DUET 2: rzzmg
Title: Cupid Made Me Do It(alternatively, “There’s an angel in my ear and a devil in my cup”)
Author: RZZMG
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 5,263words + 563 words for the recipes
Summary: Cupid's a Slytherin with a heart of gold, and he's determined to see one sexist Angel and a certain swotty She-Devil finally use their mouths for a much better purpose than sniping at each other.
Warnings: Insult war (sexist and offensive, because it’s Malfoy and he can’t help himself), pining and ridiculous sexual tension, implied sex in public, HEA.
Author's Note(s):Timeline is 2009 (post-Hogwarts, A/U). To my Duet Partner: I hope this story gives you many warm fuzzies and other such feel goods. Much love to you, dahling! To the Mod, Ningloreth: Once more, thank you for all your hard work on this fantastic fest, a favourite of mine!!!
Ministry of Magic's Halloween Costume Charity Ball
8:23 P.M.
As Hermione enters the vast ballroom, she makes a beeline for the bar, needing to start the evening off on the right foot.
To her delight, the bartender is a good friend: Blaise Zabini is dressed up as Cupid for tonight's event, complete with a silly bow and arrow set slung across his chest. Topless, his skin is oiled and painted in golden fairy dust, and his matching satin pantaloons hang low on his hips. He looks like a love slave with Veela-like wings, quite honestly, more fit for a BDSM dungeon than a Ministry charity event.
"Blaise, I didn't know you were a bartender, too!" she says as she takes a stool in front of him, then feathers through her newer, shorter style that Blaise had given her just that afternoon. “This cut is fantastic, by the way. I love how it makes me feel, so…”
“Naughty and free?” he suggests.
“Exactly.”
She's been his client for the last three years, and over that time, their rapport has been growing by leaps and bounds. It's been a wonder to discover there is more to this silent, talented wizard than just his house affiliation and his close friendship with Draco Malfoy, her irritating co-worker.
"The best hairdresser in all of Britain by day, moonlighting as a mixologist for the Ministry? How very mysterious you are, Mr. Zabini!"
Blaise shrugs one muscular shoulder and flashes a quick grin. "I'm Slytherin," he reminds her with a wink. "We're always full of surprises, Ms. Granger."
"Is that so?" she challenges him with a wicked grin. "Why don't you prove it by making me something as unique and unforgettable as this new haircut? Ply me with a menu of drinks guaranteed to end with my socks being knocked off!"
With a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes, he accepts her challenge.
"I do believe I've got just the thing for you, Ms. Granger…"
Ministry of Magic's Halloween Costume Charity Ball
8:49 P.M.
It begins as it always does between them: with an acknowledgement and an insult.
"Evening, Granger." Malfoy greets her with a bow of his head, taking up his customary place at her side as she hides along the back wall, attempting to blending into the fake greenery. "How goes the dick hustling tonight, you frumpy tart?"
She glances over at him, amused. His costume for tonight's ball is that of an angel-all white tux, shiny white shoes, magical white wings that are, apparently, fully functional. With a mouth like his, though, at least she knows why his halo is conspicuously missing. In his left hand, he carries a tall tumbler that is chilled and filled with a yellow concoction that glows green at the very bottom of the glass-a clever spell, that.
Hermione takes a sip of the cocktail her friendly, neighbourhood hairdresser-cum-bartender has whipped up for her, determined not to give into the whim to hex the other Slytherin in the room with a raging case of herpes. It's far too early in the evening for that sort of a juvenile response, and really she isn't drunk enough to convince M.L.E. it was an accident.
"Hallo, Malfoy," she cheerfully responds instead, still refusing to call him by his given name because she knows it annoys him. "Still seducing the ladies with a forked tongue, I see."
His serpentine smirk is chased by a sexually-suggestive leer. "You meant silver tongue, I'm sure. And if anyone's out to deceive…you're the one dressed like a She-Devil, Granger." He notices the drink in her hand. "I take it Blaise pressed one of his experiments upon you, too?" He shows off his cocktail. "A 'Jekyll and Hyde', he called it."
"Apropos." She holds up her glass. "Sassy Witch's Brew."
"Fitting." He eyes her up and down, his gaze taking time to admire the view. "My, my, but you do love to play naughty for me, don't you?"
The magical costumed horns on her head belch a small flame his way. It's one of the more fun spells she's invented for tonight's gala to deal with the requisite wandering hands and obnoxious mouths that attend these sorts of functions. "Naughty for you? That's the funniest thing I've heard all evening, Malfoy! Thanks for the ha-ha." She turns to assess the crowd of eligible men. There are more than a few faces she already knows, but others she'd like to know a lot better. "Contrary to your absurd and quite comical belief, I didn't dress this way for you. I've a specific agenda tonight."
"Don't you always at these things?" he dryly asks, taking a quick sip of his drink to hide a frown. "Speaking of which-" He leans in as if to impart a secret to her, appearing solemn and earnest in his proposal. "Look, the truth is I just came over here to offer you my services."
She turns her head and gives him a flat stare. "What services would those be exactly-teaching a witch what not to want in a man? Because you excel at that."
"You're the only one who thinks so," he baldly points out, and she knows he's right. The fact is Malfoy's got women crawling all over him, begging for a piece on a regular basis, despite his abysmal character. Apparently, having a boat-load of money is the great cosmetic for a truly deplorable personality. "As I was saying…my services,” he continues. “Tonight I'm feeling magnanimous, Granger, so I'm going to make you an offer you can't possibly refuse."
Hermione sighs and waves at him to get on with what will, indubitably, be a scandalous and ridiculous proposition. The answering grin he gives her is delightfully boyish and positively enchanting, and if she had fewer brain cells in her head she'd fall for it hook, line, and sinker.
"Alright, now listen up because I'm not repeating it," he says, preening as a peacock before her. "For one night only, for absolutely no money down and no contract necessary, I'm willing to save you the embarrassment of having to find and hunt down the elusive trouser snake." He crudely points at his crotch. "I've already got one right here that can fulfill your every dream. Totally free. I'll even throw in all the alcohol you'll need to work up the nerve."
Hermione purses her lips, trying not to laugh in his face. As far as trying it on goes, that one is rather original. "So, let me just understand your pitch," she replies, affecting indifference. "You're offering to ply me with copious amounts of alcohol and once I'm too inebriated to think straight, you're going to allow me a shot at some other witch's sloppy seconds…assuming I don't fall unconscious somewhere in between and make things that much easier for you." She fakes a yawn. "What is this, a bad rerun of 'The Young Ones'?"
His frown indicates he has no idea as to her Muggle reference.
"It's a British television show about idiotic university students," she explains in a conspiratorial whisper.
He blinks as if she's nailed him right in the gut, and gives a long-suffering sigh as if disgusted with her total lack of interest. "Granger, you really know how to stomp a man's grand plans into dust at the same time as grinding his bollocks into meat strips." He tosses back the contents of his drink, finishing off the glass. "No wonder I hate you so."
Now she laughs and turns her attention back to the crowd, eyeing the candy and seeing if there is anyone there who might even remotely catch her attention tonight. "No, you hate me because I'm the one female in England who refuses to fall for your charms, if you could call them that."
"Plenty do," he grouses, looking petulant at her refusal to be impressed. "I'm amazingly appealing to all sorts, you know."
"Yes, especially to small, wriggly animals, I hear."
He sniffs. "Your problem is you're too traditional…and a prude."
"No, I'm foxy and an excellent judge of character."
