of a future that can never be.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger
Prompts: 04. dancing with the devil & 08. miracle & 027. opportunity
Word Count: 1742
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Warning: Messy writing.
Notes: Written for Written for 500themes & quill-it & fanfic50. Prompt tables are here & here & here.
-
Looking around the room, Hermione allowed herself one deep breath. The grand ballroom, which had been charmed to look even more alluring, with a night-sky ceiling inspired by Hogwarts’ Great Hall, was filled to the absolute brim with people. Though it looked significantly less crowded with the endless ceiling, Hermione could feel the slight fringes of claustrophobia inching towards her. The edges of the room were lined with circular tables for the guests, filling inwards until all that was left was the dance floor.
After blinking rapidly in successions of three, Hermione forced her mind to calm down. Rather reluctantly, her mind slowed down just enough for her to confirm the table number. 37. She repeated this internally three times just to be sure.
As nonchalantly as earthly possible, Hermione began her trek to the other side. After passing table 5, she was feeling pretty good about her façade. By the time she marched past 23, her confidence wavered slightly. What if they were all watching her? Oh God forbid - what if someone found out? Her nerves calmed somewhat after she passed 35, then 36, and by the time she finally reached table 37, she was everything her normally composed self was. In one second she took in the people sitting around the table.
Five seats out of the ten had already been taken, with a couple sitting together and three men sitting rather awkwardly in the presence of the former. For a moment Hermione thought she recognized the girl under the silver, feathery mask and lavender dress as someone she might have gone to Hogwarts with, but brushed it aside as nothing. Tonight was not about reminiscing and catching up with old school buddies. She had all the time in the world for that - just not now.
Just as that thought exited her mind, she picked him out from the three. Even under his unpresuming mask, she would be able to recognize his physique, persona and just general aura anywhere. When her eyes moved away from the mask shielding his face from her view, her heart almost stopped. Leaning casually back in the chair, one arm dangling over the table an one arm by his chair, was Malfoy. But it wasn’t even that that caught her attention. It was the three piece suit that he currently wore that absolutely stole her breath away.
She would never tell him, of course. To tell him that she absolutely adored it when he dressed up like the aristocrat that he was would have been the absolute surrender. Given, many things would warrant the same outcome; their relationship was simply too precariously balanced to do anything but tiptoe. He must’ve recognized her too, for his smirk grew wider.
Hermione feigned ignorance as she walked to the empty seat next to him.
“Is this seat taken?”
He seemed to snicker inwardly at her attempt, but shook his head to play his part. “Nope. Feel free.”
Hermione obliged.
She had never been really good at acting, per say. There had been times, of course, when skill seemed to appear from nowhere when she had been in dire need of them. There were numerous times during the war when she had convinced everyone around her that she was brave, fearless and all knowledgeable. Then there had been her wedding. She personally thought this one was the best lie of all; she was still surprised that she managed to convince the masses of her absolute bliss when in fact, she had been shattered into a billion irreparable pieces inside. She hoped rather selfishly that tonight would be one of those nights when she suddenly transformed into an A-grade actress.
Matters of acting aside though, her nerves were frying up a storm within.
There were simply too many things that could potentially go wrong that just thinking of them made her heart clench and toes curl. If anyone ever found out, of course, their lives would be over. Their spouses’ lives would be over. Their children’s lives would be over. But it simply couldn’t have been helped; the opportunity had simply been too golden to pass up.
God only knows how much they had already sacrificed. Would it be too much to ask for one, selfish night off? Hermione dared not ask, for she feared the answer. She feared that in her heart, she knew that, yes, it was entirely too much. The argument could be made that they when they made their choice all those years ago, they knew that this would be their future. That there would be no future.
Surprisingly this had been Draco’s idea, written hastily to her in a concealed note. There had been a sense of urgency, and of course, arrogance - but she liked to think that amongst those things, she also felt a sense of longing. In her mind she had played an image of Draco asking her in person, murmuring his wish to slow dance the night away at the Ministry’s Masquerade Ball. Instead of sweet nothings, all she had to show for his yearning were four short words: Masquerade Ball. Table 37.
