed with a lasting effect because it never withered like normal roses do.
Hermione had returned from Romania just a few days ago for a vacation. Narcissa would make sure that her stay in London would be a memorable one.
000000
You are to wear a costume of an angel.
Requirements:
Gossamer wings made of tenshi-bird feathers [charmed for flying]
White dress made of satin
White mask
Any other accessories to bring your costume to life
Hermione brushed away a stray tendril that had fallen on her forehead as she battled her way against the tight-knitted crowd in the streets of Diagon Alley, several shopping bags in tow. She had finally bought everything she needed, and now all she wanted was to sit inside the Three Broomsticks and drink a warm mug of butterbeer.
When she finally reached her destination, she couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief as she plopped down on an empty seat at the bar, dropping her bags on the floor. Madam Rosmerta went over to her and took her order. Hermione gave a smile of thanks as she received her mug of butterbeer.
Just as she was about to take a sip of her drink, a drawling voice said behind her, “So you’re back,”
Somehow the smooth caress of the voice sent small shivers down her spine. She did not turn to look at whom the speaker was, however, just took a dainty swig of her drink before answering.
“Yes, I am back. How is Narcissa?”
Draco Malfoy settled on the empty stool next to her and motioned for the barmaid to take his order. “A glass of firewhiskey, it’s bloody cold today,” he told Rosmerta, who immediately trotted away to prepare his beverage.
“My mum, you say?” Draco then turned to look at her. “She’s quite well, thank you. Quite fit to set up yet another ridiculous ball where she made her own son pick up a piece of paper that said what costume he would wear rather than just let him choose on his own.”
Hermione had the audacity to laugh. She had never known this man to string more than a few words in front of her, much more talk to her normally. Seven years had passed after all; Malfoy wouldn’t still be the same bratty, annoying prat she knew when she was at Hogwarts, would he?
“Well, that is only fair, isn’t it?” she asked. “All of us couldn’t choose our costumes. What is yours, anyway?”
“Here’s your order, sir,” Rosmerta had returned with the glass of firewhiskey on her hand, then disappeared once more to assist her other costumers. Draco took a long swallow of his drink, while Hermione had the opportunity to check out how he had turned out in the past seven years. Not that she really did want to check him out.
He was no longer the pale, skinny boy with the pointed chin and the cold gray eyes. Rather, his body built was more on the lean and muscular side, making the black sweater he was wearing cling nicely to his chest and arms. Yes, his skin was still on the pale side, but it accentuated even more his captivating gray eyes and longish pale blonde hair that touched his shoulders.
He had turned out quite handsomely, she must admit, and suddenly she felt her heart jump into her throat when he turned to look at her with those intense eyes.
“Zorro,” he said, and she blinked, confused.
“Zorro what?”
“You know, Zorro, the muggle guy who slashes things with his sword the letter Z, his famous mark, or at least that was what my mum told me,” Draco said. “She wouldn’t tell me anything else, said I had to do all the researching on my own,”
“Oh,” Hermione finally understood, and her face burned crimson at her stupidity. How could she lose track of her train of thoughts just because of his gaze?
“So, aren’t you going to help me out?” Draco asked. “I mean, you do know about this Zorro guy, right? Mum also said he was a famous muggle hero,”
“Yes, I do know him,” Hermione said, finally regaining her composure. “And I don’t think you can find his costume here in Diagon Alley,” she added, and Draco suddenly winced.
“We’re going to have to go to the muggle world, aren’t we?” he said, and Hermione slowly nodded. “I thought you were way past bloodlines, judging from the civil conversation you just started with me, Malfoy. Or have you forgotten I am a mudblood?” she asked.
Draco’s lips curled into what seemed like an ironic smile. “Of course I do remember what you are, Granger. But you’re different from those other muggles. You, for one thing, saved my mother,”
Hermione suddenly felt her temper rising for some unknown reason. “Is that it, then? You’re only talking to me because I saved your mother? Well, I do not need your gratitude, Malfoy.”
“I know bloody well you don’t,” Draco growled. “You’re too damned proud to accept anything I would offer to you,”
“You never offered anything,” Hermione snapped.
Draco did not respond to her last statement; he seemed taken aback by what he just said.
“You would help me, wouldn’t you?” he asked after a moment’s silence, the previous topic forgotten.
Hermione gave him a sideways glance as she picked up her bags. “Maybe,” she said thoughtfully.
“Aww, c’mon, Granger, I need to have that costume!” Draco whined like a little boy, somehow reminding Hermione of her pale-haired nemesis during her days in Hogwarts.
She stood up and gave him a curious look. “And may I ask why you’re desperate for a muggle costume? I thought you detested balls,” she said, starting towards the exit of the bar. Draco followed her like a puppy would to its owner.
