Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love

Chapter 9: Beltane

"I saw you dancing with the Granger girl," was Narcissa's opening remark at breakfast the next morning.

Well – for Draco, it was breakfast. More technically speaking, it was lunch, given that it was noon. (Theo was getting the last laugh: whatever drinks he had served Draco had resulted in an enormous hangover.)

"I did," said Draco.

"Why?" asked Narcissa. Her tone was light. She buttered her toast as though she didn't actually care about the answer, which meant that she cared very much.

"I was saving her from a dance with someone she didn't want to dance with," said Draco. (This was an inverted kind of truth, but it was fine. His mother was no Legilimens.)

"Ah," said Narcissa. "The gentlemanly thing to do."

"Yes."

"I think it was a good idea," said Narcissa.

Draco met her eyes in surprise.

Narcissa nodded to herself. "Public perception is so important. Draco Malfoy dancing with Hermione Granger sends the right kind of message. We are progressive and we have moved beyond old prejudices. We are relevant; we aren't vieux jeu."

Draco made a muffled sound of acknowledgement around a mouthful of omelette.

Narcissa poured tea. "Miss Granger is making a name for herself far beyond her accomplishments in the War. You heard Monsieur Delacroix talk about her last night – really a remarkable witch."

"Mff," said Draco through his omelette, because he hadn't.

Narcissa gave him a sharp look (she strongly opposed speaking with one's mouth full). "In any case, you may have given me an opening to invite her to some of my functions, if she owes you a favour for the rescue. I've got a few Half-bloods on my lists, but a real dearth of Muggle-borns..."

Narcissa continued in this vein until she was interrupted by a tap at the window. Boethius, Draco's eagle owl, was petitioning for entry, bearing a letter.

"Excellent," said Draco when he opened the letter.

"What is it?" asked Narcissa.

"Leverage," said Draco.

He conjured a quill and scrawled out a response.

-

April came and went in a foggy drizzle. Draco saw little of Granger, whose schedule seemed even more impossibly crammed than it had been previously.

He forced an interaction – a wellness check, really – on a Friday evening when she, wonder of wonders, had nothing on the agenda. It seemed a convenient time to pop by and recast her cottage's wards.

It was pouring, as it was wont to do when Draco had to work out of doors. He cast the strongest rain-repellent charms in his arsenal upon his person and got to work.

The lights were on – Granger was home. He could see her silhouette in the warmly lit cottage, curled on the sofa with a book. Eventually, the shape of the cat appeared at the front room's window to observe Draco. The cat must've made a sound, because Granger's figure followed soon after.

She peered outside and gave Draco a small wave, then came out to stand on the doorstep, wrapped in an overlarge Muggle jumper. Muggles still worshipped the Greek goddess of victory, apparently; Nike's name figured in prominent letters across Granger's chest. Her legs were clad in those Muggley leggings. Her feet were bare.