"Yes, well…" He sighs, twirling the stem of his empty glass between his fingers. "I don't suppose you'd consider lowering your stuck-up standards for a night to aid a fellow charity-dodger deal with his todger?"
"Not for all the tea in Britain."
"Ah, well, your loss, love," he says, sounding not in the least put-out by her rejection.
He is, after all, quite used to it by now. This is a familiar ritual for them, one they'd been having on and off for the last five years or so. It always ends the same, too: he 'flirts' outrageously with her then ducks out with some random woman on his arm, and she, unwilling to be the brunt of jokes about a lack of a sex life come Monday morning, eventually leaves with one of her friends-with-benefits for a Saturday night of vigorous shagging…followed by a Sunday morning filled with hollow excuses and quick goodbyes.
Really, the way she and Malfoy dance around each other at these events and in the office would be comical, if it wasn't so bloody obvious that they both wanted a good, hard go at each other. The problem is Hermione wants more than a one-off with her co-worker. Unfortunately, he's highly allergic to commitment.
Hence the sexual tension with the mean bite.
"Have fun dancing with the greenery," he offers and heads off in the direction of a trio of leggy, model-gorgeous witches who represent the delegation in from Durmstrang.
As he walks away, Hermione tries not to let her disappointment overtly show, or derail her from the plan: she is going home with some man tonight and will lose herself in their sex. After all, that always helps her, at least temporarily, to forget her unrequited feelings for Draco Malfoy.
She finishes off her drink, giving a surprised hum at how pleasant it tastes…and how light it makes her feel by the time she hits the bottom of the glass.
Ministry Halloween Charity Ball
9:41 P.M.
Annnnd he's back.
"Be honest with me, Granger," Malfoy says, eyeing the lovely Norns across the room with something akin to distaste. This time he's drinking something purple out of a Martini glass, chewing on its blackberry and strawberry garnish. "Am I simply being too picky, or are all blondes really that talkative and tedious?"
"You tell me," Hermione replies, giving his perfectly styled hair a significant sideways glance.
He totally ignores the jab, takes a long draw off of the purple concoction in his hand, and then jabbers on. "For Salazar's sake, is it too much to ask for a mouth to be put to a better use?"
"Maybe the problem isn't their mouths."
Waving her off, he whinges on about being shot down. "It's your Muggle feminism infecting our world, Granger. I knew it would be a bad thing."
"You mean for a woman to actually be able to tell you 'no' and you having to respect that? Yes, I can see how that might crimp your style."
"No, I mean, when did it become fashionable to have an interview card for a one-off? A witch does not need to know my entire sexual history to decide to let me take her home!"
"Well, a woman's got to have some standards, Malfoy…"
"To fuck or not to fuck," he growled in a low voice, so as not to be overheard, "that is the only bloody question that matters!"
"Er, I doubt William Shakespeare would approve of the misquote."
With an emphatic finger, he points across the room at the gaggle of giggling, gorgeous ladies. "Don't they understand? The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to me!"
"Technically, the line is 'to yield to it'," she sighs, realizing she's talking to someone totally tone deaf and blinded by his own misogyny. "Listen, Malfoy, maybe their rejection is a sign that it's time for you to hang up your hat and hit the long, green pasture."
Apparently, the cheap shot at his age works to get his attention. He turns his head and glares at her. "Are you implying that I'm old?"
She shrugs.
"If the shoe fits."
He raises an eyebrow at that and takes another sip of his foo-foo girly drink.
She covers a smirk with the lip of her glass. "I'm just pointing out the obvious: that the excitement of pub crawling is usually relegated to those under twenty-five…and it may have escaped your notice, but you're no spring chicken anymore."
He sets his glass down on a nearby passing waiter's tray. "No? Then what's your excuse, since you're technically almost a year older than I am, Ms. Spinster?"
"I am not crawling. I am looking to pull." She takes a sip from her newest alcoholic concoction and has her socks knocked off. Wow, the bartender has really outdone himself this time-tequila and apple cider are a potent combination. "There's quite a difference, you know."
"Do tell."
"Crawling involves drink, drool, and the empty promise of a Floo-call after the fact. Pulling is an art. It requires scoring a willing partner whose conversational skills are not sum-totalled by his ability to simply be able to recite his A-B-Cs and 1-2-3s."
Point made, she takes another sip of her own cocktail and makes a noise of intense enjoyment, drawing Malfoy's full attention. "What is that god-awful looking concoction you're sucking down faster than sperm?" he asks, eyeing her beverage. "It's smoking worse than the last one!"
"What was yours?" she fires back.
"Some ridiculous thing called a 'Good Witch's Heart'. Blaise said I needed one."
Since he he's been so good as to tell her about his drink, she offers hers to him.
"Here, try it."
Swiping it from her hand, he dives in for a taste and hums in approval. "Not bad. What is it?"
"Blaise called it 'Your Mother's Ruin'. Ironically, he said you'd understand what that meant if I told you about it."
He sputters and spits it out all over his shoes.
Her laughter rings through the room, drawing attention to them. Draco does not seem amused as he shoves the glass back at her.
"Come on, it was funny," she offers.
With a wave, he cleans up the mess he's made of his costume. The stains are erased like magic. "You're an evil wench, dressed appropriately for once."
That gives her pause. Is he playing with her? He doesn't seem it. In fact, he looks downright irate. "You're not seriously upset? It was a joke."
He glares at her. "I expect an appropriate apology, Granger."
Hermione opens her mouth, about to offer one…
"If you decide to grovel on your knees, can you suck me while you're down there?" he asks with a hopeful grin.
Rolling her eyes, filing away her intended apology, she takes a large gulp of her drink, trying to keep that particularly yummy vision out of her head. "You're repugnant," she states instead, because she knows it's expected of her.
"You like it." He tosses her a wicked grin. "Regardless of my advancing age."
"Do not."
He takes the drink from her hand once more, downs what's left of it from the side where her lipstick mark rests, and hands her back the empty glass. He licks his lips a few times, as if he really enjoyed her drink.
"Do too."
With that, he turns and walks away again, leaving her to stare at her glass, wondering if she'd taste him back if she pressed her mouth to the same spot he just had.
Ministry Halloween Charity Ball
10:27 P.M.
With Malfoy gone, no doubt already out the door with some other witch he's managed to finagle out of her knickers, Hermione's just about worked up the nerve to go talk to Viktor Krum, after staring at him for the last half-hour. It may have been twelve years since they'd last been together, but she can recall that one night well, and by the look of him, he's aged like a fine wine. She's willing to bet his technique has only improved, too.
And why shouldn't she have some fun? Clearly, Malfoy doesn't have any problems revelling in his bachelorhood after his divorce, so why shouldn't she? After all, her life didn't end at twenty-two when she and Ron had finally called it quits and the rings had come off. Yes, it had felt like it at the time, but she's since mourned that one and put it to bed, and she's moved on with gusto. So, talking to her ex-lover, Viktor, shouldn't be so terrifying.
Right?
"Just go up to him, Hermione," she mumbles under her breath, giving herself the pep talk. "Say 'hello'. What will it hurt? You didn't part on bad terms."
Despite the inspirational pitch, she hesitates, and when she stops to examine why with a more critical eye, the picture becomes clear: Viktor is a beast in bed, yes, but he isn't stimulating outside of it. They have nothing in common, really. So, although she can certainly find physical release tonight, it won't be mentally or emotionally satisfying. It could even end with strained feelings, possibly resentment by one or both of them. Using someone always did.
