Centerfold

Hermione started at the crimson satin dress hanging in her closet. She was hesitant to put it on, recognizing all that it represented to her: a combination of freedom and wildness that was her birthright as a Muggle-born Gryffindor, and yet which she had been hiding from ever since Professor Snape had called her a know-it-all on her first day of school at Hogwarts.

Tonight was the Anniversary Ball. Almost a week had passed since the June issue of Nimue’s Dungeon had been published, and in that week she had enjoyed ample opportunities to wonder what the hell she had been thinking to agree to that contract.

Every time she stepped out of her flat, wizards winked and flirted with her shamelessly, making comments that embarrassed her and made her glad once again that her parents were Muggles and thus completely unaware of what she had done.

As bad as the wizards were, the witches were worse. The jealous hags, they glared at her and made cutting, pointed comments just barely loud enough for her to hear (not that she wanted to). Several of them had even tried to curse her or cast hexes at her back. Fortunately for Hermione, her shield spells and wards were as strong as they had been a year ago, and she had never forgotten Moody’s maxim of “constant vigilance”.

She was the brightest witch of her age, after all; something that apparently no one had bothered to tell the witches attempting to curse her. It didn’t take her long to modify her personal wards to include a mirror spell, reflecting their curses back at them without her even having to lift her wand.

If the situation wasn’t so depressing, that would have been humorous.

It had certainly made work at the Ministry interesting.

But as bad as the week had been, it was nothing to what she was anticipating tonight.

Tonight was The Ball, the social event of the season. Anyone who even pretended to be anyone would be there.

She had chosen the crimson dress because it was incredibly flattering and it stood out in the crowd. Not many witches were brave enough to wear robes that bright, and even fewer of them looked as good doing it as Hermione did.

For a moment, Hermione considered charming it black to match her mood; it would also blend in better. But she discarded the idea after only brief consideration.

Her inner Gryffindor rebelled at the notion of hiding.

I guess the Sorting Hat knew what it was about after all. Everyone always questioned why I wasn’t a Ravenclaw, but I guess now we know.

With a deep breath, Hermione headed into the bathroom to shower and start getting ready for the ball.

oooOOOOoooOOOOoooOOOOoooOOOOooo

Draco glanced at the clock and noticed that it was only an hour until the Anniversary Ball was to begin. He briefly contemplated not going. It would be the first time in almost 900 years that a Malfoy had attended a social function without an escort. Draco almost couldn’t bear to break from tradition.

But at the last minute, he decided to attend.

For the last week, he had been going to sleep looking up at the magazine picture of Granger that he had charmed to attach itself to the canopy of his bed. For a week, the only image he achieved sexual release with had been of her.

He was desperate to see her in the flesh, so to speak. He wanted either to verify the truth of her figure in that picture or to pop the bubble that was the fantasy-Granger he had created in his imagination.

He wondered, on some level, why he had even been invited to the Ministry event, but decided that his Galleons were still welcome, even if he wasn’t.

Draco dressed as carefully as he could in his second best set of dressrobes. His best set had been commissioned upon his 17th birthday as a gift from his mother for him to wear for his wedding. They hung in a special closet that was magically sealed to preserve them, and there was no way he would wear them any sooner than he had to.

Even so, Draco mused that his second best set of dressrobes were still likely to be the finest quality garment at the function.

Draco dressed in the heavy robes of pewter silk that matched his eyes, and were edged with black embroidery. He glanced at himself in the mirror and felt forced to acknowledge that he was handsome. Of course, he felt the compulsion to acknowledge this at least once a day, so again this was nothing new.

He stopped in his study and retrieved his invitation to the ball before leaving the Manor.

oooOOOOoooOOOOooo

Draco arrived at the Ministry of Magic’s Apparition point and walked to the head of the stairs, where a queue was forming of people waiting to be announced.

Apparently the ball tonight was going to follow formal protocol.

Draco noticed several people looking at him askance, although he was never sure if the looks which were directed at him had to do with his daring to show his face in public or to the fact that he did so unescorted.

After almost half an hour spent waiting, Draco had made his way to the top of the stairs. Some functionary who had been pressed into service as a herald took his invitation and announced, “Draco Malfoy” with his Sonorous enhanced voice.

There was a ripple of movement as all eyes in the atrium at the bottom of the stairs turned to take in the Malfoy heir, but they quickly turned away. Draco couldn’t help but notice the somewhat incredulous looks sported by the red-haired Weasley clan, which he assumed were due to his audacity in coming tonight.

