Sunday Night Fic
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry, but no.”
“Why not?” he wailed, throwing his hands up in frustration. He kept getting the same damn answer.
“Draco, please. Even you should know the reason why your suggestion is ludicrous.” She looked down her nose at him, a reminder that he was slouching again. He stood up straight but found that he still had to look up in order to meet her eyes.
Damn Pansy and her habit of wearing heels, he thought. Don’t know why she bothers. Witches don’t need to be tall after all.
“I mean, think of it Draco. I need to wear at least three-inch heels in order for my robes to hang right on me. If I went with you to the ball, I would simply tower over you.”
“You wouldn’t tower over me,” he groused. “I’m not that short.”
The look she shot him told him that she wasn’t in any mood to put up with his tantrums or his delusions. “You’re the shortest boy in our year, Draco,” she told him primly. “Even Longbottom is taller than you. Have you thought of asking one of the younger witches? Maybe someone from fourth year would suit you.”
Draco blanched. There was no way he was going to the last ball of his Hogwarts career accompanied by some twit of a fourth year. Or a fifth year, for that matter. Unfortunately, it seemed like every sixth and seventh year witch would be taller than him, especially if they decided to wear heels.
Every witch, except one that was.
Draco watched Pansy saunter away with a mournful expression on his face. Once she was out of sight, he went back to slouching and leaned against the wall of the alcove he was in. Life wasn’t fair. It irked him that he was so short. It was hard to order Crabbe and Goyle around when they loomed over him the way they did. Sometimes they pretended as though they couldn’t hear him, and he knew that was simply an act they put on to irritate him. Potter was taller than Draco now as well, and blast it, his added height didn’t slow the bastard down in Quidditch. It didn’t seem right that Weasley shot up like a weed while he was a mere five foot ten and that was only when he stood up on his toes. Which wasn’t cheating, no matter what that fool of a Mediwitch who was lucky to have been hired on by Hogwarts said. By all rights, he should have been the tall one, seeing how he never had to fight for his meals like Weasley must have.
But no, that wasn’t how things were. He was the shortest wizard in his year, and that made it damn hard to find a single witch willing to accompany him to the ball. They looked past his fortune and his classic good looks, and instead focused on his stature, or lack thereof. None of the witches he had asked were willing to go with a wizard shorter than her, even though he had wheedled and pleaded and all but begged. He had even suffered the ignominy of being turned down by Millicent Bulstrode. Evidently she would rather go with Goyle, who resembled an ogre, than a dashing bloke like himself.
He sighed. There were only two options left to him. The first was to go to the ball alone. He winced as he imagined the insults and slurs that would come his way. However, his second option was, in a way, even worse.
That was because the only witch who wouldn’t tower over him in heels was Hermione Granger.
There were countless reasons why she was a bad idea, even if he put aside the fact that she was a Muggle-born and a know-it-all. First, there were her friends. None of them would like it if he approached her, but then he supposed he wasn’t going to let himself get scared off by the mere thought of Potter and Weasley beating him bloody. Then there was her tongue. She had an acidic, biting wit that rivaled only Professor Snape’s. He had been on the wrong side of her tongue on more than one occasion, and he couldn’t fathom how he would make it through the evening if he had to listen to her insult just about everything about him. Finally, that witch was infamously bossy and opinionated. Given all of that, it wasn’t any wonder that no wizard at Hogwarts had the balls to approach her.
That was the only bright side, he supposed. The fact that he knew for certain that she still didn’t have a date for the ball. Of course, there was also her figure. In addition to being shorter than him, her figure was curvy in a way that his mother would term unfashionable but that he personally found appealing. And though she was a shrew, Draco would rather be sniping at her all evening than have to put up with some tart slobbering all over him. When he thought about it that way, his decision was all but made for him. He uttered a sigh as he launched himself away from the sanctuary of the alcove and towards the library, where Granger undoubtedly was to be found.