“Mum said she was going to give me a surprise,” Draco answered. “Aren’t you a little too old for surprises?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“This is not just any surprise, Granger,” Draco said agitatedly. “Mum said my whole life would depend on it,”
“I wonder what that would be,” Hermione quipped.
“See, you want to know too, right? Well, you’ll find out if you help me!” Draco exclaimed, his silver eyes alive with emotion. “Can’t you see how I’m in dire need of your assistance? You’ve got to help me, Granger, you’re the only mud--- err, muggle-born witch I can trust to help me,”
“Well…” Hermione took his words to consideration, and thought for a minute. She didn’t do this looking at her companion though, for she knew she would suddenly find herself agreeing to everything he would say because of those captivating silvery eyes.
It wouldn’t hurt to assist him now, would it? Besides, he seemed to have turned out well-at least now he was acting more civilly though still annoying.
“Okay, I’ll help you,” she finally said, and was startled out of her wits when Draco leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks, Granger, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow morning outside Flourish and Blotts.” With that, he seemed to miraculously disappear into the sea of strangers swarming around the place, leaving Hermione staring at the spot where he disappeared, a hand on the cheek he kissed.
Thank-you for Celebrating the Season with Draco and Hermione!
Author: Cenagurl
Title: Untitled
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Harry Potter does not belong to me.
Summary: Hermione Granger helps Draco Malfoy in purchasing his Halloween costume. What chaos could possibly ensue?
Untitled by cenagurl
A/n: Okay, so first of all I would like to apologize to the person whom I offer this request to, because of my unforgivable tardiness (but my computer crashed, so wouldn’t that be sort of a valid reason?). This fic goes out to Camille, and these are her requirements:
Rating(s) you’re willing to write: PG-13 to NC-17
Rating(s) of the fic you want: PG-13 to NC-17
Three things you want your fic to include: 1. To take place during Halloween and for it to be a masquerade. 2. Make Draco dress up as Zorro (dress Hermione into any costume.) 3. Have some snogging and
all that good stuff >P
Three things you do not want your fic to include: 1. Going too fast, make some kind of -adventures- for them during the preparation. 2. Slutty characters.
Anything specific that you do not want to write: Don't make it too boring, I want some adventure! Steal other plots, make your own! No fully light fiction, I want something dark, man. >P
Well, I hope I have met at least half of your expectations. =) Read on…
Harry Potter and its characters do not belong to me, by the way.
000000
You are invited to a Halloween Ball this coming October 30th at Malfoy Manor. The costume you are to wear is found in a separate parchment enclosed with this invitation. Please keep in mind to wear the exact costume, so nobody in the celebration would be wearing the same outfit.
The ball would start at exactly eight o’clock, so please be on time because latecomers would not be allowed entrance.
We are hoping to see you on the said event.
Narcissa Malfoy
The graceful form of Narcissa Malfoy crossed the threshold of her luxurious bedroom into the balcony overlooking the well-trimmed garden below, her long mane of pale blonde hair swaying daintily with each movement. She scanned the parchment in her hand with meticulous blue eyes, trying to see if its contents looked suspicious or questionable.
She knew the girl was intelligent, and she didn’t want her apprehensive of her plans.
She read the letter again and again until she was satisfied, then walked back to her bedroom where she placed the piece of parchment in an envelope, sealed it with the Malfoy mark, and called for a house-elf to bring it to the manor’s owlery.
“But mistress, all the owls have been used up in sending the other invitations already, and not one has returned yet,” said Twinky, looking a little anxious. Even though almost seven years had passed since the war, she was still not quite used to the changes in the manor since Lucius Malfoy had passed away. Thankfully, her former master’s wife and son had not been as cruel as he was. In fact, they had been very kind, almost treating them like equals.
“It’s quite alright, Twinky, you wouldn’t mind waiting there until an owl comes back, would you?” Narcissa asked, and the elf quickly said, “Of course not mistress, Twinky would be going there now to do what mistress wants!” and with a small cracking sound, the elf disappeared, leaving Narcissa alone in her room once more.
She slowly walked towards her bed and sat down on the side, her hand moving towards the drawer of her bedside table to bring out a red rose encased in a glass box, which she gazed at with overwhelming emotions visible in her eyes.
She couldn’t help but give a bittersweet smile as she ran an idle finger on the cool surface of the glass. The memory of what happened seven years ago drifted into her mind, making her heart pang with pain, her insides curl with disgust and hatred. But as she gazed at the rose once more, the negative feeling seemed to fade away, replaced with hope and faith.
It was pretty hard to believe, but an enemy had saved her. A mudblood, no less. Narcissa had been locked away in Voldemort’s mansion then, as a punishment for Lucius’ failure and Draco’s treachery. It had been all her fault. After Lucius’ death, the Dark Lord had begun to treat them differently. He wanted to use Draco with his plans, but Narcissa wouldn’t let him. Lord Voldemort was not a man to be crossed, so he had her beaten up to submission that she give permission to use her own son as a pawn for his evil campaign.