For years, everything failed to spark her genuine enthusiasm. But upon receiving this note, she had nearly fainted, and with her heart racing two hundred miles an hour, she suddenly felt like a teenage girl in love again. She felt like herself, the version of the past. For a moment she could even feel the spray of the ocean air on her face, a distinct memory of them.
It was July, right after the war. In the confusion of things, they had slipped away, towards their last chance together. She knew it, he knew it. For the duration of the war, they had refrained from naming the future. But they both knew that any future they had could not contain the other. It was supposed to be their last selfish endeavor together, and by silent consensus, they had chosen a small, uninhabited island in the Mediterranean.
Reality caught up with her then, where a masked Draco was attempting to make friendly small talk. She carried on the conversation in the most nonchalant way she knew how, trying to forget the eagerness in her heart for the dancing to start. Despite his façade and mask, she could sense it in him, too. This friendly chat served as nothing than a time killer. And what they had less than anything in this world was time.
After what seemed like an eternity of useless banter between the two ‘strangers’, the candles around the room finally dimmed into nearly nothing. Some masked person near the front announced some burble Hermione didn’t bother listening to for her heart was already bursting with the mixture of excitement and disappointment of the inevitable.
Draco murmured something quietly to her. Startled by the change in tone, she focused her entire attention on him. “Pardon me - what did you say?”
Through his mask, she saw the hazy pools of gray soften as he asked again. “Will you dance with me?”
Her heart fluttered despite herself, despite the fact that this was what she was doing here in the first place. Gingerly, she placed her fingers in his outstretched hands. “I’d love to.”
It was only when they were on the dance floor and within inches of each other did she realize belatedly that they were matching. She had chosen a dark, purple dress on a whim, and by some chance he had chosen the same shade to accent his black suit. Instead of making her feel amused, it only served as heartbreak for her to know that they were compatible even when they didn’t try.
Their first few steps they took together were sore, cold, and altogether clumsy. Mixed with their long absence from each other was the preoccupied state of each’s mind. Hermione was busy making sure that their façade held up and Draco was busy being in denial over the intensity of his feelings.
Only after the first song had ended, and the lights dimmed even more did both their guards’ drop. Although paranoia had probably been their only enemy in the first moments, neither was willing to take the risk. It settled their war-fed paranoia but more importantly, their guilty conscious over having something so real and unattainable.
Convinced that one conversation and song was enough for an unacquainted couple to become handy, Draco subtly tugged Hermione closer. In truth, Hermione didn’t even notice, but her body, even through the long absence was accustomed to his. The action of leaning into his embrace was as second nature to her as breathing was.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Hermione shivered at the husky tone of his voice - she’d forgotten how much she’d missed it. How much she missed every part of him.
“Hey, you,” she whispered back.
“It’s been a while.”
She nearly choked. “Yeah…six years.”
Every word was like a thorn through her heart. She felt like sobbing here, a mixture of her joy at being in his arms once more and the sorrow of not knowing whether it will ever happen again. But she held back. Tonight was not about tears. She had the rest of her life for that. Tonight, for this and the next hour only, they were able to be unconditionally and incandescently happy. For the next while, they refrained from talking. There was so much to be said and too little ways suitable of communicating everything. Hermione had always loved studying language, but here, she knew that no words could ever suffice. Ron had once said that actions speak louder than words, and unconsciously, she tightened her clutch on him.
They continued like this, masked, unaware, holding onto each other tightly. Suspiciously, the DJ played only slow songs to which they swayed along softly to, never once parting. If anyone had suspicious as to why they were so attached, they simply assumed they were a real couple. The chemistry, even amidst the disguise and darkness could not be hidden. Like this, they were perfect. Like this, the restraints that kept them apart and were still keeping them apart ceased to be real; for the moment, this was reality.
She blinked her eyes shut. Tomorrow, she would again be Hermione Granger Weasley, and he the aristocrat with a gorgeous wife and flawless child. This wasn’t meant to last, but for now, she would forget the future.
Quietly, she thanked God for small miracles.