It did see to him that he had no real choice in the matter. After all, for ages a small voice inside of him had been telling him that there was no way Draco could live up to his father’s image. He didn’t have the same presence his father had, and people didn’t jump to attention when he entered a room. He wasn’t as tall as his father was, and despite his mother’s constant reassurances that he would eventually grow, Draco had long given up hope of ever attaining his father’s height. Now he was going to ask a damn Mudblood to be his date to the ball while Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t have bothered to even give the time of day to one. So it felt a bit like fate for him to fall so far from his father’s standards as he was only half the man his father was.
He found Granger in her usual corner, surrounded by stacks and stacks of books. Her friends were not to be seen, as the two of them tended to avoid the library like the plague particularly if there were any exams or essays due in the next month. He cleared his throat, hoping to get her attention.
It didn’t work.
He tried again, but still she ignored him in favor of the massive tome that she was reading. Impatient, he reached out and tapped her shoulder. “Oi Granger,” he said loudly to ensure that she wouldn’t continue to ignore him.
“What?” She looked up from her book, eyes blinking as she focused on who had disturbed her. “Oh it’s you,” she said, wrinkling her nose as though in disgust. “No,” she said and went back to her book.
“What?”
She looked up again. “I said, no, Malfoy. Isn’t that word in your vocabulary? If not then I suggest you check out a dictionary. Ask Madam Pince if you don’t know how to find them.”
“I know perfectly well what that word means, Granger. However, I wasn’t aware that I had asked you anything.” Yet, he added silently.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You mean you aren’t here to ask me to go to the ball with you?” His mouth dropped open as he wondered how she could have figured that out. “I thought as much. The answer was no and still is no, Malfoy. I’m not going with you.”
“Why not?” he blurted out. “I know for certain that I’m not too short for you,” he added with a sniff. If he was the shortest wizard of their year, then Granger was the shortest witch.
“Tactful you’re not. Ever consider that you would have an easier time of convincing a witch to accompany you if you were a bit more charming?” she asked. “Now will you go away? There’s a potions exam in three weeks, and I am behind in revising for it.”
“Let me guess. You’ve only read through the material twice.” Draco rolled his eyes. Some things would never change. Granger would always be a swot. “Come on, Granger. You don’t want to go alone. Think of how dreadful it’ll be to watch Potter and Weasley play tonsil quidditch with each other all night long.”
“There’s that charming personality of yours again,” she snapped. “Is it any wonder that I don’t want to go with you? You are a git of the first order.”
“Please. If I’m a git, then you’re a nag. Everyone knows the reason that Weasel broke up with you was because he couldn’t stand being ordered around by you any more. Well, that and the fact that you needed a ladder to kiss him.”
“Thank you Malfoy for reminding me how I’m too much of a shrew for even a Weasley to handle. I’d just about forgotten how Ron shouted that in front of the entire school.” She glared furiously at him, and he was surprised to her eyes brimming with tears. “Poor little Malfoy. You’re so used to getting whatever it is you want. It’s about time you learned that you can’t always get what you want. If you could…well, then you’d be tall and I’d be beautiful and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“But you are beautiful,” he said before he could stop himself. He found it unfathomable how Granger could even consider herself to be unattractive.
“Oh very funny. Now that you’ve had your laugh at my expense, you can get going,” she retorted.
“No,” said Draco and he took the seat next to her. Like it or not, Granger was his last resort and he wasn’t going to be dismissed so summarily. “Think about it, Granger,” he said, his voice taking on a honeyed tone. “No one else can stand us. We’re perfect for each other.”
She shot him a look of horror. “Dear Merlin, Malfoy. Is this how you compliment witches? I now know why you haven’t found a date yet.”
“It’s because they’re all prejudiced against vertically-challenged wizards,” he said, folding his arms up in a huff. “It’s not fair. Aside from that, I’m everything a witch could ever dream of.”
“Yes, and once again you prove that you don’t inhabit the same reality that the rest of us do. The answer remains no, Malfoy, and it will no matter how much you beg and plead.”
“Malfoys don’t beg,” he told her sharply. He considered what he had said and decided to throw that standard of his father out as well. “Please, please,” he begged. “I’ll be the perfect date. I’ll dance with you as often as you want, and I won’t step on your feet at all. So please.”
“And here I thought Malfoys didn’t beg.”
“I’m not begging. I’m just asking you to reconsider your answer.” He slumped down in his seat. He knew that she was just going to tell him no yet again. It was hopeless. He was always going to be a disappointment to his family. “I wish I was more like my father,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Why?”
