Title: New Times
Author: Lucy Mars
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be, sadly.
Summary: They are not supposed to be a couple. And yet, they're so romantic. D/Her.
*
They never say anything when they want to dance together. At the society parties that all the affluent wizards and witches throw in an attempt to recapture the innocence of pre-war times and to celebrate the war heroes who returned peace to the world, the two of them irk the hell out of people. Someone could be in a completely content conversation with one of them, and the other could walk over, silently slip their hand into the other's arm and lead them both towards the dance floor.
It irks the hell out of people but no one says anything because it's so romantic. There's a heart-stopping beauty in the simple touch that starts their dancing. They don't even look each other in the eyes until they're both moving in perfect sync to the notes that surround them in a poignant embrace.
No one says anything, because the two of them aren't a couple, not in the formal sense of things. She's the brilliance that led the Golden Trio to victory. Harry may have been the courage that rallied the troops and Ron may have been the epitome of faithful devotion to a cause worth fighting that held the light together during the darkest times, but Hermione had been the leader that had led light to its rightful triumph over dark. And what is he? He's the cunning hero that not one person saw rising through the darkness that raised him and embracing the light he was born with. Wizards, witches and prophets alike never predicted that it would be Draco Malfoy coming to the aide of the light and making the Golden Trio a quartet that would spell the end of Voldermolt.
They are not supposed to be a couple.
And yet, they're so romantic.
He's a pureblood who was groomed from birth to follow his father's footsteps to serve the Dark Lord. He was the wizard once rumored to be the heir apparent of the Dark Lord himself. And she? She's the muggle born witch that has become the most powerful witch that the world has seen in the last two millennia. She's the witch that everyone assumed would either become Mrs. Harry Potter or Mrs. Ronald Weasely after the war had been won and there were no more battles left to be waged. Ever since the days at Hogwarts when the three of them were nothing more than children fighting the first stages of the war that would consume them, everyone had thought that Hermione would have ended up with either Harry or Ron. No one ever thought that she would one day be dancing in the arms of her once mortal enemy like there was no where else she'd rather be.
People gossip silently in the shadows with their flutes of ridiculously expensive champagne whenever the two take to the dance floor. Fanciful tales of romance between the two during the last few years of Hogwarts, before the war broke out and tragically divided them, and clandestine meetings between the lovers even during the war, run ramped as the two most talked about people in the wizarding world waltz beautifully as one, oblivious to the hushed murmurs and curious stares.
The elder wizards and witches still distrustful of the last living Malfoy, having seen the destruction the Malfoy family had wracked upon the wizarding and muggle world alike in their youth, watch the familiar scene of Hermione and Draco dancing with apprehension and hesitation. It is too much for them to accept the idea of two people from such different worlds coming together so beautifully. Too many of them had watched Hermione stand loyally with both Harry and Ron through the years and witnessed first hand the trio growing up from children to adults in the span of a time too short, to accept the idea of an outsider stealing the girl from the two rightful heroes.
The younger generations of the wizarding community however, are of a different option all together. They find the entire idea, of a former Gryffindor and Slytherin coming together in the face of adversity and weaving their own little love story from a war that was meant to divide them, as terribly romantic. Hidden from their disapproving parents, giggling witches who idolize Hermione's strength and beauty and grinning wizards who mold themselves after Draco's confidence and charm, watch the two dance with smiles on their faces and hope in their hearts. For so many, the two war heroes represent what the new wizarding world should be all about. Barriers and expectations of the past could follow Voldermolt and his followers into extinction, for all they cared.
However, even the young aren't immune to whispering their own rumors and theories about the duo.
The more romantic of the younger wizards and witches tell fantastic stories of Draco falling in love with Hermione and leaving the dark to prove his true love. Blushing witches sneak glances at the regal form of Draco Malfoy beneath the luminous light of the ballroom as they gush about his defiance to his father, in the face of certain death no less, all because of his love for a woman he was never supposed to love, a woman that he had been raised to hate for all the things that she was and all the things that she wasn't.
'Can you just imagine the outrage people would feel?' the girls would whisper from beneath their lace gloves, 'Especially his family! A Malfoy announcing his love for a muggle born witch had to be suicide. Imagine the bravery he displayed by loving a muggle born witch during those times.'
'Those times indeed,' many would murmur as they lost themselves in the memories of the war that was still so fresh in so many minds.
The more imaginative wizards and witches would murmur their own theories to their captivated audiences. There were stories of how Hermione had been deemed as the main threat to the Dark cause, and that Voldermolt himself had decided that if he could not kill Harry, he would do the next best thing. Many said that Voldermolt himself had ordered for Hermione to be killed and by his best, Draco Malfoy.
'It would be with that order that the course of fate would be changed,' the storyteller would murmur softly with a touch of wonder, 'all because love stood in the way of duty.'
There were also accounts of their love blossoming between the unlikely pair when Hermione had saved Draco from death eaters who had discovered his position as a spy for Dumbledore and nursed him back to health.