The longer she stands in her corner, the more she considers the idea…and the more disinterested she becomes. Really, if she needs to get off, her vibrator can do exactly the same job for her, with less mess and zero awkwardness.
If only Viktor had even a tenth of Malfoy's wit and intelligence, then perhaps she wouldn't waver so in her desires! Oh, but that isn't a fair comparison to make, as Viktor is perfectly lovely, a real gentleman, and Malfoy is…an irritating git. Despite being a duck out of water when off his broom, her Bulgarian ex-lover treats women with kindness and his old-fashioned streak of chivalry doesn't come off as condescending, either. He is affable, handsome, fit, a generous lover…
Maybe he isn't so uninteresting after all?
Girding her nerve to go with the plan before her, she takes a big sip of her Black Magic Galaxy cocktail that Blaise pressed into her hand not ten minutes ago. The drink is truly a thing of mixology genius, and it does the trick in giving her a booster shot of courage.
"Off I go," she announces under her breath. "One midnight partner coming right up!"
Before she can take a step in Viktor's direction, however, Malfoy slithers up alongside her once more and then moves directly into her path, heading her off at the pass. In his hand is a topped-off glass of an expensive and dark Firewhisky that smoulders like dragon's breath and smells of cinder and spice. He sips from it, staring down at her with a wicked twinkle in his angel-grey eyes.
"What?" she demands with an impatient and resigned sigh, knowing he won't leave her be until he's said his piece. "Out with it."
He points one elegant, long finger at her. "Granger, I find you to be simply too splendiferous for a party this sedate."
Hermione's jaw drops open and she glances down at the costume she's spent the better part of two weeks fretting to put together, hoping he'd finally see her…and maybe even consider taking her home from one of these god-awful events for once. It seems that effort has paid off! "Well, thank you, Draco. That's very nice-"
"I mean to say you're far too shiny," he interrupts and indicates her devil-red sequin-covered dress with a wave of his hand. "You're blinding the whole room with the bling."
Her delight instantly turns to ash. She should have known his civility was too good to be true. "Blast, you've found me out," she says with a pinch of sarcasm. "That was my sole intention when I chose this costume for tonight's gala: to permanently ruin your eyesight."
He looks her over again, head to toe, smiling as he teases, "Dear god, you're like one of those Christmas tree baubles that flashes at you incessantly until your eyes are watering!"
"I'm wearing a She-Devil costume," she says with a sigh. "That's about as far from Yuletide joy as one can get."
"Yes, we all get that you're in the Halloween spirit, Granger, but we're at a Ministry event, too…one that requires us to donate precious time and large sums of money to some street urchin cause before we'll be released for the night. You need to be less hopeful, more tragic-like a teenager."
"I was never a tragic teenager."
"Your hair certainly was. Thank god Blaise fixed that for you."
She gasps in habitual outrage. "Better to have had bad teenage hair than to be a grown man stuck in his teenage years," she snarls back. "Why don't you stop bothering me and look to yourself, Malfoy. Chasing the skirts of women half your age?" Okay, so it's an exaggeration, as there doesn't seem to be any females in room younger than twenty-one, but still… "Worse, you're dressed like that when we both know you're definitely no angel! That's false advertising!"
He's laughing at her behind the rim of his glass, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "Oh, Granger, you are always so much fun to rile up. Just wind and release." He takes a quick drink and smoke blows out from between his lips as he exhales. "It's decided: we need to fix this wardrobe malfunction of yours immediately."
Before she can counter his move, he waves his wand down her body and her costume transfigures from red to…
Hermione gasps in outrage.
"Now I look like a Christmas tree!"
"The outfit is infinitely better in Slytherin colours, love." Her tormentor eyes her with appreciation. "Yes, a definite improvement."
"She-Devils don't wear green!" she says, pointing out the obvious.
He smirks. "They do when they're as jealous as you are."
"Jealous?" She blinks up at him. "And why, pray tell, would I be jealous…and of whom?"
He glances down at her, all boastful, smug satisfaction. "You know perfectly well the 'who' and the 'why', my catty, little sex bomb," he gloats, wiping an imaginary piece of lint from his suit. "You want me. We both know it."
Of course she does, but she has no intention of actually telling him that and giving him a head so fat, he wouldn't actually be able to fit out of the door at the end of the night. "You're delusional," she says instead, and turns to her shimmery, dark drink to hide the nervous twitching of her bottom lip. It takes downing half of it to give her the daring to meet his eye and bald-face lie to him. "You're high on your own methane."
Rolling his eyes, he again steals her drink from her hand and sniffs it. "No, I'm not." He takes a sip of the black concoction and hums in appreciation. "Like the Devil, you're just too prideful to admit it." He hands her drink back to her and steps into her until she can feel his cinder-scented breath on her cheek. "About the only thing you ever choose right at these Ministry shindigs are the cocktails."
With that, he saunters off.
It is only after she's calmed down and changed her dress back to red that she realizes what that little interlude with Malfoy was all about: distraction.
Viktor is gone. He's left the party…with two of the triplets.
Blast that slimy Slytherin! Malfoy's prevented her from taking home the best catch of the night! Now she was back to square one: dateless, desperate, and devilishly horny.
Ministry Halloween Charity Ball
11:48 P.M.
Twelve minutes to midnight, to the countdown that will lead to the culmination of the Halloween ball's events, and Malfoy is nowhere to be seen.
At least he didn't score with the remaining blonde from Durmstrang; across the room, Blaise is dancing with her. Everyone else seems paired off now, and from where she stands in another corner, nursing another drink next to another tropical-looking indoor tree, Hermione makes the conscious decision to go home alone this year.
"Oh, well, better luck next time," she says to her Wonderlust cocktail in its chilled coupe glass and takes a sip.
Wow, Blaise has definitely outdone himself this time! In fact, this drink's unique flavours compliment everything else she's had tonight, almost as if each cocktail has been a lead-in to the next, and the next, until it has culminated in this one. Her whole body tingles, flushes hot with anticipation as she tilts the glass back and finishes it off. It slides down her throat, cool and smooth, but heats her belly and warms her blood.
She sets her glass down on a nearby stool and contemplates joining the crowd out on the dance floor to hail in the spirits who will be joining them at any moment. The alcohol is really flooding through her now, loosening her rigid control just enough.
Suddenly Malfoy is before her, an identical drink in his hand. Blaise has plied his talents upon his friend as well, it seems. “We’re dancing,” he tells her without fanfare.
He finishes off his drink with a tilt of his head, sets his glass down next to hers, and grabbing her wrist, he yanks her into his arms.
The hand holding hers is firm, the footsteps guiding them sure. Everything about her partner seems confident and at ease, but there is a look in his eye she knows well, having seen it in the mirror more than her fair share of times over the years, especially before she’s about to go to bed with someone. He’s nervous, anxious for this to mean more than it should.
In truth, so is she.
Yet there’s something to be said about physically dancing with a man you’ve verbally, mentally, and emotionally crossed swords with on more than one occasion. As there is with their trading insults, there’s a natural choreography to their movements around each other, an instinctive knowledge of push and pull to their rhythm. It is easy being in his arms, she discovers, twirled around like a debutante at her first ball by a handsome beau.
It’s seductive.
“The spirits are about to appear,” she murmurs the reminder, aware of the others all around them and how the level of excitement in the room has ratcheted up as the seconds count down towards midnight. “It’s strange, but I just realized… I’ve never stayed this long at one of these events to see what happens next.”
With a matching incredulous expression, her partner admits, “Me either, actually.”