He looked up at her in shock. “What do you mean why? My father would never be in this situation. He would have witches throwing themselves at his feet, begging him to take them along. He certainly wouldn’t ever resort to having to ask a Mudblood to go with him.”
“That’s Muggle-born,” she told him.
“Trust me, to my father, it’s not.”
“All right,” she said. Somehow it didn’t make him feel better that she agreed that his father was a much superior wizard than him. He got up on his feet, prepared to make the trek back to the Slytherin dorms. Hopefully none of his house mates would ever learn how far he had fallen.
“So what time should I expect you?”
“What?” His jaw dropped as he turned around to face her. “What the hell are you talking about, Granger?”
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly! Why are wizards always this slow? I just told you that I would go with you. So what time will you be picking me up? Or are you going to insist on me going down to the dungeons to meet you? That’s hardly being the perfect date, I might add.”
“When did you say yes?” he asked as he mentally rewound the last several minutes. No where in the space of time that they were talking did Granger tell him anything remotely like that.
That earned him another roll of her eyes. “Yes, well, I thought I’d give you a chance. Seeing how you are the only wizard who had the balls to ask me after all.” She offered him a small smile, which lit up her face and made her ten times prettier.
“Oh right,” he stammered. He couldn’t recall her ever smiling at him before. He was stunned at how such a small gesture could make his heart pound so. “Would eight be good?”
“That’s when the ball starts. Seven thirty would be better.”
“Right. Seven thirty then.”
“Good. I’ll see you then. Do be sure to be on time. I do so hate it when people run late.”
“All right.” He turned to walk away, still slightly stunned at the turn of events. He couldn’t believe that he had somehow managed to convince the intractable Gryffindor to go with him. It was a small miracle, really. And though Draco knew that he wasn’t half the man his father was and that his father would never lower himself to be seen with a Mudblood, much less ask one to a ball, he couldn’t help but feel happy. For the first time in a long time, it seemed that things were looking up for him.
Even if he still wasn’t growing up.
“Why not?” he wailed, throwing his hands up in frustration. He kept getting the same damn answer.
“Draco, please. Even you should know the reason why your suggestion is ludicrous.” She looked down her nose at him, a reminder that he was slouching again. He stood up straight but found that he still had to look up in order to meet her eyes.
Damn Pansy and her habit of wearing heels, he thought. Don’t know why she bothers. Witches don’t need to be tall after all.
“I mean, think of it Draco. I need to wear at least three-inch heels in order for my robes to hang right on me. If I went with you to the ball, I would simply tower over you.”
“You wouldn’t tower over me,” he groused. “I’m not that short.”
The look she shot him told him that she wasn’t in any mood to put up with his tantrums or his delusions. “You’re the shortest boy in our year, Draco,” she told him primly. “Even Longbottom is taller than you. Have you thought of asking one of the younger witches? Maybe someone from fourth year would suit you.”
Draco blanched. There was no way he was going to the last ball of his Hogwarts career accompanied by some twit of a fourth year. Or a fifth year, for that matter. Unfortunately, it seemed like every sixth and seventh year witch would be taller than him, especially if they decided to wear heels.
Every witch, except one that was.
Draco watched Pansy saunter away with a mournful expression on his face. Once she was out of sight, he went back to slouching and leaned against the wall of the alcove he was in. Life wasn’t fair. It irked him that he was so short. It was hard to order Crabbe and Goyle around when they loomed over him the way they did. Sometimes they pretended as though they couldn’t hear him, and he knew that was simply an act they put on to irritate him. Potter was taller than Draco now as well, and blast it, his added height didn’t slow the bastard down in Quidditch. It didn’t seem right that Weasley shot up like a weed while he was a mere five foot ten and that was only when he stood up on his toes. Which wasn’t cheating, no matter what that fool of a Mediwitch who was lucky to have been hired on by Hogwarts said. By all rights, he should have been the tall one, seeing how he never had to fight for his meals like Weasley must have.
