Silk and Gossamer Things, Dainty Sandwiches, Decad

Many thanks to my beta (who requested to be anon) who looked at this twice despite my crazy RL situation. I'm so happy with this little story. Apparently, my recipient dropped out of this exchange, but I hope she recognizes the prompts and enjoys it nonetheless. On a final note, I'm pleased to share that two my fics are up for Dramione Awards (Who Trumps Who and Her Shoes). Please head over and vote at LJ for your fave of the myriad of stories nominated.

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Silk and Gossamer Things, Dainty Sandwiches, Decadent Desserts and Aromatic Teas

Why she decided to come to this fiasco of an event was beyond her. They called her smart, intelligent – brilliant, even – clearly, everyone was wrong. Wait, she didn’t agree to come, she’d been hoodwinked! Blasted best friend!

“Hermione?”

Hermione Granger cringed at the shrilly voice calling out her name. She turned to come face to face with the indomitable Narcissa Malfoy. Usually, the woman embodied elegance and beauty in every graceful move she made but today she was giggling like a silly school girl.

For what seemed the millionth time, Hermione sighed in exasperation.

After the fall of Voldemort, the Wizarding world seemed to be on an upward climb. Fear took a back seat to smiles and laughter; broken spirits were quickly mended as prosperity rolled out its bright red carpet to usher in a new age under Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt. All former, and still alive and kicking, Death Eaters had been escorted into Azkaban. Narcissa’s act on the battlefield helped save she and Draco, whilst Lucius’ sentence was reduced to only five years with his willing participation in a Ministry-approved rehabilitation program. He had another year left in Azkaban.

In the meantime, Narcissa Malfoy had become Wizarding society’s most reformed wife of an ex-Death Eater, embracing the brave new world and all things Muggle and Muggle-born, alike. Draco Malfoy worked hard alongside her to help restore their family honor through his work at the Ministry and charity. As part of their plan, they had instituted parties at their newly rebuilt and refurbished estate on a regular basis. Any holiday was an excuse for a ‘fabulous fete’, as Narcissa was known to say. For two years, they’d invited Hermione and for two years, she’d, very smartly, declined. The last six months, she’d taken to making herself as scarce as possible.

Narcissa, along with a rather alarmingly large group of mothers from various Wizarding families (meddling biddies, in Hermione’s opinion), had banded together to create F.L.A.W. (Finding Love After the War) – a irony not lost on the brainy Ms. Granger. In truth, these mothers were trying to pair and marry off every single witch or wizard over the age of twenty. At twenty-two years old, Hermione was hitting spinsterhood, according to them.

They held lavish tea parties on the Malfoy estate. Single witches (more like victims) dressed in silk and gossamer robes, sat at a very prettily laid out table piled high with dainty sandwiches, decadent desserts and aromatic teas (nothing more than drugs, in Hermione’s opinion) whilst young, dashing wizards (horny bastards lured in using Amorentia, no doubt) took turns trying to impress said witches. They rotated every six minutes. Hermione knew she shouldn’t have explained Muggle speed dating to Pansy, who’d given Narcissa the idea.

Now, finally after months of avoiding the marriage-bound witch, Hermione had been caught. Betrayed, no less, by her flat mate and someone she considered a close friend. She knew she should have never have believed Pansy when she said she’d left her book lying on the sofa in their living room, and would Hermione be a dear and go and fetch it. Pansy and books – what an oxymoron. The witch didn’t even read!

“Oh, Hermione,” Narcissa Malfoy’s voice brought her back to the present predicament at hand. “I’m so thrilled you could come, today. I’ve lined up some wonderful young wizards for you to meet.”

Hermione cringed as Narcissa looped her arm through hers, effectively preventing her escape. She’d left her wand back at the flat, the book acting as a portkey had activated too quickly for her to grab it. Hermione had been assessing how far and fast she could run when Narcissa had interrupted her planning.

“Now, I’ve got some lovely things laid out for you at the house. Come along, let’s get ready.”

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Two hours, five hair spells, nine Beguiling Beauty products and three swipes of Lush Lips later; Hermione was standing in the impeccably manicured Malfoy gardens dressed in a silk and gossamer-like Periwinkle tea-length Muggle dress (Narcissa said recently she’d done away with robes as they didn’t show off a witch’s assets, at least according to British Vogue) and stylish ballet flats. Before her was a very prettily laid out table piled high with dainty sandwiches, decadent desserts and aromatic teas.

She groaned, as she sat down

“Oi, Granger?”

