Happenstance

Hermione did the foxtrot with Neville, who danced like a dream, and resisted the urge to talk shop. He had published a paper on enzyme reactions in Bubotuber pus that she found intriguing but she had limited herself to congratulations. They would discuss his research at the Alchemica Herbem Conference in Zurich after the holidays. They were flying out on the same plane; the conference being a mixed Muggle and Wizarding affair. So no science, just smiles and quick-steps.

Suki had taken the babies upstairs at midnight. Arthur and Molly had taken Martin and Louise home before taking themselves off to the Burrow, leaving the younger couples to dance. Draco twirled with Ginny with less success. They were both trying to lead.

He looked up at the sound of Hermione’s laughter. Neville knew too much for him to be at ease with his friendship with his witch. The sooner he let himself be battened down by Abbott the better. It was not jealousy, not of the physical kind anyway. Longbottom was too soft to be ‘the other man’ but he knew things about Hermione that Draco did not and Draco resented it. He could overlook Weasley because he was an idiot but Longbottom was not. And he had gone back to Hogwarts.

The music was spectral and changed tempo at a wand flick from Draco. He jazzed it up prompting Hermione as everyone swapped partners to lose Neville for George, who danced like a Dervish.

“There’s a Gryffindor thing at New Year’s Eve at Hogwarts.” George whispered breathlessly in her ear as though inviting her to tryst. Hermione had got the owl as had most of the wizarding folk in Britain. Nor was it a ‘Gryffindor thing’. Alumni from all four houses were attending.

“Angelina should get you a leash.” Hermione teased, adjusting his hands to a more socially acceptable position. George gave her an arch look and his hands remained when she had put them.

“Who says she hasn’t?”

Later, Hermione flopped onto the bed with a groan. Her feet hurt. She kicked off her kitten heels and wondered what possessed women, herself regrettably included, to buy pointy shoes. They looked very nice on but were a bugger after a few hours. Once she had risked four inch heels to bring her closer to Ron and nearly crippled herself. Hermione put buying a pair of dress flats on her list. Maybe she would get away with boots or some wispy sandals and a warming charm.

“Are Gregory and Millicent serious?” Hermione asked idly as she massaged her feet. She rarely wore heels and moments such as now reminded her why.

“Protective colouring. Millie is having an affair with an Italian witch. One of Blaise’s cousins. They’re keeping it deathly secret.” Draco heard himself and tried to stem the tide but he was not Canute. He had been enthralled by Hermione bent over rubbing her feet and all the blood had drained from his brain. “I would be obliged if you kept that to yourself. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Oh, it’s alright. I only asked because I was surprised.” Hermione had no interest in making trouble for anyone. She did smirk however. “Millicent’s grabbed me a couple of times and on later occasions she’d been quite personal.” At the time she had not thought much about it but seeing Goyle and the earthy, forceful witch together had brought the incidents back to mind. “She pinched one of my nipples once. I kicked her in the shin. You were there. Part of that Umbridge nonsense.”

“You needn’t remind me.” Draco scowled, remembering the feeling of ostracism he had experienced so recently. “Sackcloth and ashes is still in fashion. I wonder if the faculty will pass around scourges at New Year’s so the Slytherins can flagellate themselves to atone for their sins.”

“You’re being melodramatic.” Hermione stretched out on the quilt still in her dress. She debated having a shower, recalled she did not have to worry about the bill as Malfoy Manor was definitely not hooked up to British Gas and rolled off the bed. “I’ll grant you this evening’s crowd were partisan but you have to admit after decades of Voldemort hanging around like a bad smell there is cause for grudges.”

“Do you hold one?” Draco asked abruptly. “You didn’t dance with Greg or Theo.”

“They didn’t ask.” Hermione shot back from the bathroom. “I didn’t dance with Millicent either or Harry or the Minister for that matter.” She charmed on the hot water and slid out of her dress, thankfully ridding herself of her bra. No more going liberated, not at least until she stopped nursing. The damn things always got in the way.

Victor Krum had commented on them when he had taken her outside for a breath of air what seemed like a hundred years ago. She had been self-conscious enough without his admiration. She wondered sometimes if she had been bolder how far things would have gone. Wizarding age of consent regulations were flexible for witches. A lot of the statutory infrastructure was a throwback from the Middle Ages.

“I said Greg invited us to his sister’s wedding.” Draco repeated, still acerbic as he joined her in the shower invitation or no. He did not touch her just lathered himself and watched Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Her gaze drifted down to his groin as she remembered.

“I didn’t know Gregory had a sister.” Her thoughts were not on Goyle’s sibling. She was thinking about a kitchen in Cumbria and going down on her knees. Why now she did not know. Some undercurrent of displeasure in his voice perhaps? She had not gone down on him. He had asked but had accepted her refusal without comment or query. Hermione was conscious of her pulse thudding like a taiko drum. How long would she be haunted?