Draco noticed that the majority of the red-heads in the room were seated at the same table close to the front. Apparently, all of the Weasleys had arrived.

The only one not seated at the family table was Ron, who was seated with Harry at the head table along with the Minister of Magic and his wife. There was an additional empty seat there, and Draco assumed that it was for Granger.

Looking around, he didn’t see her anywhere in the crowd. He checked his time piece and noticed that it was only forty-five minutes after the time that the ball officially started. She must be running fashionably late.

Draco looked around at the witches and wizards gathered for the ball and couldn’t help but wonder again why he had come. None of them were his friends. None of them cared about him at all.

Most of the people he had once called friend were currently serving life sentences in Azkaban. There were several people here that he had once been friendly with, but none of them would want him to sit with them. They had already made it clear that they had barely escaped prison and wanted nothing to do with anyone associated with the failed Voldemort.

With a sigh, Draco felt his loss. Instead of trying to force himself on anyone, he decided to postpone the inevitable and get a drink from the bar. Once his order was filled, he stood and watched the currents of discussion rather than moving to a table.

He wasn’t at all surprised to hear that Granger was the main topic of conversation. The wizards who were standing only with other men were discussing her various attributes in language that almost made Draco blush. The witches were maligning her character, calling her a hussy, or a no-good whore. Even the mixed groups were talking about her, although they were discussing the reactions of Potter and Weasley and how her “actions” were going to affect her career with the Ministry. Draco could read between the lines well enough to pick up on the fact that the male members of the Golden Trio had not taken it at all well that the female member was willing to flaunt herself in public. According to the gossip Draco heard, the idiots had been shocked and appalled that she was female under her robes, and didn’t know how to react to this new information.

As much as Draco was offended by the men’s conversations, he had to restrain himself from telling off some of the witches.

As he recognized this reaction, he stopped, stunned and completely unsure of where it had come from.

In that moment he was honest with himself, something he tried to avoid as much as possible.

He had spent the last week wanking to the pictures of Granger. Every orgasm he had enjoyed had been accompanied by visions of her. During the week, it hadn’t occurred to him that other wizards were also getting off thinking about Granger, but now that it had, it was all he could do to control the possessive impulse to hex them in the back.

It was in this weakened mental state that he felt a hand on his arm.

Turning around, he saw Severus Snape, dressed in his trademark black, standing behind him.

“Draco,” Severus intoned formally.

“Severus. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re here.”

“You know my colleagues well enough to know they would not allow me to miss it, although you should also know me well enough to know that I am only here under duress.”

“Point taken.”

“Which brings us to the question of why you are here?”

“I was invited, and you know I wouldn’t miss what is shaping up to be the party of the year,” Draco answered glibly.

It was a bit too glib, and Severus was not fooled; he had known Draco for too long, but for the life of him, Severus couldn’t even guess at the blond’s motivation for attending the party.

Raising an eyebrow, Severus looked at his one-time protégé curiously. “Where are you sitting?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I have not yet found a seat.”

“Well then, I must insist that you join me. We can catch up, and it will help me avoid the prattle of my tablemates.” Severus nodded towards a table filled with Gryffindors whom Draco knew had been involved in the war effort against Voldemort. Deciding that it would do his tarnished reputation good to be seen in such company, he merely nodded at Severus to lead the way.

For the next half an hour, Draco attempted to make polite conversation with Neville Longbottom and Remus Lupin. Overall, it was a disaster.

During the war, Neville had managed to prove why he had been sorted into Gryffindor, but he still quaked when interacting with his childhood nemesis. To have both Draco and Severus at the same table with him seemed to have turned him into the eleven-year-old whom everyone thought had long since grown up. To see him revert was sad.

Lupin was polite enough to him, but then Lupin was polite to everyone. While Draco had never had a friendly relationship with the werewolf, neither had he gone out of his way to antagonize him.

Also seated at the table was his cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, whom he had never been allowed to get to know but found fun to talk to. Really, Draco decided, the Black blood must have won out, because she was the only decent conversationalist at the table… aside from himself, of course. Well, and Severus, given that he was in rare snarky form tonight.

The line of dignitaries had dwindled to a trickle, as most of the guests had long since arrived. Dinner was scheduled to begin in only a few more minutes, and Draco noticed his drink was almost empty. Standing up, he inquired if anyone else would like something from the bar before leaving the table.

At that moment, a loud voice announced, “Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin, First Class.”

The silence in the Atrium was deafening. As the most talked-about witch of the evening descended the grand staircase, the silence turned into the rustle of fabric, as heads all over the room turned to look. The noise rose in a crescendo as people began talking once more.