But Draco did not let himself be used. He had tried to escape with his mother to seek protection from the Order, but his mother was captured while he almost died from the curses impaled upon him.
Narcissa then spent weeks in a dungeon, occasionally visited by her husband’s so-called friends to receive yet another round of beating, and sometimes, even rape. She had wished then and there that she would just die, but then her savior arrived in the form of a young lady named Hermione Granger.
She had been brought inside the dungeons a prisoner like her. But she did not look as bad as Narcissa did; her robes were torn in several places, and there was a long gash at the side of her face, but other than that, she looked fine.
Narcissa saw her doe brown eyes fill up with tears as they looked at each other. Then, the girl whispered in a tender voice, “What have they done to you?” as she crumpled down in front of her.
Narcissa felt her heart contract as she stared at the weeping girl in front of her. A mudblood was crying for her… she felt the warm liquid of her tears brimming up her eyes, then rolling into rivulets down her cheeks.
Without giving a damn about their bloodlines, their differences, and their social statuses, Narcissa reached over and hugged the girl as tightly as she could, finally letting out all the emotions she had been bottling inside her for the past weeks in the cold, dark dungeon.
After that, they had become very close; Narcissa had someone to lean on to during those hard times, and since then, she had found the will to live again. The girl was a very optimistic person, always assuring her that there are many people who care for them outside the Dark Lord’s manor, probably walking that instant to Voldemort’s lair to take them away.
Narcissa never lost faith in her. Then, one day, as she promised, the people who loved them came over to take them away, fighting to the death. That was the moment the prophecy came to life; nobody lives while the other survives. Yes, the Boy who Lived had finally defeated the Dark Lord, and everyone was saved.
Narcissa remembered clearly how her son came running to him during their reunion, his face streaked with tears as he enfolded her in his arms, apologizing again and again for not coming sooner. She saw Hermione looking at them with a smile on her face, and suddenly, a very odd yet brilliant idea came into her mind.
She was about to prod further into that idea when she fainted from exhaustion.
She awoke back into their manor, her son seeing to her every need. It was the first time she been that close to her son, and since then, their bond had grown stronger. One day, as Draco was bringing in her breakfast (he wouldn’t let the house elves take care of her), she told him, “I want to see Hermione.”
The boy looked confused for a moment, then he remembered how the mudblood had helped her mother during her days of imprisonment in Voldemort’s dungeons. “Alright, mother.” He responded, then immediately sent an owl to the girl telling of his mother’s wish.
The girl had come the next day, and Narcissa was ever so happy for her company.
“I can see you’re doing fine, Narcissa,” Hermione said, taking a seat beside her bed. “After all, it has been almost three weeks,”
They had talked for a long time, asking about each other’s welfares, and Narcissa found out that Hermione would soon be leaving the country for a job assignment in Romania. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss; after all, it had been a long time since she had a close companion like Hermione, who had become like a daughter to her.
Before the girl left, she gave Narcissa the rose, saying, “You are a rose, Narcissa. You will keep fighting with your thorns, no matter how difficult the challenges are. You will stay beautiful and graceful. Always keep that in mind; you are a rose.”
Narcissa then embraced the girl and cried when she left, as though she had lost something precious, something quite valuable to her.
Up to the present, Narcissa had kept the rose, which, she supposed, Hermione had charmed with a lasting effect because it never withered like normal roses do.
Hermione had returned from Romania just a few days ago for a vacation. Narcissa would make sure that her stay in London would be a memorable one.
000000
You are to wear a costume of an angel.
Requirements:
Gossamer wings made of tenshi-bird feathers [charmed for flying]
White dress made of satin
White mask
Any other accessories to bring your costume to life
Hermione brushed away a stray tendril that had fallen on her forehead as she battled her way against the tight-knitted crowd in the streets of Diagon Alley, several shopping bags in tow. She had finally bought everything she needed, and now all she wanted was to sit inside the Three Broomsticks and drink a warm mug of butterbeer.
When she finally reached her destination, she couldn’t help but heave a sigh of relief as she plopped down on an empty seat at the bar, dropping her bags on the floor. Madam Rosmerta went over to her and took her order. Hermione gave a smile of thanks as she received her mug of butterbeer.
Just as she was about to take a sip of her drink, a drawling voice said behind her, “So you’re back,”
Somehow the smooth caress of the voice sent small shivers down her spine. She did not turn to look at whom the speaker was, however, just took a dainty swig of her drink before answering.
“Yes, I am back. How is Narcissa?”