That sends them equally into a bout of snickering and chuckling.
“A first for both of us, it seems.”
He flashes a grin that’s as white as his jacket. “One of many together, I’m sure.”
His words make things inside her flutter.
“We should switch costumes,” she blurts out. “For next year, I mean.”
He whirls her around faster and laughs as her grip on him tightens. “Why, Granger, are you finally admitting that I’m devilishly handsome?”
No need to deny it.
She shrugs. “You know you are.”
“Yes, but you’ve never said,” he teases. “You’re a notorious hold-out when it comes to me.”
There’s a double-entendre in there, and she feels its meaning and intent to her toes when he turns the full force of his steely-eyed gaze upon her.
“Perhaps if you actually were more angelic, and less wicked I might be inclined to stroke your ego more often,” she tosses back with a sultry grin, blaming Blaise’s alcoholic genius for such sassiness.
Draco’s gaze heats as he lowers his mouth to her ear. “I can be equal parts nice to naughty, love. Care to find out?”
Ooh, Godric, would she love to! “I suppose I should have an escort home tonight,” she agrees with a thoughtful air, pretending to misunderstand. “It is Samhain, and the ghosts are about to come out to haunt the living. Might be too dangerous to go it alone.”
“Mmm, safety first,” he agrees, lips twitching with amusement.
They pause as the countdown to midnight begins at T-minus two minutes and the rest of the room clears the centre of the ballroom, making a space as the Minister performs the ritual to give the dead a safe place to enter into their world.
As the others are engrossed with the ritual, she drags Malfoy back into the corner, the one closest to the door so they can make their escape soon after the big reveal. It’s totally private, as the rest of the room is too focused on Kingsley and the show that’s about to start. “It’s decided then,” she pronounces, and then gives him a once over. “You’ll have to accompany me home. But first…” Feeling impish, she casts a wandless spell over his outfit, changing his jacket and bowtie a scarlet red and giving his white wings red tips. “Truth in advertising,” she tells him as he looks down at what she’s done to him. “Well, either that or you could get a job selling ice-lollies to small children…since we both know how fond wriggly things are of you.”
He throws his head back and laughs, then picks her up and twirls her around until she’s dizzy. “Oh, Granger, you are an evil hussy!”
She gasps, beginning to take offense at that, until he boxes her into the corner behind the tall plants and nuzzles her throat. “My kind of witch,” he whispers and runs his mouth over the curve of skin beneath her jaw. When he nibbles gently upon the flesh there and presses open-mouthed kisses to the spot, she moans and grabs onto him, encouraging him not to stop.
They miss the appearance of the ghosts…again.
And she makes a mental note to ask Zabini later exactly what he put in those drinks.
~@~@~@~@~
Ministry Halloween Charity Ball
12:10 A.M.
Blaise glances once over at the corner where Granger is currently getting her socks knocked off, quite literally, by Draco behind some decorative shrubbery and thinks he may have used a bit too much Lust Potion in that last concoction he served them both.
Then again, when one is dabbling in the art of matchmaking an angel and a devil, one has to pull out all the stops to bring them together. Their natural inclination is to fight until someone puts an eye out, otherwise. This…well, this is much better. Draco won’t be so lonely and desperate anymore, and maybe Granger’s hair will finally relax. All that sexual tension for so many years has been the cause of its uncontrollable frizz and breakage, after all.
“So, when does your shift end?” the blonde from Durmstrang-what was her name again? Talkative? Tedious? Something like that…-asks, giving him ‘the look’.
He blinks, confused at first by her question. “Oh, this? Uh, I don’t actually work here.” Stepping out from behind the bar, he tosses the drying towel aside and turns to the actual bartender. “Thanks for letting me dabble, mate.”
“You want a job here, come back anytime,” the guy replies. “You’re a genius with the tonics!”
“Yes, I know,” Blaise admits, feeling a bit smug. “Ones for hair, too. Speaking of which-” As he and the blonde Swede head out the door together, he runs his hands through the woman’s long, straight tresses. “Witch, let’s talk about giving you an update with a nice cut...”
~FIN~
Sassy Witch’s Brew
2 ounces Viniq Original purple
2 ounces dry champagne or prosecco
Dry ice chips
Serve in a flat Champagne glass.
Pour purple liquor into glass. Top with champagne or prosecco. Drop in dry ice chips.
Jekyll & Hyde
3 oz. gin
½ oz. lemon juice
1 tsp. grenadine
1 handful ice
Tonic water
Green or yellow glow stick (optional)
Serve in a tall tumbler.
Mix gin, lemon juice and grenadine in a cocktail shaker. Pour into a large glass filled with ice. Top with tonic water. Garnish with a glow stick (optional).
Witch’s Heart
1 jigger apple brandy, chilled or apple vodka, chilled
1 tsp. grenadine
2 jiggers blackberry shimmery liqueur (https://www.theflavorbender.com/how-to-make-shimmery-liqueur/)
Powdered dry ice
Serve in a Martini glass.
Add about ½ - 1 tsp of powdered dry ice to the bottom of the glass (optional). Place the apple brandy and purple shimmery liqueur in a shaker. Add 1 ice cube and shake for a few seconds to chill the drink. Strain the drink into a Martini glass. Top up with more purple shimmery liqueur if necessary. Pour 1 tsp of grenadine syrup, about an inch from the surface of the drink - the grenadine should sink to the bottom, creating a "bleeding" effect. Add about ½ tsp of powdered dry ice on top and serve with a stirrer, so that your guests can stir the "potion" to create that shimmery, smoky effect.
Your Mother’s Ruin
½ cup granulated sugar
¾ cup chilled club soda
1½ cups gin
1½ cups fresh grapefruit juice
3 thinly sliced grapefruit wheels, for garnish
¾ cup fresh lemon juice
¾ cup sweet vermouth
2¼ cups chilled Champagne or sparkling wine Ice
Dry ice
Serve in a tall highball glass, chilled.
In a large pitcher, stir the sugar with the club soda until dissolved. Stir in the gin, grapefruit and lemon juices and sweet vermouth. Refrigerate until chilled, about 1 hour. Transfer the punch to a large bowl. Gently stir in the Champagne and float the grapefruit wheels on top. Add dry ice to the glasses just before serving.
Dragon’s Breath Firewhisky
4 ounces Grangestone 1977 Blended Malt Scotch Whisky
Dry ice.
Serve in a chilled rocks glass.
Pour whisky into glass. Add dry ice.
Black Magic Galaxy
2.5 ounces Black Vodka
¾ ounce Freshly Squeezed Lime Juice
2/3 - 1 Small Lime
½ ounce Simple Syrup
Ice
Wilton Edible Pearl Dust In White (find at craft store in baking aisle)
Serve in a Cosmopolitan glass.
Into a cocktail shaker add your simple syrup, lime juice, and black vodka. Fill with ice until the liquid line. Give it a hard shake for 30 seconds. Add a dash of pearl dust to the bottom of a Cosmopolitan or coupe glass. Pour cocktail into your glass and serve. Add more pearl dust if it's not shimmery enough and stir it with a bar spoon to combine it.
Wonderlust
¼ ounce absinthe
1 ounce genever, preferably Bols
3/4th ounce crème de violette (violet liqueur)
3/4th ounce pineapple gum syrup
3/4th ounce fresh lemon juice
Ice
1 spiral-cut lemon twist, for garnish
Serve in a coupe glass.
Rinse a chilled coupe with the absinthe. Discard the excess. Fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Add all the remaining ingredients, except the garnish. Shake well. Strain into the coupe. Garnish the glass with the lemon twist.