But no, that wasn’t how things were. He was the shortest wizard in his year, and that made it damn hard to find a single witch willing to accompany him to the ball. They looked past his fortune and his classic good looks, and instead focused on his stature, or lack thereof. None of the witches he had asked were willing to go with a wizard shorter than her, even though he had wheedled and pleaded and all but begged. He had even suffered the ignominy of being turned down by Millicent Bulstrode. Evidently she would rather go with Goyle, who resembled an ogre, than a dashing bloke like himself.
He sighed. There were only two options left to him. The first was to go to the ball alone. He winced as he imagined the insults and slurs that would come his way. However, his second option was, in a way, even worse.
That was because the only witch who wouldn’t tower over him in heels was Hermione Granger.
There were countless reasons why she was a bad idea, even if he put aside the fact that she was a Muggle-born and a know-it-all. First, there were her friends. None of them would like it if he approached her, but then he supposed he wasn’t going to let himself get scared off by the mere thought of Potter and Weasley beating him bloody. Then there was her tongue. She had an acidic, biting wit that rivaled only Professor Snape’s. He had been on the wrong side of her tongue on more than one occasion, and he couldn’t fathom how he would make it through the evening if he had to listen to her insult just about everything about him. Finally, that witch was infamously bossy and opinionated. Given all of that, it wasn’t any wonder that no wizard at Hogwarts had the balls to approach her.
That was the only bright side, he supposed. The fact that he knew for certain that she still didn’t have a date for the ball. Of course, there was also her figure. In addition to being shorter than him, her figure was curvy in a way that his mother would term unfashionable but that he personally found appealing. And though she was a shrew, Draco would rather be sniping at her all evening than have to put up with some tart slobbering all over him. When he thought about it that way, his decision was all but made for him. He uttered a sigh as he launched himself away from the sanctuary of the alcove and towards the library, where Granger undoubtedly was to be found.
It did see to him that he had no real choice in the matter. After all, for ages a small voice inside of him had been telling him that there was no way Draco could live up to his father’s image. He didn’t have the same presence his father had, and people didn’t jump to attention when he entered a room. He wasn’t as tall as his father was, and despite his mother’s constant reassurances that he would eventually grow, Draco had long given up hope of ever attaining his father’s height. Now he was going to ask a damn Mudblood to be his date to the ball while Lucius Malfoy wouldn’t have bothered to even give the time of day to one. So it felt a bit like fate for him to fall so far from his father’s standards as he was only half the man his father was.
He found Granger in her usual corner, surrounded by stacks and stacks of books. Her friends were not to be seen, as the two of them tended to avoid the library like the plague particularly if there were any exams or essays due in the next month. He cleared his throat, hoping to get her attention.
It didn’t work.
He tried again, but still she ignored him in favor of the massive tome that she was reading. Impatient, he reached out and tapped her shoulder. “Oi Granger,” he said loudly to ensure that she wouldn’t continue to ignore him.
“What?” She looked up from her book, eyes blinking as she focused on who had disturbed her. “Oh it’s you,” she said, wrinkling her nose as though in disgust. “No,” she said and went back to her book.
“What?”
She looked up again. “I said, no, Malfoy. Isn’t that word in your vocabulary? If not then I suggest you check out a dictionary. Ask Madam Pince if you don’t know how to find them.”
“I know perfectly well what that word means, Granger. However, I wasn’t aware that I had asked you anything.” Yet, he added silently.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You mean you aren’t here to ask me to go to the ball with you?” His mouth dropped open as he wondered how she could have figured that out. “I thought as much. The answer was no and still is no, Malfoy. I’m not going with you.”
“Why not?” he blurted out. “I know for certain that I’m not too short for you,” he added with a sniff. If he was the shortest wizard of their year, then Granger was the shortest witch.
“Tactful you’re not. Ever consider that you would have an easier time of convincing a witch to accompany you if you were a bit more charming?” she asked. “Now will you go away? There’s a potions exam in three weeks, and I am behind in revising for it.”
“Let me guess. You’ve only read through the material twice.” Draco rolled his eyes. Some things would never change. Granger would always be a swot. “Come on, Granger. You don’t want to go alone. Think of how dreadful it’ll be to watch Potter and Weasley play tonsil quidditch with each other all night long.”