Draco stood motionless as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen drifted down the stairs wearing a scarlet dress that eclipsed even the Weasleys’ hair, her full skirts rustling.

As she approached, Draco noticed that her hair was clipped up on the sides of her face to accentuate her graceful neck. Her dress was low-cut enough to show the upper curves of her breasts, and made it apparent that the magazine had employed no enhancement charms on her figure. The red of her dress reflected into her hair, giving her curls highlights that had never been there when she was draped in the morbid black school robes.

To put it bluntly, she was perfection.

Finally, Draco managed to tear his eyes away from the vision that was Hermione. He quickly glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed his faux pas, but was reassured when he saw that all the men in the room were still staring at her, even Severus.

Seeing his old Potions master admiring Granger was almost enough to push Draco over the edge, but at just that moment, Severus turned away from her and looked directly into Draco’s eyes, challenging him to say something.

Taking a deep breath, Draco ignored the challenge and strode purposefully to the bar.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed that Hermione had gone directly to the head table and sat in the remaining chair between Scarhead and the Weasel.

Taking his drink, Draco forced himself to ignore her and returned to his table, just in time for dinner to begin.

oooOOOOoooOOOOoooOOOOooo

Hermione had never been so embarrassed in her life. As bad as the rest of the week had been, the feeling of every eye in the room on her as she descended the stairs had to be the most uncomfortable she had ever been.

She had been quite aware of the silence she moved through to get to her seat, and she was equally aware of the death glares she was receiving from most of the witches in the room.

For about the hundredth time, Hermione wished she had chosen robes that were a little less noticeable. She had a feeling everyone was now under the impression that she had some pathological need to be the center of attention.

With a sigh, she finally reached her table and saw the seat that had been left for her between Harry and Ron. Before she could draw her chair out herself, the Minister of Magic had leapt to his feet to his feet to do the honors. Blushing even brighter at the attention, Hermione just wished the evening would end so she could go home to a good book and pretend that the last week had been a nightmare.

Though the Minister attempted to engage her in conversation, Hermione noticed sadly that the boys were still ignoring her and that the Minister’s wife was glaring at her.

At the beginning of the evening, Hermione was sad, but as the meal progressed and the remarks became more pointed as the alcohol flowed, she became angry.

Finally, the dessert course was cleared away and the orchestra set up on the stage. Tables were magically cleared and moved to leave the middle of the floor empty for dancing. The Minister gave a speech about the sacrifices of the warriors of the light, and the gratitude of the wizarding world at large, and dedicated the ball to the memory of Dumbledore.

Then, with a grand gesture, the Minister signaled for the music to start, and several couples moved onto the floor.

Hermione decided that it was time for her to escape, but before she could manage to reach the door, Harry grabbed her arm and swept her into a waltz.

“Having fun tonight?” he asked.

“Not really. You?”

“No more than you would expect. That was quite an entrance you made.”

“I assure you it was unintentional.”

At this, Harry grinned at her. After a moment, she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hermione, I’m sorry about what we said to you last weekend. I know you’re an adult and can make your own decisions.”

It was as if those simple words made the dark cloud that had been hanging over Hermione dissipate. “Thanks, Harry. I have had cause this week to wonder if it was a good decision.”

“Well, to be honest, I don’t know if it was or not, Hermione, but it was yours to make and I’m your friend.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

The song ended with Hermione feeling better than she had all week.

Smiling, she headed off the dance floor towards to bar to get a drink.

She hadn’t gone more than three steps when she felt a hand on her arm. Turning, she looked into the hazel eyes of a wizard she had never actually met before. He looked familiar, but Hermione couldn’t place his name.

“Can I help you?” she asked, looking down to where his hand still lingered on her arm.

“I hope so,” he said with a leer. “Gawain McLaggen.”

“Pleasure,” Hermione said frostily, mimicking the look and tone she had used all those years ago when she had first been introduced to Ron on the Hogwarts Express. Hastily, she shook his hand from her arm.

“Oh, it will be,” the wizard said, speaking to her cleavage and not even bothering to make eye contact.

Hermione fought the urge to go for her wand at the blatant disrespect in his voice, but as soon as she removed his hand from her arm, she felt ghostly fingertips trace her backside. Turning quickly, she saw several other wizards clustered together and apparently trying to get her attention.

Turning towards this new threat, she forgot about McLaggen at her back.