Author: RZZMG
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 5,263words + 563 words for the recipes
Summary: Cupid's a Slytherin with a heart of gold, and he's determined to see one sexist Angel and a certain swotty She-Devil finally use their mouths for a much better purpose than sniping at each other.
Warnings: Insult war (sexist and offensive, because it’s Malfoy and he can’t help himself), pining and ridiculous sexual tension, implied sex in public, HEA.
Author's Note(s):Timeline is 2009 (post-Hogwarts, A/U). To my Duet Partner: I hope this story gives you many warm fuzzies and other such feel goods. Much love to you, dahling! To the Mod, Ningloreth: Once more, thank you for all your hard work on this fantastic fest, a favourite of mine!!!
Ministry of Magic's Halloween Costume Charity Ball
8:23 P.M.
As Hermione enters the vast ballroom, she makes a beeline for the bar, needing to start the evening off on the right foot.
To her delight, the bartender is a good friend: Blaise Zabini is dressed up as Cupid for tonight's event, complete with a silly bow and arrow set slung across his chest. Topless, his skin is oiled and painted in golden fairy dust, and his matching satin pantaloons hang low on his hips. He looks like a love slave with Veela-like wings, quite honestly, more fit for a BDSM dungeon than a Ministry charity event.
"Blaise, I didn't know you were a bartender, too!" she says as she takes a stool in front of him, then feathers through her newer, shorter style that Blaise had given her just that afternoon. “This cut is fantastic, by the way. I love how it makes me feel, so…”
“Naughty and free?” he suggests.
“Exactly.”
She's been his client for the last three years, and over that time, their rapport has been growing by leaps and bounds. It's been a wonder to discover there is more to this silent, talented wizard than just his house affiliation and his close friendship with Draco Malfoy, her irritating co-worker.
"The best hairdresser in all of Britain by day, moonlighting as a mixologist for the Ministry? How very mysterious you are, Mr. Zabini!"
Blaise shrugs one muscular shoulder and flashes a quick grin. "I'm Slytherin," he reminds her with a wink. "We're always full of surprises, Ms. Granger."
"Is that so?" she challenges him with a wicked grin. "Why don't you prove it by making me something as unique and unforgettable as this new haircut? Ply me with a menu of drinks guaranteed to end with my socks being knocked off!"
With a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes, he accepts her challenge.
"I do believe I've got just the thing for you, Ms. Granger…"
Ministry of Magic's Halloween Costume Charity Ball
8:49 P.M.
It begins as it always does between them: with an acknowledgement and an insult.
"Evening, Granger." Malfoy greets her with a bow of his head, taking up his customary place at her side as she hides along the back wall, attempting to blending into the fake greenery. "How goes the dick hustling tonight, you frumpy tart?"
She glances over at him, amused. His costume for tonight's ball is that of an angel-all white tux, shiny white shoes, magical white wings that are, apparently, fully functional. With a mouth like his, though, at least she knows why his halo is conspicuously missing. In his left hand, he carries a tall tumbler that is chilled and filled with a yellow concoction that glows green at the very bottom of the glass-a clever spell, that.
Hermione takes a sip of the cocktail her friendly, neighbourhood hairdresser-cum-bartender has whipped up for her, determined not to give into the whim to hex the other Slytherin in the room with a raging case of herpes. It's far too early in the evening for that sort of a juvenile response, and really she isn't drunk enough to convince M.L.E. it was an accident.
"Hallo, Malfoy," she cheerfully responds instead, still refusing to call him by his given name because she knows it annoys him. "Still seducing the ladies with a forked tongue, I see."
His serpentine smirk is chased by a sexually-suggestive leer. "You meant silver tongue, I'm sure. And if anyone's out to deceive…you're the one dressed like a She-Devil, Granger." He notices the drink in her hand. "I take it Blaise pressed one of his experiments upon you, too?" He shows off his cocktail. "A 'Jekyll and Hyde', he called it."
"Apropos." She holds up her glass. "Sassy Witch's Brew."
"Fitting." He eyes her up and down, his gaze taking time to admire the view. "My, my, but you do love to play naughty for me, don't you?"
The magical costumed horns on her head belch a small flame his way. It's one of the more fun spells she's invented for tonight's gala to deal with the requisite wandering hands and obnoxious mouths that attend these sorts of functions. "Naughty for you? That's the funniest thing I've heard all evening, Malfoy! Thanks for the ha-ha." She turns to assess the crowd of eligible men. There are more than a few faces she already knows, but others she'd like to know a lot better. "Contrary to your absurd and quite comical belief, I didn't dress this way for you. I've a specific agenda tonight."
"Don't you always at these things?" he dryly asks, taking a quick sip of his drink to hide a frown. "Speaking of which-" He leans in as if to impart a secret to her, appearing solemn and earnest in his proposal. "Look, the truth is I just came over here to offer you my services."
She turns her head and gives him a flat stare. "What services would those be exactly-teaching a witch what not to want in a man? Because you excel at that."
"You're the only one who thinks so," he baldly points out, and she knows he's right. The fact is Malfoy's got women crawling all over him, begging for a piece on a regular basis, despite his abysmal character. Apparently, having a boat-load of money is the great cosmetic for a truly deplorable personality. "As I was saying…my services,” he continues. “Tonight I'm feeling magnanimous, Granger, so I'm going to make you an offer you can't possibly refuse."
Hermione sighs and waves at him to get on with what will, indubitably, be a scandalous and ridiculous proposition. The answering grin he gives her is delightfully boyish and positively enchanting, and if she had fewer brain cells in her head she'd fall for it hook, line, and sinker.
"Alright, now listen up because I'm not repeating it," he says, preening as a peacock before her. "For one night only, for absolutely no money down and no contract necessary, I'm willing to save you the embarrassment of having to find and hunt down the elusive trouser snake." He crudely points at his crotch. "I've already got one right here that can fulfill your every dream. Totally free. I'll even throw in all the alcohol you'll need to work up the nerve."
Hermione purses her lips, trying not to laugh in his face. As far as trying it on goes, that one is rather original. "So, let me just understand your pitch," she replies, affecting indifference. "You're offering to ply me with copious amounts of alcohol and once I'm too inebriated to think straight, you're going to allow me a shot at some other witch's sloppy seconds…assuming I don't fall unconscious somewhere in between and make things that much easier for you." She fakes a yawn. "What is this, a bad rerun of 'The Young Ones'?"
His frown indicates he has no idea as to her Muggle reference.
"It's a British television show about idiotic university students," she explains in a conspiratorial whisper.
He blinks as if she's nailed him right in the gut, and gives a long-suffering sigh as if disgusted with her total lack of interest. "Granger, you really know how to stomp a man's grand plans into dust at the same time as grinding his bollocks into meat strips." He tosses back the contents of his drink, finishing off the glass. "No wonder I hate you so."
Now she laughs and turns her attention back to the crowd, eyeing the candy and seeing if there is anyone there who might even remotely catch her attention tonight. "No, you hate me because I'm the one female in England who refuses to fall for your charms, if you could call them that."
"Plenty do," he grouses, looking petulant at her refusal to be impressed. "I'm amazingly appealing to all sorts, you know."
"Yes, especially to small, wriggly animals, I hear."
He sniffs. "Your problem is you're too traditional…and a prude."
"No, I'm foxy and an excellent judge of character."
"Yes, well…" He sighs, twirling the stem of his empty glass between his fingers. "I don't suppose you'd consider lowering your stuck-up standards for a night to aid a fellow charity-dodger deal with his todger?"