“There’s that charming personality of yours again,” she snapped. “Is it any wonder that I don’t want to go with you? You are a git of the first order.”
“Please. If I’m a git, then you’re a nag. Everyone knows the reason that Weasel broke up with you was because he couldn’t stand being ordered around by you any more. Well, that and the fact that you needed a ladder to kiss him.”
“Thank you Malfoy for reminding me how I’m too much of a shrew for even a Weasley to handle. I’d just about forgotten how Ron shouted that in front of the entire school.” She glared furiously at him, and he was surprised to her eyes brimming with tears. “Poor little Malfoy. You’re so used to getting whatever it is you want. It’s about time you learned that you can’t always get what you want. If you could…well, then you’d be tall and I’d be beautiful and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“But you are beautiful,” he said before he could stop himself. He found it unfathomable how Granger could even consider herself to be unattractive.
“Oh very funny. Now that you’ve had your laugh at my expense, you can get going,” she retorted.
“No,” said Draco and he took the seat next to her. Like it or not, Granger was his last resort and he wasn’t going to be dismissed so summarily. “Think about it, Granger,” he said, his voice taking on a honeyed tone. “No one else can stand us. We’re perfect for each other.”
She shot him a look of horror. “Dear Merlin, Malfoy. Is this how you compliment witches? I now know why you haven’t found a date yet.”
“It’s because they’re all prejudiced against vertically-challenged wizards,” he said, folding his arms up in a huff. “It’s not fair. Aside from that, I’m everything a witch could ever dream of.”
“Yes, and once again you prove that you don’t inhabit the same reality that the rest of us do. The answer remains no, Malfoy, and it will no matter how much you beg and plead.”
“Malfoys don’t beg,” he told her sharply. He considered what he had said and decided to throw that standard of his father out as well. “Please, please,” he begged. “I’ll be the perfect date. I’ll dance with you as often as you want, and I won’t step on your feet at all. So please.”
“And here I thought Malfoys didn’t beg.”
“I’m not begging. I’m just asking you to reconsider your answer.” He slumped down in his seat. He knew that she was just going to tell him no yet again. It was hopeless. He was always going to be a disappointment to his family. “I wish I was more like my father,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Why?”
He looked up at her in shock. “What do you mean why? My father would never be in this situation. He would have witches throwing themselves at his feet, begging him to take them along. He certainly wouldn’t ever resort to having to ask a Mudblood to go with him.”
“That’s Muggle-born,” she told him.
“Trust me, to my father, it’s not.”
“All right,” she said. Somehow it didn’t make him feel better that she agreed that his father was a much superior wizard than him. He got up on his feet, prepared to make the trek back to the Slytherin dorms. Hopefully none of his house mates would ever learn how far he had fallen.
“So what time should I expect you?”
“What?” His jaw dropped as he turned around to face her. “What the hell are you talking about, Granger?”
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly! Why are wizards always this slow? I just told you that I would go with you. So what time will you be picking me up? Or are you going to insist on me going down to the dungeons to meet you? That’s hardly being the perfect date, I might add.”
“When did you say yes?” he asked as he mentally rewound the last several minutes. No where in the space of time that they were talking did Granger tell him anything remotely like that.
That earned him another roll of her eyes. “Yes, well, I thought I’d give you a chance. Seeing how you are the only wizard who had the balls to ask me after all.” She offered him a small smile, which lit up her face and made her ten times prettier.
“Oh right,” he stammered. He couldn’t recall her ever smiling at him before. He was stunned at how such a small gesture could make his heart pound so. “Would eight be good?”
“That’s when the ball starts. Seven thirty would be better.”
“Right. Seven thirty then.”
“Good. I’ll see you then. Do be sure to be on time. I do so hate it when people run late.”
“All right.” He turned to walk away, still slightly stunned at the turn of events. He couldn’t believe that he had somehow managed to convince the intractable Gryffindor to go with him. It was a small miracle, really. And though Draco knew that he wasn’t half the man his father was and that his father would never lower himself to be seen with a Mudblood, much less ask one to a ball, he couldn’t help but feel happy. For the first time in a long time, it seemed that things were looking up for him.
Even if he still wasn’t growing up.