The Brightest Black - A Dramione Fanfic

Draco Malfoy's Birthday Party

 Hermione self-consciously tugged on her sleeves, making sure they sat right, as she followed Harry into a large sitting room. She had to suppress a gasp at what she saw. She didn't think she'd ever been in a room so covered in history. The paintings on the silk covered walls had to be hundreds of years old. She almost didn't want to touch the furniture, sure that the oils on her skin couldn't be good for the ancient pieces.

But they were nothing compared to the ceiling. She tilted her head up and took in the gilded paint forming elegant designs. And in the center of the ceiling, was a gorgeous painting of a golden-haired woman reading under a handsome oak tree. A silver-haired man stood nearby, watching her. The emotion on his face was so real. As she watched he started to take a step towards the woman, but then paused, frozen in indecision.

She wanted to keep watching, find out if he said something. If they had a happy ending. But she was called back to reality by a rather cold, if outraged, voice calling her name.

"Black! Potter! What the hell are you doing here?!? I KNOW I didn't invite you to my birthday party."

Hermione pulled her eyes away from the ceiling and focused on the short, angry blonde. He was dressed in impeccably tailored robes, his hair as immaculate as always. Sadly, his appearance was marred by the sneer carved under his cold, steely eyes.

Hermione looked over at Harry, expecting to see him angry. But he surprised her, there was a slightly bored expression on his face and she could see a hint of amusement in his eyes. He really was going to go along with her plan.

He was amazing.

"Of course you didn't invite us, Malfoy. Your mother did." Harry turned away from a sputtering Malfoy and grabbed two glasses of pumpkin juice off the sideboard. Walking back, he handed one to Hermione. She took it carefully, being sure not to spill any, while shooting Harry a grateful smile, thankful to have something to do with her hands.

"Why would Mrs. Malfoy invite the likes of you?" Pansy Parkinson said, disgust and disbelief evident in her voice.

"Why, Parkinson, don't you know that Malfoy and I are family? It's only natural we get invited to each other's parties. In fact, we left my father, Sirius Black, in a pleasant conversation with your father and Mr. Malfoy about the corruption running rampant in the Ministry, " Hermione said, before taking a delicate sip of the juice.

Malfoy seemed to have recovered from his shock. He crossed his arms and glared. "You've never been invited before."

"Well, no. But then your mother's never gone out of her way to make amends before," Harry stated plopping himself rather inelegantly on a very delicate and ancient looking chaise.

Hermione wanted to be outraged at his treatment of such a priceless antique, but the indignation on Malfoy's face was worth any destruction of ancient furniture.

"POTTER! Just what do you think you're doing!?!?" Malfoy screamed, his face turning a gorgeous shade of purple as the rest of the Slytherins looked on with mixed expressions of horror and disbelief.

"Why, I'm making myself at home. When Hermione and I arrived your mother did tell us to make ourselves at home. Since we're all family. Or at least you and Hermione are. You do know the two of you are second cousins, right?"

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to find himself at a loss for words. She assumed it was because he was at a rather pivotal crossroads. Did he stay true to his hatred of her and Harry and thus go against his mother? Or did he stay true to his mother and ignore his feud with the two of them? She almost felt sorry for him, since she had gone through a rather similar dilemma just the week before.