"Not for all the tea in Britain."
"Ah, well, your loss, love," he says, sounding not in the least put-out by her rejection.
He is, after all, quite used to it by now. This is a familiar ritual for them, one they'd been having on and off for the last five years or so. It always ends the same, too: he 'flirts' outrageously with her then ducks out with some random woman on his arm, and she, unwilling to be the brunt of jokes about a lack of a sex life come Monday morning, eventually leaves with one of her friends-with-benefits for a Saturday night of vigorous shagging…followed by a Sunday morning filled with hollow excuses and quick goodbyes.
Really, the way she and Malfoy dance around each other at these events and in the office would be comical, if it wasn't so bloody obvious that they both wanted a good, hard go at each other. The problem is Hermione wants more than a one-off with her co-worker. Unfortunately, he's highly allergic to commitment.
Hence the sexual tension with the mean bite.
"Have fun dancing with the greenery," he offers and heads off in the direction of a trio of leggy, model-gorgeous witches who represent the delegation in from Durmstrang.
As he walks away, Hermione tries not to let her disappointment overtly show, or derail her from the plan: she is going home with some man tonight and will lose herself in their sex. After all, that always helps her, at least temporarily, to forget her unrequited feelings for Draco Malfoy.
She finishes off her drink, giving a surprised hum at how pleasant it tastes…and how light it makes her feel by the time she hits the bottom of the glass.
Ministry Halloween Charity Ball
9:41 P.M.
Annnnd he's back.
"Be honest with me, Granger," Malfoy says, eyeing the lovely Norns across the room with something akin to distaste. This time he's drinking something purple out of a Martini glass, chewing on its blackberry and strawberry garnish. "Am I simply being too picky, or are all blondes really that talkative and tedious?"
"You tell me," Hermione replies, giving his perfectly styled hair a significant sideways glance.
He totally ignores the jab, takes a long draw off of the purple concoction in his hand, and then jabbers on. "For Salazar's sake, is it too much to ask for a mouth to be put to a better use?"
"Maybe the problem isn't their mouths."
Waving her off, he whinges on about being shot down. "It's your Muggle feminism infecting our world, Granger. I knew it would be a bad thing."
"You mean for a woman to actually be able to tell you 'no' and you having to respect that? Yes, I can see how that might crimp your style."
"No, I mean, when did it become fashionable to have an interview card for a one-off? A witch does not need to know my entire sexual history to decide to let me take her home!"
"Well, a woman's got to have some standards, Malfoy…"
"To fuck or not to fuck," he growled in a low voice, so as not to be overheard, "that is the only bloody question that matters!"
"Er, I doubt William Shakespeare would approve of the misquote."
With an emphatic finger, he points across the room at the gaggle of giggling, gorgeous ladies. "Don't they understand? The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to me!"
"Technically, the line is 'to yield to it'," she sighs, realizing she's talking to someone totally tone deaf and blinded by his own misogyny. "Listen, Malfoy, maybe their rejection is a sign that it's time for you to hang up your hat and hit the long, green pasture."
Apparently, the cheap shot at his age works to get his attention. He turns his head and glares at her. "Are you implying that I'm old?"
She shrugs.
"If the shoe fits."
He raises an eyebrow at that and takes another sip of his foo-foo girly drink.
She covers a smirk with the lip of her glass. "I'm just pointing out the obvious: that the excitement of pub crawling is usually relegated to those under twenty-five…and it may have escaped your notice, but you're no spring chicken anymore."
He sets his glass down on a nearby passing waiter's tray. "No? Then what's your excuse, since you're technically almost a year older than I am, Ms. Spinster?"
"I am not crawling. I am looking to pull." She takes a sip from her newest alcoholic concoction and has her socks knocked off. Wow, the bartender has really outdone himself this time-tequila and apple cider are a potent combination. "There's quite a difference, you know."
"Do tell."
"Crawling involves drink, drool, and the empty promise of a Floo-call after the fact. Pulling is an art. It requires scoring a willing partner whose conversational skills are not sum-totalled by his ability to simply be able to recite his A-B-Cs and 1-2-3s."
Point made, she takes another sip of her own cocktail and makes a noise of intense enjoyment, drawing Malfoy's full attention. "What is that god-awful looking concoction you're sucking down faster than sperm?" he asks, eyeing her beverage. "It's smoking worse than the last one!"
"What was yours?" she fires back.
"Some ridiculous thing called a 'Good Witch's Heart'. Blaise said I needed one."
Since he he's been so good as to tell her about his drink, she offers hers to him.
"Here, try it."
Swiping it from her hand, he dives in for a taste and hums in approval. "Not bad. What is it?"
"Blaise called it 'Your Mother's Ruin'. Ironically, he said you'd understand what that meant if I told you about it."
He sputters and spits it out all over his shoes.
Her laughter rings through the room, drawing attention to them. Draco does not seem amused as he shoves the glass back at her.
"Come on, it was funny," she offers.
With a wave, he cleans up the mess he's made of his costume. The stains are erased like magic. "You're an evil wench, dressed appropriately for once."
That gives her pause. Is he playing with her? He doesn't seem it. In fact, he looks downright irate. "You're not seriously upset? It was a joke."
He glares at her. "I expect an appropriate apology, Granger."
Hermione opens her mouth, about to offer one…
"If you decide to grovel on your knees, can you suck me while you're down there?" he asks with a hopeful grin.
Rolling her eyes, filing away her intended apology, she takes a large gulp of her drink, trying to keep that particularly yummy vision out of her head. "You're repugnant," she states instead, because she knows it's expected of her.
"You like it." He tosses her a wicked grin. "Regardless of my advancing age."
"Do not."
He takes the drink from her hand once more, downs what's left of it from the side where her lipstick mark rests, and hands her back the empty glass. He licks his lips a few times, as if he really enjoyed her drink.
"Do too."
With that, he turns and walks away again, leaving her to stare at her glass, wondering if she'd taste him back if she pressed her mouth to the same spot he just had.
Ministry Halloween Charity Ball
10:27 P.M.
With Malfoy gone, no doubt already out the door with some other witch he's managed to finagle out of her knickers, Hermione's just about worked up the nerve to go talk to Viktor Krum, after staring at him for the last half-hour. It may have been twelve years since they'd last been together, but she can recall that one night well, and by the look of him, he's aged like a fine wine. She's willing to bet his technique has only improved, too.
And why shouldn't she have some fun? Clearly, Malfoy doesn't have any problems revelling in his bachelorhood after his divorce, so why shouldn't she? After all, her life didn't end at twenty-two when she and Ron had finally called it quits and the rings had come off. Yes, it had felt like it at the time, but she's since mourned that one and put it to bed, and she's moved on with gusto. So, talking to her ex-lover, Viktor, shouldn't be so terrifying.
Right?
"Just go up to him, Hermione," she mumbles under her breath, giving herself the pep talk. "Say 'hello'. What will it hurt? You didn't part on bad terms."
Despite the inspirational pitch, she hesitates, and when she stops to examine why with a more critical eye, the picture becomes clear: Viktor is a beast in bed, yes, but he isn't stimulating outside of it. They have nothing in common, really. So, although she can certainly find physical release tonight, it won't be mentally or emotionally satisfying. It could even end with strained feelings, possibly resentment by one or both of them. Using someone always did.
The longer she stands in her corner, the more she considers the idea…and the more disinterested she becomes. Really, if she needs to get off, her vibrator can do exactly the same job for her, with less mess and zero awkwardness.