“So, Hermione,” one of the group began, using her first name as if they were old friends, “I noticed you arrived alone. If I have anything to say about it, you won’t be leaving that way.”

Hermione had never been one of the more confrontational Gryffindors. The notable exception had been in third year when she hit Malfoy. But other than that, Hermione was fairly level-headed, instead taking the role of getting her friends out of trouble.

Tonight, though, these crude and uncouth wizards were pushing all of her buttons, and not in the way they were hoping.

Just when it seemed inevitable to Hermione that she would whip out her wand and start aiming well-deserved hexes at the sleazy pricks, she felt yet another hand on her arm. Spinning around to face this new interloper, Hermione was surprised to come face to face with the cool grey gaze of Draco Malfoy.

Draco had been watching Granger ever since she had entered the room. He had watched her look dejected through dinner, and he had seen her move away from the table as soon as the food was cleared away. He had watched her dance with Scarhead, feeling jealous the entire time she was in the other wizard’s arms, even though he knew they were only friends and that he couldn’t even claim that much.

He had watched her be accosted by McLaggen, whom he knew by reputation, and then be molested by the other wizards. He could clearly see her mounting anger. He knew all the danger signs, after all, having provoked them in her for years.

He had to intervene. He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but he knew that if he didn’t, nothing would ever be right again.

The moment Draco touched her skin he felt a jolt of recognition go through him. All of a sudden, his fantasies of the past week were shattered by the reality of the woman next to him.

“Granger, are you all right?” he asked, noticing her flushed face and flashing eyes. He couldn’t help but think she was magnificent when she was angry. And she was clearly angry.

“I’m fine,” she bit out, spoiling for a fight.

“Good,” Draco said, cursing himself in his head for the loss of his normally glib tongue.

“Excuse me, Malfoy,” McLaggen said, trying to insinuate himself beside Granger again, “but Hermione and I were having a private conversation.”

Draco saw the flash of irritation in Granger’s eyes. Beautiful, he though, but I’m glad her temper isn’t directed at me for once.

“I was wondering if you would like to dance?” Draco asked Hermione, wanting to get her away from the volatile situation.

For a moment he thought she would refuse. He could see the questions in her eyes: Why was he asking? Why would he want to dance with her? What did he want? Still, she only hesitated a moment before saying, “All right.” She slid a hand tentatively through his elbow and allowed him to escort her to the dance floor.

Hermione had enjoyed dancing with Harry, who was naturally graceful, but that was before she had experienced dancing with Malfoy. It was obvious to Hermione that Malfoy had been taught to dance from childhood, and that the lessons had only accentuated a natural ability. His physical grace, so obvious while he was flying, was also evident in his dancing. Harry was graceful as well, but Malfoy had a confidence that Harry lacked.

After they had made a majestic sweep of the dance floor, Draco was forced to admit that he had never had a partner who matched him as well as Granger. Even though they had never danced together before, they moved in unison in a way that he had only seen long-standing couples achieve.

After a few minutes of dancing in silence, he decided he had to try to have a civil conversation with her, at the very least. He had just taken a breath in preparation for speaking, when Granger beat him to it.

“So, Malfoy, thank you for rescuing me. Not that I needed to be rescued, of course, but thanks all the same. The only question I have is why?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“Why are you here, defending me, dancing with me…” Hermione’s voice trailed off.

For a moment, Draco faltered, slowing his steps as he considered his answer.

“Because I opened my eyes.”

“Now I’m even more confused.”

“Does there have to be a reason, Granger?”

“YES!” Hermione said emphatically.

“Well, I’m afraid that if there is one, I am unable to articulate it.”

They completed another round of the floor just as the song was coming to a close.

Turning her attention to the crowd around her, Hermione noticed that she was once again getting looks from all the people at the ball. She might not be able to hear what they were saying, but she decided she didn’t need to know.

With a sigh, Hermione turned to her dance partner. “Thanks for the dance, Malfoy, regardless of why you offered. I enjoyed it. I appreciate you getting me away from that mob, too.”

Pulling her hand from his, Hermione turned to go up the stairs and Apparate home, having had enough socializing for the night.

Seeing his chance slipping away, Draco called after her, “Hermione, please wait.”

Shocked, Hermione came to a dead stop, and turned to face him.

“What did you call me?” she asked.

Blushing at the slip he had made, Draco struggled to bring his emotions back under control. “I called you Hermione.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Hermione was used to him trying to throw her off balance, and she recognized it wouldn’t take much to do so tonight. She was beginning to panic with the need to get out of there, away from him, from all the wizards looking at her like she was an object, all the witches glaring at her…

“I don’t know.”