Characters: Draco Malfoy & Hermione Granger
Prompts: 04. dancing with the devil & 08. miracle & 027. opportunity
Word Count: 1742
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Warning: Messy writing.
Notes: Written for Written for 500themes & quill-it & fanfic50. Prompt tables are here & here & here.
-
Looking around the room, Hermione allowed herself one deep breath. The grand ballroom, which had been charmed to look even more alluring, with a night-sky ceiling inspired by Hogwarts’ Great Hall, was filled to the absolute brim with people. Though it looked significantly less crowded with the endless ceiling, Hermione could feel the slight fringes of claustrophobia inching towards her. The edges of the room were lined with circular tables for the guests, filling inwards until all that was left was the dance floor.
After blinking rapidly in successions of three, Hermione forced her mind to calm down. Rather reluctantly, her mind slowed down just enough for her to confirm the table number. 37. She repeated this internally three times just to be sure.
As nonchalantly as earthly possible, Hermione began her trek to the other side. After passing table 5, she was feeling pretty good about her façade. By the time she marched past 23, her confidence wavered slightly. What if they were all watching her? Oh God forbid - what if someone found out? Her nerves calmed somewhat after she passed 35, then 36, and by the time she finally reached table 37, she was everything her normally composed self was. In one second she took in the people sitting around the table.
Five seats out of the ten had already been taken, with a couple sitting together and three men sitting rather awkwardly in the presence of the former. For a moment Hermione thought she recognized the girl under the silver, feathery mask and lavender dress as someone she might have gone to Hogwarts with, but brushed it aside as nothing. Tonight was not about reminiscing and catching up with old school buddies. She had all the time in the world for that - just not now.
Just as that thought exited her mind, she picked him out from the three. Even under his unpresuming mask, she would be able to recognize his physique, persona and just general aura anywhere. When her eyes moved away from the mask shielding his face from her view, her heart almost stopped. Leaning casually back in the chair, one arm dangling over the table an one arm by his chair, was Malfoy. But it wasn’t even that that caught her attention. It was the three piece suit that he currently wore that absolutely stole her breath away.
She would never tell him, of course. To tell him that she absolutely adored it when he dressed up like the aristocrat that he was would have been the absolute surrender. Given, many things would warrant the same outcome; their relationship was simply too precariously balanced to do anything but tiptoe. He must’ve recognized her too, for his smirk grew wider.
Hermione feigned ignorance as she walked to the empty seat next to him.
“Is this seat taken?”
He seemed to snicker inwardly at her attempt, but shook his head to play his part. “Nope. Feel free.”
Hermione obliged.
She had never been really good at acting, per say. There had been times, of course, when skill seemed to appear from nowhere when she had been in dire need of them. There were numerous times during the war when she had convinced everyone around her that she was brave, fearless and all knowledgeable. Then there had been her wedding. She personally thought this one was the best lie of all; she was still surprised that she managed to convince the masses of her absolute bliss when in fact, she had been shattered into a billion irreparable pieces inside. She hoped rather selfishly that tonight would be one of those nights when she suddenly transformed into an A-grade actress.
Matters of acting aside though, her nerves were frying up a storm within.
There were simply too many things that could potentially go wrong that just thinking of them made her heart clench and toes curl. If anyone ever found out, of course, their lives would be over. Their spouses’ lives would be over. Their children’s lives would be over. But it simply couldn’t have been helped; the opportunity had simply been too golden to pass up.
God only knows how much they had already sacrificed. Would it be too much to ask for one, selfish night off? Hermione dared not ask, for she feared the answer. She feared that in her heart, she knew that, yes, it was entirely too much. The argument could be made that they when they made their choice all those years ago, they knew that this would be their future. That there would be no future.
Surprisingly this had been Draco’s idea, written hastily to her in a concealed note. There had been a sense of urgency, and of course, arrogance - but she liked to think that amongst those things, she also felt a sense of longing. In her mind she had played an image of Draco asking her in person, murmuring his wish to slow dance the night away at the Ministry’s Masquerade Ball. Instead of sweet nothings, all she had to show for his yearning were four short words: Masquerade Ball. Table 37.