If only Viktor had even a tenth of Malfoy's wit and intelligence, then perhaps she wouldn't waver so in her desires! Oh, but that isn't a fair comparison to make, as Viktor is perfectly lovely, a real gentleman, and Malfoy is…an irritating git. Despite being a duck out of water when off his broom, her Bulgarian ex-lover treats women with kindness and his old-fashioned streak of chivalry doesn't come off as condescending, either. He is affable, handsome, fit, a generous lover…
Maybe he isn't so uninteresting after all?
Girding her nerve to go with the plan before her, she takes a big sip of her Black Magic Galaxy cocktail that Blaise pressed into her hand not ten minutes ago. The drink is truly a thing of mixology genius, and it does the trick in giving her a booster shot of courage.
"Off I go," she announces under her breath. "One midnight partner coming right up!"
Before she can take a step in Viktor's direction, however, Malfoy slithers up alongside her once more and then moves directly into her path, heading her off at the pass. In his hand is a topped-off glass of an expensive and dark Firewhisky that smoulders like dragon's breath and smells of cinder and spice. He sips from it, staring down at her with a wicked twinkle in his angel-grey eyes.
"What?" she demands with an impatient and resigned sigh, knowing he won't leave her be until he's said his piece. "Out with it."
He points one elegant, long finger at her. "Granger, I find you to be simply too splendiferous for a party this sedate."
Hermione's jaw drops open and she glances down at the costume she's spent the better part of two weeks fretting to put together, hoping he'd finally see her…and maybe even consider taking her home from one of these god-awful events for once. It seems that effort has paid off! "Well, thank you, Draco. That's very nice-"
"I mean to say you're far too shiny," he interrupts and indicates her devil-red sequin-covered dress with a wave of his hand. "You're blinding the whole room with the bling."
Her delight instantly turns to ash. She should have known his civility was too good to be true. "Blast, you've found me out," she says with a pinch of sarcasm. "That was my sole intention when I chose this costume for tonight's gala: to permanently ruin your eyesight."
He looks her over again, head to toe, smiling as he teases, "Dear god, you're like one of those Christmas tree baubles that flashes at you incessantly until your eyes are watering!"
"I'm wearing a She-Devil costume," she says with a sigh. "That's about as far from Yuletide joy as one can get."
"Yes, we all get that you're in the Halloween spirit, Granger, but we're at a Ministry event, too…one that requires us to donate precious time and large sums of money to some street urchin cause before we'll be released for the night. You need to be less hopeful, more tragic-like a teenager."
"I was never a tragic teenager."
"Your hair certainly was. Thank god Blaise fixed that for you."
She gasps in habitual outrage. "Better to have had bad teenage hair than to be a grown man stuck in his teenage years," she snarls back. "Why don't you stop bothering me and look to yourself, Malfoy. Chasing the skirts of women half your age?" Okay, so it's an exaggeration, as there doesn't seem to be any females in room younger than twenty-one, but still… "Worse, you're dressed like that when we both know you're definitely no angel! That's false advertising!"
He's laughing at her behind the rim of his glass, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "Oh, Granger, you are always so much fun to rile up. Just wind and release." He takes a quick drink and smoke blows out from between his lips as he exhales. "It's decided: we need to fix this wardrobe malfunction of yours immediately."
Before she can counter his move, he waves his wand down her body and her costume transfigures from red to…
Hermione gasps in outrage.
"Now I look like a Christmas tree!"
"The outfit is infinitely better in Slytherin colours, love." Her tormentor eyes her with appreciation. "Yes, a definite improvement."
"She-Devils don't wear green!" she says, pointing out the obvious.
He smirks. "They do when they're as jealous as you are."
"Jealous?" She blinks up at him. "And why, pray tell, would I be jealous…and of whom?"
He glances down at her, all boastful, smug satisfaction. "You know perfectly well the 'who' and the 'why', my catty, little sex bomb," he gloats, wiping an imaginary piece of lint from his suit. "You want me. We both know it."
Of course she does, but she has no intention of actually telling him that and giving him a head so fat, he wouldn't actually be able to fit out of the door at the end of the night. "You're delusional," she says instead, and turns to her shimmery, dark drink to hide the nervous twitching of her bottom lip. It takes downing half of it to give her the daring to meet his eye and bald-face lie to him. "You're high on your own methane."
Rolling his eyes, he again steals her drink from her hand and sniffs it. "No, I'm not." He takes a sip of the black concoction and hums in appreciation. "Like the Devil, you're just too prideful to admit it." He hands her drink back to her and steps into her until she can feel his cinder-scented breath on her cheek. "About the only thing you ever choose right at these Ministry shindigs are the cocktails."
With that, he saunters off.
It is only after she's calmed down and changed her dress back to red that she realizes what that little interlude with Malfoy was all about: distraction.
Viktor is gone. He's left the party…with two of the triplets.
Blast that slimy Slytherin! Malfoy's prevented her from taking home the best catch of the night! Now she was back to square one: dateless, desperate, and devilishly horny.
Ministry Halloween Charity Ball
11:48 P.M.
Twelve minutes to midnight, to the countdown that will lead to the culmination of the Halloween ball's events, and Malfoy is nowhere to be seen.
At least he didn't score with the remaining blonde from Durmstrang; across the room, Blaise is dancing with her. Everyone else seems paired off now, and from where she stands in another corner, nursing another drink next to another tropical-looking indoor tree, Hermione makes the conscious decision to go home alone this year.
"Oh, well, better luck next time," she says to her Wonderlust cocktail in its chilled coupe glass and takes a sip.
Wow, Blaise has definitely outdone himself this time! In fact, this drink's unique flavours compliment everything else she's had tonight, almost as if each cocktail has been a lead-in to the next, and the next, until it has culminated in this one. Her whole body tingles, flushes hot with anticipation as she tilts the glass back and finishes it off. It slides down her throat, cool and smooth, but heats her belly and warms her blood.
She sets her glass down on a nearby stool and contemplates joining the crowd out on the dance floor to hail in the spirits who will be joining them at any moment. The alcohol is really flooding through her now, loosening her rigid control just enough.
Suddenly Malfoy is before her, an identical drink in his hand. Blaise has plied his talents upon his friend as well, it seems. “We’re dancing,” he tells her without fanfare.
He finishes off his drink with a tilt of his head, sets his glass down next to hers, and grabbing her wrist, he yanks her into his arms.
The hand holding hers is firm, the footsteps guiding them sure. Everything about her partner seems confident and at ease, but there is a look in his eye she knows well, having seen it in the mirror more than her fair share of times over the years, especially before she’s about to go to bed with someone. He’s nervous, anxious for this to mean more than it should.
In truth, so is she.
Yet there’s something to be said about physically dancing with a man you’ve verbally, mentally, and emotionally crossed swords with on more than one occasion. As there is with their trading insults, there’s a natural choreography to their movements around each other, an instinctive knowledge of push and pull to their rhythm. It is easy being in his arms, she discovers, twirled around like a debutante at her first ball by a handsome beau.
It’s seductive.
“The spirits are about to appear,” she murmurs the reminder, aware of the others all around them and how the level of excitement in the room has ratcheted up as the seconds count down towards midnight. “It’s strange, but I just realized… I’ve never stayed this long at one of these events to see what happens next.”
With a matching incredulous expression, her partner admits, “Me either, actually.”
That sends them equally into a bout of snickering and chuckling.
“A first for both of us, it seems.”