With a sigh, Hermione turned away from the blond wizard and began to climb the stairs again. However, before she had gone more than three steps, the Weasley twins came bounding down the stairs, and seeing her, let out a whoop.

“Hermione! Just the witch we were looking for!”

Even after all the years and altercations between various Weasleys and Malfoys, Draco couldn’t tell the twins apart.

With a loud sigh, Hermione looked at them and allowed them to lead her to an empty table.

Draco stood at the bottom of the stairs watching their discussion. Hermione didn’t seem too happy with what she was hearing, but he was too far away, and they were talking too quietly, for him to be sure.

“You do realize you’re being obvious, don’t you?” Severus’s voice said quietly in Draco’s ear.

“Yes.”

“You also realize that no matter how obvious you seem to me, she won’t catch on, oblivious Gryffindor that she is, don’t you.”

Finally, Draco turned and looked at his one-time mentor.

“It wouldn’t matter anyway,” he said, dejected. “I don’t deserve her, and she could do a lot better than me. Hell, she could have her pick of pretty much any man here.”

“True, although there was a time you wouldn’t have recognized that. Hmm… it seems that you have now officially grown up.”

“Thanks,” Draco said sarcastically.

“Don’t mention it.”

Draco was still watching Hermione and the twins, and he could tell that whatever they said was pissing her off royally. He’d never seen her so mad at anyone but him before. She looked ready to hit them.

“See, Draco, they know how to get her attention,” Severus drawled.

“Maybe, but not the kind they want…”

“True. Even you know how to elicit a reaction of anger from her.”

Draco turned and glared at Severus, but Severus only smirked in return.

Just then a crash sounded, causing Draco to snap his head back around. Hermione, in her haste to get away from the twins, had pushed herself away from the table violently and knocked her chair over.

Like everyone else in the room, Draco was staring at the witch on the floor in shock, but he recovered more quickly than anyone else and rushed to her side. Looking at her, sitting on the floor with a nonplussed expression on her face, he couldn’t help but smile as he offered her a hand up.

Still in shock from her sudden descent, she took it and found herself lifted gently from the floor and into his arms.

After making sure she was steady on her feet, Draco gently moved to her side and faced the Weasley twins, who had matching expressions on their faces combined horror and amusement.

“I don’t know what you said to her that made her this angry, but you should be ashamed of yourselves. She’s supposed to be a friend of yours, a little sister even…” Draco turned to Hermione, who was again staring at him with a very confused look on her face.

“I seem to be making a habit of this, but are you all right?”

One side of her mouth quirked up in a smile before she answered him. “Yes.”

She turned to move off, but again he caught her arm. “Dance with me?”

Again she looked deep into his eyes, questioning his motives, but as nothing untoward had happened during the last dance they shared, she didn’t stare at him long, just nodded and let him lead her back to the dance floor.

Apparently, the twins took this as a good time to escape, before she returned to hex them into oblivion, and a pair of cracks echoed over the music from their hasty departure.

Draco again led her onto the dance floor and took her in his arms.

He was shocked at the feelings coursing through him. Draco had, over the course of his life, been with a number of women. Most of them had been pureblooded Slytherins who had been attempting to snare him as their husband. A few had been whores of various stripes whom he had paid in order to get exactly what he wanted with no fear of entanglements. None of them had ever made his stomach flutter just from dancing.

Hell, none of them made his stomach flutter, period!

The dance passed quickly, once again the two of them moving together like they were long-time intimates instead of long-term enemies.

With that thought rattling around his head, he spoke before thinking. “What’s happening to us?”

Immediately, he felt Hermione stiffen in his arms.

“Why do you think something is happening?” she asked, answering his question with one of her own.

“Because every time I touch you, I…” he trailed off, realizing what he was admitting, and not wanting to finish that statement.

Hermione pulled back from him and looked into his eyes, her shock at his admission clear on her face, and her own emotions visible in her eyes.

“Hermione…”

But before he could get another word out, Hermione had seized her courage and leaned forward, kissing him on the lips. It started out hesitant, but it quickly grew in intensity until all of the fiery passion that had been between them since they had first met eight years ago was transformed from hate and mistrust into tangible sexual tension.

If Draco thought he felt it in the stomach when he touched her, it was nothing to the jolt of sensation and emotion that coursed through him when they kissed.

Wrapping his long arms tightly around her, he didn’t stop to think about how people would gossip, or even how she would react. He could only think of having her under him in his bed, and with a crack, Apparated her to the Manor.