Hermione stiffened. This really couldn’t get anymore humiliating.

“I say, Granger? What are you doing here?”

Schooling her features carefully, she jutted her chin out (again, carefully so as to not smear her Lush Lips look) to glared up at Draco Malfoy. “What does it look like I’m doing here, ferret?”

Even after four years, Hermione and Draco managed to still irk each other. From her point of view, he purposely set out to anger her at every opportunity. He even managed to be civil with Ron and friends with Harry, who F.L.A.W. had matched with Pansy; hence how the two young women became friends. However, with Hermione, Draco still acted like the world’s biggest git. Ginny, who’d been paired with Blaise (thanks to F.L.A.W), said it was because he liked her. Hermione scoffed at the very idea that Draco Malfoy could find her attractive. He’d never given her any inclination he liked her.

She needed to protect herself – defense was the best offense (or was it the other way round?). No matter, she wouldn’t be dissuaded. Handsome Draco Malfoy might be tall and muscular, with the body of Adonis and eyes the color of storm clouds; and yes, he might smell so good it made her sway slightly but he was only interested in making a joke of her. She might be no beauty but she had pride – and plenty of it. If that failed her, she still sported a mean right hook.

“Well, Granger; I would say that you’re here at one of Mother’s parties,” Draco grinned as he sat down. “Pansy finally got you, didn’t she?”

She balled her hands into tiny fists. “No, Pansy did not ‘get me’. For your information, I came on my own. Your mother’s been asking me to come for six months and I finally had some free time in my schedule.”

Draco chuckled, “You’re such a liar, Granger. You wouldn’t come to one of these tea parties if your life depended on it. Though why, I don’t know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She gasped at the audacity.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I only meant it was a nice way to meet a bloke.”

“Do not refer to my knickers. You have nothing to do with my knickers. And I don’t need to meet a bloke.”

“Oh, Granger, I think I shall refer to your knickers. In fact, I think I shall do nothing but think about your knickers all day. You can stroll about this little gathering knowing that I, Draco Malfoy, will be thinking about your tiny, lilac-colored lace knickers. As for a bloke, I disagree. You do need a bloke, but not just any bloke will do for you, Hermione Granger.” Draco was smiling widely by the end of his little speech.

Knowing she shouldn’t rise to his bait, Hermione just couldn’t help herself. “How do you know the color of my knickers?”

Leaning over the table, he whispered, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grabbed a small sandwich and popped it into his still-grinning mouth.

“You are a pig, Malfoy.”

He shrugged, “Oink, Granger, oink.” Leaning back he gazed at her with those gorgeous mercurial eyes (no, they are not beautiful, Hermione Granger – resist him).

“So, what are you looking for in a bloke, Granger?”

This turn in the discussion was unexpected. “I-I….well, as I said, I don’t need a man. I’m not looking for anything.” Pouring herself a spot of tea, she cursed her shaking hands.

“Hm, I don’t believe you. “

“Well, I don’t care what you believe.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

“Not listening to you anymore, ferret.”

“You know what I think, Granger?”

“Are you still here?”

“I think you like me.”

“Never.”

“I think you want me.”

“I have a stronger desire for vomit-flavored Bernie’s Bott’s Flavored Beans.”

“I think you think I’m not interested.”

“Honestly, Malfoy, please go away.”

“Except, you’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong; I graduated top honors at Hogwarts, remember?”

“I do want you.”

“…..”

“Consider this a done deal – I’m going to have you. And, I always get what I want, Granger. “

“Time’s up, darlings,” Narcissa’s voice cut short her reply. “Would all the gentlewizards please switch seats? Please walk to your right. Thank you, dears.”

Hermione blinked. What? Wait. Before she could digest what had just occurred, a wizard plopped down in front of her.

“Hello. I’m Rupert. I like piña coladas and walks in the rain . . .”

Hermione, effectively, drowned out his voice as she turned to look for Draco Malfoy. She saw him sitting to her right, ignoring the blabbering witch in front of him and staring straight at her, a determined look on his face.

She gulped as a delicious shiver traveled down her spine.

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One and half hours, fifteen wizards, four cups of aromatic tea, three dainty sandwiches and five decadent desserts later, Hermione was bursting to use the loo. The fellow sitting at her table was going on about some trip he’d made to the America’s and she couldn’t stand it anymore.

Rising, she smiled, muttered a ‘thank you’ and rush off to towards the house.

“Oh, Hermione.,” trailed the voice of Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione pretended not to hear her, she need the loo, desperately.