He flashes a grin that’s as white as his jacket. “One of many together, I’m sure.”
His words make things inside her flutter.
“We should switch costumes,” she blurts out. “For next year, I mean.”
He whirls her around faster and laughs as her grip on him tightens. “Why, Granger, are you finally admitting that I’m devilishly handsome?”
No need to deny it.
She shrugs. “You know you are.”
“Yes, but you’ve never said,” he teases. “You’re a notorious hold-out when it comes to me.”
There’s a double-entendre in there, and she feels its meaning and intent to her toes when he turns the full force of his steely-eyed gaze upon her.
“Perhaps if you actually were more angelic, and less wicked I might be inclined to stroke your ego more often,” she tosses back with a sultry grin, blaming Blaise’s alcoholic genius for such sassiness.
Draco’s gaze heats as he lowers his mouth to her ear. “I can be equal parts nice to naughty, love. Care to find out?”
Ooh, Godric, would she love to! “I suppose I should have an escort home tonight,” she agrees with a thoughtful air, pretending to misunderstand. “It is Samhain, and the ghosts are about to come out to haunt the living. Might be too dangerous to go it alone.”
“Mmm, safety first,” he agrees, lips twitching with amusement.
They pause as the countdown to midnight begins at T-minus two minutes and the rest of the room clears the centre of the ballroom, making a space as the Minister performs the ritual to give the dead a safe place to enter into their world.
As the others are engrossed with the ritual, she drags Malfoy back into the corner, the one closest to the door so they can make their escape soon after the big reveal. It’s totally private, as the rest of the room is too focused on Kingsley and the show that’s about to start. “It’s decided then,” she pronounces, and then gives him a once over. “You’ll have to accompany me home. But first…” Feeling impish, she casts a wandless spell over his outfit, changing his jacket and bowtie a scarlet red and giving his white wings red tips. “Truth in advertising,” she tells him as he looks down at what she’s done to him. “Well, either that or you could get a job selling ice-lollies to small children…since we both know how fond wriggly things are of you.”
He throws his head back and laughs, then picks her up and twirls her around until she’s dizzy. “Oh, Granger, you are an evil hussy!”
She gasps, beginning to take offense at that, until he boxes her into the corner behind the tall plants and nuzzles her throat. “My kind of witch,” he whispers and runs his mouth over the curve of skin beneath her jaw. When he nibbles gently upon the flesh there and presses open-mouthed kisses to the spot, she moans and grabs onto him, encouraging him not to stop.
They miss the appearance of the ghosts…again.
And she makes a mental note to ask Zabini later exactly what he put in those drinks.
~@~@~@~@~
Ministry Halloween Charity Ball
12:10 A.M.
Blaise glances once over at the corner where Granger is currently getting her socks knocked off, quite literally, by Draco behind some decorative shrubbery and thinks he may have used a bit too much Lust Potion in that last concoction he served them both.
Then again, when one is dabbling in the art of matchmaking an angel and a devil, one has to pull out all the stops to bring them together. Their natural inclination is to fight until someone puts an eye out, otherwise. This…well, this is much better. Draco won’t be so lonely and desperate anymore, and maybe Granger’s hair will finally relax. All that sexual tension for so many years has been the cause of its uncontrollable frizz and breakage, after all.
“So, when does your shift end?” the blonde from Durmstrang-what was her name again? Talkative? Tedious? Something like that…-asks, giving him ‘the look’.
He blinks, confused at first by her question. “Oh, this? Uh, I don’t actually work here.” Stepping out from behind the bar, he tosses the drying towel aside and turns to the actual bartender. “Thanks for letting me dabble, mate.”
“You want a job here, come back anytime,” the guy replies. “You’re a genius with the tonics!”
“Yes, I know,” Blaise admits, feeling a bit smug. “Ones for hair, too. Speaking of which-” As he and the blonde Swede head out the door together, he runs his hands through the woman’s long, straight tresses. “Witch, let’s talk about giving you an update with a nice cut...”
~FIN~
Sassy Witch’s Brew
2 ounces Viniq Original purple
2 ounces dry champagne or prosecco
Dry ice chips
Serve in a flat Champagne glass.
Pour purple liquor into glass. Top with champagne or prosecco. Drop in dry ice chips.
Jekyll & Hyde
3 oz. gin
½ oz. lemon juice
1 tsp. grenadine
1 handful ice
Tonic water
Green or yellow glow stick (optional)
Serve in a tall tumbler.
Mix gin, lemon juice and grenadine in a cocktail shaker. Pour into a large glass filled with ice. Top with tonic water. Garnish with a glow stick (optional).
Witch’s Heart
1 jigger apple brandy, chilled or apple vodka, chilled
1 tsp. grenadine
2 jiggers blackberry shimmery liqueur (https://www.theflavorbender.com/how-to-make-shimmery-liqueur/)
Powdered dry ice
Serve in a Martini glass.
Add about ½ - 1 tsp of powdered dry ice to the bottom of the glass (optional). Place the apple brandy and purple shimmery liqueur in a shaker. Add 1 ice cube and shake for a few seconds to chill the drink. Strain the drink into a Martini glass. Top up with more purple shimmery liqueur if necessary. Pour 1 tsp of grenadine syrup, about an inch from the surface of the drink - the grenadine should sink to the bottom, creating a "bleeding" effect. Add about ½ tsp of powdered dry ice on top and serve with a stirrer, so that your guests can stir the "potion" to create that shimmery, smoky effect.
Your Mother’s Ruin
½ cup granulated sugar
¾ cup chilled club soda
1½ cups gin
1½ cups fresh grapefruit juice
3 thinly sliced grapefruit wheels, for garnish
¾ cup fresh lemon juice
¾ cup sweet vermouth
2¼ cups chilled Champagne or sparkling wine Ice
Dry ice
Serve in a tall highball glass, chilled.
In a large pitcher, stir the sugar with the club soda until dissolved. Stir in the gin, grapefruit and lemon juices and sweet vermouth. Refrigerate until chilled, about 1 hour. Transfer the punch to a large bowl. Gently stir in the Champagne and float the grapefruit wheels on top. Add dry ice to the glasses just before serving.
Dragon’s Breath Firewhisky
4 ounces Grangestone 1977 Blended Malt Scotch Whisky
Dry ice.
Serve in a chilled rocks glass.
Pour whisky into glass. Add dry ice.
Black Magic Galaxy
2.5 ounces Black Vodka
¾ ounce Freshly Squeezed Lime Juice
2/3 - 1 Small Lime
½ ounce Simple Syrup
Ice
Wilton Edible Pearl Dust In White (find at craft store in baking aisle)
Serve in a Cosmopolitan glass.
Into a cocktail shaker add your simple syrup, lime juice, and black vodka. Fill with ice until the liquid line. Give it a hard shake for 30 seconds. Add a dash of pearl dust to the bottom of a Cosmopolitan or coupe glass. Pour cocktail into your glass and serve. Add more pearl dust if it's not shimmery enough and stir it with a bar spoon to combine it.
Wonderlust
¼ ounce absinthe
1 ounce genever, preferably Bols
3/4th ounce crème de violette (violet liqueur)
3/4th ounce pineapple gum syrup
3/4th ounce fresh lemon juice
Ice
1 spiral-cut lemon twist, for garnish
Serve in a coupe glass.
Rinse a chilled coupe with the absinthe. Discard the excess. Fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Add all the remaining ingredients, except the garnish. Shake well. Strain into the coupe. Garnish the glass with the lemon twist.