Hermione couldn’t do it. She could not enter that ballroom. Every muscle in her body had locked up, refusing to take a step further.
This was why they should just keep things casual.
They were good at casual. Or their version of it. The one where they awoke in each other’s arms and Draco summoned buttery pastries and fresh strawberries to bed as they discussed their latest fascinations until noon. The occasional indulgent trips to France, where he showered her with nonsensical gifts like frilly lingerie from secret boutiques, or flowers so fresh their perfume wafted down the boulevard. Where they clinked frosty glasses of crisp champagne before he slowly undid her dress, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her shoulder. Each a promise of all the wicked things he intended to do to her as the night stretched out. The kind of casual that left a smile on Hermione’s face every morning and a lightness in her step that her friends said made her glow.
“Granger.” Draco’s arms wrapped around her from behind, his voice like velvet as he greeted her fondly.
She didn’t arch into him like she normally would, or rest her head on his shoulder so he could pepper her neck with little kisses. Her body was a tight spring, coiled with tension.
Lucius Malfoy was in there.
And their Slytherin classmates, and their parents, and their pure-blood friends.
She felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
“Darling.” Draco kissed her temple. His voice blended into the lush symphony pouring out of the Malfoys’ ballroom. Every molecule of his body belonged here. She’d never felt so alone in his company.
Sensing her distress, he guided her to a rose-adorned pillar away from prying eyes. He observed her with a mixture of concern and awe, admiring her in sheer tulle and layered skirts that intensified like dusk. Another gift, delivered with an exorbitant bouquet of her favourite peonies and an invitation to his family’s Spring Ball.
She was no idiot. She knew what it was insinuating. This wasn’t casual anymore, and she had her doubts if it ever had been.
“I-I can’t go in there.” Her voice trembled. She hoped he saw the blind panic in her eyes, pleading with him to set her free. “I’m sorry, Draco.” She hated disappointing him. It summoned strange, throbbing, rather un-casual aches to her chest.
But he only kissed her forehead and enfolded her in his firm embrace. “If you want to leave, we’ll leave,” he said in a low, careful voice. “But I promise I will never let them hurt you again. If you take my hand and come with me, I’ll make sure you feel like the most powerful woman in that room.” He stepped back, lifting her chin so their gazes met. “Because you damn well are, Hermione. You’re the most powerful person in there.”
It was the highest praise from a Slytherin. And she knew he meant it.
He looked unbearably handsome tonight in midnight blue robes that matched the darkest layers of her dress, his hair tousled just how she liked. A dazzling confidence emanated off of him. This was Draco’s world, and he wanted her to be a part of it.
She stared at his hand, palm up, fingers spread, awaiting hers to fill the gaps.
But first she asked, “Who am I to you?”
He looked at her earnestly. “I’ll spend the rest of my life with you, Hermione. If you’ll have me.”
She sighed a slow, steadying breath. Then took his hand, fortified.
He placed a light kiss on her knuckles, mouth curving into a relieved smile, and they entered the ballroom just like that—Draco’s lips pressed to the back of her hand, announcing to everyone exactly who she was to him.
(633 words, prompt: friends with benefits/spring ball/I will never let them hurt you again, cross-posted from twitter -- also, i made the prompt builder so feel free to write your own spring-themed ficlet using it!)
2087
pixelskylines
areudirty
titsay