Flinging open the French doors leading into the house, Hermione took a quick breath and made her way to exit the room when a small house-elf popped in front of her. Too desperate to care about elf rights, she demanded for directions to the loo. The house-elf smiled, grabbed her hand and Apparated them into a beautifully appointed bathroom that Hermione couldn’t appreciate at that very moment. Bowing, the elf disappeared with a loud “crack”.

One minute, three seconds is all it took for her to find relief. After freshening up, she stepped out of the extravagant bathroom – done in stone and granite, complete with a wonderful Jacuzzi tub and multiple head showers – straight into a bedroom. It was a very large bedroom with an ornate four poster, dragon-carved bed dominating the center.

Hermione’s senses instantly went on alert. Something was wrong here. Something was very, very wrong. Hermione frowned as she walked toward the bedroom door.

A smooth drawl halted her hands on the door knob. “Hello, Granger. Going some where?”

She glanced over her shoulder to suddenly find the gorgeous Slytherin leaning against one of the massive bed posts. “Malfoy?”

“Call me Draco, please. I insist.”

Turning fully to face him, her mouth twisted into a small moue, she replied, “I think I prefer ferret, Malfoy. What are you doing in here? Did you follow me?”

He laughed. “Actually, I think it’s the other way round. This is my bedroom, you see. It would appear you followed me.”

Hermione could feel her cheeks warm with what she knew was a deep blush. “That’s absolutely ludicrous. I needed to find the loo and an elf Apparated me to the bathroom in here. Had I known for the briefest of moments it was your bedroom, I would gone elsewhere – even a behind a bush.”

A low deep, rumbling laugh escaped his lips. “Merlin, you are one wound up witch. Take it easy, Granger, and relax. I won’t bite . . . hard.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed before turning to exit the room. The door wouldn’t budge. She twisted and turned the knob but it seemed immovable. And she didn’t have her wand. “Open the door.” Her heart was beating wildly.

Without warning, she felt his long, hard frame press up against her smaller one. His hot breath filled her ear. “In due time.”

“What are you doing?” Did that slight moan come from her?

Not answering, he turned her towards him and pressed her back firmly against the door. “Like I said earlier, I want you. And a Malfoy always gets what he wants.”

Any protests, thoughts or words were swallowed or simply floated from her mind the minute his lips touched hers. Tender yet firm kisses yielded her lips to his. With only a tip of tongue on her lower lip, she surrendered to the small ball of desire in the pit of her stomach. She kissed him back, in earnest.

Hands, groans, licks and little bites were driving Hermione insane. Draco felt and tasted delicious, all she wanted to do was lose herself in the feelings he incited. All too soon, he pulled away. She moaned in disappointment.

“Let me show you how much I want you, Hermione.” Kisses peppered her neck.

This had to be a joke; Draco Malfoy was not currently trying to seduce her against a door, in his bedroom.

“No joke,” he said quietly whilst nibbling on her ear. “Please.” With that his hand cupped her breast and gently squeezed.

Later, she would blame the pleading tone and mumbling her thoughts aloud but her traitorous body knew better. And indeed, he’d been correct: her knickers were lilac-colored lace.

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One hundred and seventy-five invitations, one hundred and sixty-three pounds of lobster, one top Wizarding band, two hundred and one presents, three hundred thank you notes, sixty crates of the finest champagne, three bridesmaids, one hen’s night and one expensive silk and gossamer wedding gown later, Narcissa Malfoy smiled.

She was quite pleased with how her little plan had unfolded. Pansy had been marvelously helpful in ensuring her son snared the lovely Muggle-born that had, unbeknownst to her, owned Draco’s heart since the end of the war. Founding F.L.A.W. was stroke of genius. Of course, she hadn’t counted on Ms. Granger being so obstinate but the little Gryffindor underestimated Narcissa’s Slytherin nature.

Sighing happily, she looked forward to the wedding that would take place the very next day. Draco had wasted no time in seducing the young witch before proposing. Finally, with Hermione at his side, the Malfoy name would be restored. That she wasn’t a pure-blood was a small matter – Hermione Granger was the perfect wife for her son. And her war heroine status outshone any blood discrepancies.

Giggling like a silly school girl, Narcissa arranged her delicate Muggle skirt of silk and gossamer before sitting at a small private table on the expansive veranda of her private rooms. Before her was a very prettily laid out table piled high with a veritable feast of dainty sandwiches, decadent desserts and aromatic teas.

Her tea time had finally arrived.

- Fin -

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