Draco Malfoy settled on the empty stool next to her and motioned for the barmaid to take his order. “A glass of firewhiskey, it’s bloody cold today,” he told Rosmerta, who immediately trotted away to prepare his beverage.
“My mum, you say?” Draco then turned to look at her. “She’s quite well, thank you. Quite fit to set up yet another ridiculous ball where she made her own son pick up a piece of paper that said what costume he would wear rather than just let him choose on his own.”
Hermione had the audacity to laugh. She had never known this man to string more than a few words in front of her, much more talk to her normally. Seven years had passed after all; Malfoy wouldn’t still be the same bratty, annoying prat she knew when she was at Hogwarts, would he?
“Well, that is only fair, isn’t it?” she asked. “All of us couldn’t choose our costumes. What is yours, anyway?”
“Here’s your order, sir,” Rosmerta had returned with the glass of firewhiskey on her hand, then disappeared once more to assist her other costumers. Draco took a long swallow of his drink, while Hermione had the opportunity to check out how he had turned out in the past seven years. Not that she really did want to check him out.
He was no longer the pale, skinny boy with the pointed chin and the cold gray eyes. Rather, his body built was more on the lean and muscular side, making the black sweater he was wearing cling nicely to his chest and arms. Yes, his skin was still on the pale side, but it accentuated even more his captivating gray eyes and longish pale blonde hair that touched his shoulders.
He had turned out quite handsomely, she must admit, and suddenly she felt her heart jump into her throat when he turned to look at her with those intense eyes.
“Zorro,” he said, and she blinked, confused.
“Zorro what?”
“You know, Zorro, the muggle guy who slashes things with his sword the letter Z, his famous mark, or at least that was what my mum told me,” Draco said. “She wouldn’t tell me anything else, said I had to do all the researching on my own,”
“Oh,” Hermione finally understood, and her face burned crimson at her stupidity. How could she lose track of her train of thoughts just because of his gaze?
“So, aren’t you going to help me out?” Draco asked. “I mean, you do know about this Zorro guy, right? Mum also said he was a famous muggle hero,”
“Yes, I do know him,” Hermione said, finally regaining her composure. “And I don’t think you can find his costume here in Diagon Alley,” she added, and Draco suddenly winced.
“We’re going to have to go to the muggle world, aren’t we?” he said, and Hermione slowly nodded. “I thought you were way past bloodlines, judging from the civil conversation you just started with me, Malfoy. Or have you forgotten I am a mudblood?” she asked.
Draco’s lips curled into what seemed like an ironic smile. “Of course I do remember what you are, Granger. But you’re different from those other muggles. You, for one thing, saved my mother,”
Hermione suddenly felt her temper rising for some unknown reason. “Is that it, then? You’re only talking to me because I saved your mother? Well, I do not need your gratitude, Malfoy.”
“I know bloody well you don’t,” Draco growled. “You’re too damned proud to accept anything I would offer to you,”
“You never offered anything,” Hermione snapped.
Draco did not respond to her last statement; he seemed taken aback by what he just said.
“You would help me, wouldn’t you?” he asked after a moment’s silence, the previous topic forgotten.
Hermione gave him a sideways glance as she picked up her bags. “Maybe,” she said thoughtfully.
“Aww, c’mon, Granger, I need to have that costume!” Draco whined like a little boy, somehow reminding Hermione of her pale-haired nemesis during her days in Hogwarts.
She stood up and gave him a curious look. “And may I ask why you’re desperate for a muggle costume? I thought you detested balls,” she said, starting towards the exit of the bar. Draco followed her like a puppy would to its owner.
“Mum said she was going to give me a surprise,” Draco answered. “Aren’t you a little too old for surprises?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“This is not just any surprise, Granger,” Draco said agitatedly. “Mum said my whole life would depend on it,”
“I wonder what that would be,” Hermione quipped.
“See, you want to know too, right? Well, you’ll find out if you help me!” Draco exclaimed, his silver eyes alive with emotion. “Can’t you see how I’m in dire need of your assistance? You’ve got to help me, Granger, you’re the only mud--- err, muggle-born witch I can trust to help me,”
“Well…” Hermione took his words to consideration, and thought for a minute. She didn’t do this looking at her companion though, for she knew she would suddenly find herself agreeing to everything he would say because of those captivating silvery eyes.
It wouldn’t hurt to assist him now, would it? Besides, he seemed to have turned out well-at least now he was acting more civilly though still annoying.
“Okay, I’ll help you,” she finally said, and was startled out of her wits when Draco leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks, Granger, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow morning outside Flourish and Blotts.” With that, he seemed to miraculously disappear into the sea of strangers swarming around the place, leaving Hermione staring at the spot where he disappeared, a hand on the cheek he kissed.
Thank-you for Celebrating the Season with Draco and Hermione!