“People should fall in love with their eyes closed.”
— Andy Warhol
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Draco stared – gaped – at the sight that was his best friend and former enemy, and for a second wondered if he’d walked into the wrong flat. But no. There could be no mistaking Blaise’s grin and Granger’s fuzzy hair. They skipped and pranced about: the furniture being pushed to the side so there was plenty of room, and just as Blaise dipped Granger, her hair almost reaching the floor as he did so, she caught his eye and giggled harder.
“Oh, hi Malfoy,” she said as if nothing was amiss. “When did you get in?”
“Just then,” he said warily. His eyes were drawn to the pink tinge of her cheeks. Before Draco could register what he was doing, his gaze began to travel down her neck and to her chest, where the flush disappeared under her shirt, her chest rising and falling.
Blaise suddenly righted Granger, who apparently had not noticed a thing. As they swirled around, he caught Draco’s eye with a knowing smirk.
Draco gritted his teeth, abruptly annoyed. “What are you two doing, anyway?”
“Dancing,” they said in unison, then Blaise said, “Wanna join?”
Draco wrinkled his nose at the mere thought of dancing. He hated it. Disliked it so much, in fact, that once before one of his mother’s fancy parties he’d pretended to hurt his leg days piror at Blaise’s and had walked around on crunches for weeks, just to avoid that one night.
With a scathing look in Blaise’s direction, Draco settled into an armchair that had been pushed up against the staircase and accioed his magazine from above the fireplace. He sighed with contentment and began to flip through its pages (that supplied him with many useful recipes involving apples).
It took two minutes for him to quickly become annoyed again. Draco slammed the magazine onto his lap and glared scornfully at the noisy distractions that were Blaise Zabini and Hermione Granger.
“I’m trying to read, if you don’t mind,” he snapped.
“Sorry, mate,” said Blaise, grinning sheepishly. “But you do know there is an upstairs, and there is a place called ‘your bedroom’ where, believe it or not, it may actually be quieter.”
Draco scowled. “If I may inquire –?”
“You may.”
“Just why are you dancing in the first place?”
“Shit,” he cursed. “I knew there was something I forgot to tell you – here.” Blaise let go of Granger and picked up a piece of paper from the sofa. He dropped it into Draco’s lap.
“I, um, kinda read it. It arrived while you were out and you know how I can’t keep my nose to myself. So, we decided to practise.”
“Practise for what?” Draco asked, taking a sip from his coffee before reading.
“Natalie’s ball.”
Draco choked. “W-what?”
Blaise gestured to the letter. “Read it.”
Dear Draco,
As I’m sure you’re more than aware of, your mother’s Sixth Month Ball is vastly approaching us. The ball will be as formal, exquisite and glamorous as always, although I must enlighten/remind you of the slight differences this year: you will not only be bringing along Miss. Granger, but you will also meet Ophelia for the first time in ten years. I’m not writing to badger you, simply to inform and make sure you understand the importance of this night. Do not let your mother down. You are almost half way through the year, and I congratulate you on your efforts – only one more ball to go after this one.
YOU ARE READING
A Wonderful Fortuitous Love
Fanfiction"You see, Draco Malfoy, without your sarcastic replies to endure each morning and that arrogance only you could carry, I find myself somewhat missing you." Draco thought the biggest problem living for a year under the same roof as Hermione Granger w...