For years, everything failed to spark her genuine enthusiasm. But upon receiving this note, she had nearly fainted, and with her heart racing two hundred miles an hour, she suddenly felt like a teenage girl in love again. She felt like herself, the version of the past. For a moment she could even feel the spray of the ocean air on her face, a distinct memory of them.
It was July, right after the war. In the confusion of things, they had slipped away, towards their last chance together. She knew it, he knew it. For the duration of the war, they had refrained from naming the future. But they both knew that any future they had could not contain the other. It was supposed to be their last selfish endeavor together, and by silent consensus, they had chosen a small, uninhabited island in the Mediterranean.
Reality caught up with her then, where a masked Draco was attempting to make friendly small talk. She carried on the conversation in the most nonchalant way she knew how, trying to forget the eagerness in her heart for the dancing to start. Despite his façade and mask, she could sense it in him, too. This friendly chat served as nothing than a time killer. And what they had less than anything in this world was time.
After what seemed like an eternity of useless banter between the two ‘strangers’, the candles around the room finally dimmed into nearly nothing. Some masked person near the front announced some burble Hermione didn’t bother listening to for her heart was already bursting with the mixture of excitement and disappointment of the inevitable.
Draco murmured something quietly to her. Startled by the change in tone, she focused her entire attention on him. “Pardon me - what did you say?”
Through his mask, she saw the hazy pools of gray soften as he asked again. “Will you dance with me?”
Her heart fluttered despite herself, despite the fact that this was what she was doing here in the first place. Gingerly, she placed her fingers in his outstretched hands. “I’d love to.”
It was only when they were on the dance floor and within inches of each other did she realize belatedly that they were matching. She had chosen a dark, purple dress on a whim, and by some chance he had chosen the same shade to accent his black suit. Instead of making her feel amused, it only served as heartbreak for her to know that they were compatible even when they didn’t try.
Their first few steps they took together were sore, cold, and altogether clumsy. Mixed with their long absence from each other was the preoccupied state of each’s mind. Hermione was busy making sure that their façade held up and Draco was busy being in denial over the intensity of his feelings.
Only after the first song had ended, and the lights dimmed even more did both their guards’ drop. Although paranoia had probably been their only enemy in the first moments, neither was willing to take the risk. It settled their war-fed paranoia but more importantly, their guilty conscious over having something so real and unattainable.
Convinced that one conversation and song was enough for an unacquainted couple to become handy, Draco subtly tugged Hermione closer. In truth, Hermione didn’t even notice, but her body, even through the long absence was accustomed to his. The action of leaning into his embrace was as second nature to her as breathing was.
“Hey,” he whispered.
Hermione shivered at the husky tone of his voice - she’d forgotten how much she’d missed it. How much she missed every part of him.
“Hey, you,” she whispered back.
“It’s been a while.”
She nearly choked. “Yeah…six years.”
Every word was like a thorn through her heart. She felt like sobbing here, a mixture of her joy at being in his arms once more and the sorrow of not knowing whether it will ever happen again. But she held back. Tonight was not about tears. She had the rest of her life for that. Tonight, for this and the next hour only, they were able to be unconditionally and incandescently happy. For the next while, they refrained from talking. There was so much to be said and too little ways suitable of communicating everything. Hermione had always loved studying language, but here, she knew that no words could ever suffice. Ron had once said that actions speak louder than words, and unconsciously, she tightened her clutch on him.
They continued like this, masked, unaware, holding onto each other tightly. Suspiciously, the DJ played only slow songs to which they swayed along softly to, never once parting. If anyone had suspicious as to why they were so attached, they simply assumed they were a real couple. The chemistry, even amidst the disguise and darkness could not be hidden. Like this, they were perfect. Like this, the restraints that kept them apart and were still keeping them apart ceased to be real; for the moment, this was reality.
She blinked her eyes shut. Tomorrow, she would again be Hermione Granger Weasley, and he the aristocrat with a gorgeous wife and flawless child. This wasn’t meant to last, but for now, she would forget the future.
Quietly, she thanked God for small miracles.