The more amusing and ridiculous of the tall tales, that always left Harry and Ron in stitches, had Hermione storming uninvited into Draco's arranged marriage ceremony to Pansy Parkinson on Harry's old Firebolt and objecting to the marriage, while hovering over the mass of black cloaks and Voldermolt himself, on the grounds that she was in love with the groom. It made the two laugh because for one, even till this day Hermione hated flying with a passion and two, Draco would rather die a million deaths than be married to a pug like Pansy. Furthermore, the entire idea of Hermione going into a situation like that armed with nothing more than her wand and an old broom was a little far fetched.
No matter what the tale, the youngest of the audience would always gape helplessly up at the flushed face of the older and more confident witch or wizard who was telling the story, in total awe. At more than one party, story hour would be interrupted by Ron's snickering and Harry's bemused smile.
"So that bloody story about Hermione riding in on Harry's old firebolt and whisking the groom away is still floating around, eh?" Ron grinned, falling into the seat next to the young witch who had been telling the story, "How does your version end? Does Malfoy willingly get onto the broom and the two fly off into the sunset or does Hermione have to knock him over the head and steal him away? Wait, maybe you've got a version that neither Harry nor I have heard yet? Come on, now. Don't leave us in suspense."
Taking sympathy on the young girl as her face became as red as Ron's hair and her audience looked between her and the two war heroes with apt interest at the scene playing out before them, Harry offered her a hand to escape Ron's teasing. "Ignore him," Harry laughed pulling the girl to her feet, "Ron's just teasing."
Staring at Harry, like a fish out of water, the girl blushed furiously when she realized that her hand was clasped firmly in the hand of the boy-who-had-lived and grown to become one of the most celebrated war heroes.
Rolling his eyes as he watched the girl hurry away to her awaiting friends who had watched the entire exchange with amazement, Ron sighed dramatically as Harry dismissed the audience and sat down beside him. "You always ruin my fun."
Grinning as he caught site of the girl and her friends giggling madly, Harry shrugged Ron's annoyance off. "The poor girl was about to expire on the spot,"
"If only we were so lucky,"
Shaking his head at his friend's antics, Harry amused himself by taking in the small cluster of people that had formed around the dance floor blatantly watching Hermione and Draco. "You'd think people would be bored with the two of them by now."
"Nah," Ron mused as he absently rubbed his left arm, "The two of them are gonna keep the lot of them gossiping for some time to come. With the war over, what else does the wizarding world have to talk about over a bottle of butterbeer? Hermione and Malfoy aren't helping things by not admitting or denying anything. Between you and me, I think that they're taking some sort of sadistic pleasure by leaving everyone guessing."
"Your arm bothering you?" Harry frowned, watching Ron cease his movements when he realized what he was doing.
A flash of distaste disappearing from his eyes as quickly as it appeared, Ron gave Harry a wry smile as he raised the sleeve of his black robes to inspect the scar that marred his skin. "I reckon it will for awhile. How's your leg?"
"It still aches but its getting better." Harry replied, turning his head away from Ron and refocusing his attention on Hermione and Draco, "Everything's slowly getting better."
Following Harry's line of vision, Ron couldn't help but agree. "Yeah, it is, isn't it?"
Only a handful of people who know the true story about the relationship between the heir of darkness and the mistress of light, and no one was eager to share it with the masses. Only those who had been in the center of all the fighting had known of the love born out of adversity and the trials both had to endure to emerge victorious in the end, stronger than before. It was only those who had been there when the two had become one that truly knew how powerful their love really was and how much it had cost them both. Only those who had fought side by side with the two understood the depth in which their devotion flowed and the length their scars ran. There was only one story and while many of the rumors and tales of speculation came close, none touched on the complexities of the real thing.
*
Coming to stop beside his friend in a silent sweep of his dress robes, Dumbledore took a moment to study his friend before commenting softly, "I never took you to be the sentimental type, Severus."
Gracing Dumbledore's smiling face with the same look of distaste that he'd been wearing all night, Severus feigned ignorance at the Headmaster's comment. "To make such a comment, is it possible that you've had one too many flutes of champagne, sir?"
"Is it possible that you've become soft in your old age?"
"Doubtful," Severus drawled as he let his attention drift back to the couple swaying softly on the dance floor.
"It's wonderful, isn't it?"
"What is, sir?" the Potion's master questioned, though he had a good idea what the elder wizard was referring too.
Smiling softly, Dumbledore nodded towards the two war heroes that had captivated the attention of all the occupants of the ballroom. "Their dance, Severus. There is so much hope in their dance. Don't you agree?"
Taking a moment to observe the unlikely pair, Severus exhaled softly before replying, "Yes."
*
While they are on the dance floor, he holds her like porcelain. Firm enough to feel the smoothness of her skin, soft enough not to break her. He smiles at her and the crowd who watches the dancing just knows those two are involved.
She smiles back at him and allows herself to hold him just a little closer. The hand on his shoulder slides up to his neck, and she lets her fingers stroke his cheek just once before curling them around the back of his neck. Anymore than that and she would let it lead elsewhere, somewhere that was to be saved for later that night when they were concealed from prying eyes and curious faces.
They're so romantic.
Her hands reached for the silken strands she had always admired from afar during their earlier school years and tangled her fingers in the whispers of white gold. It's an act she allows herself to indulge in simply because she can. He mirrors her actions by raising a hand to brush away the wayward locks of brown that had fallen into her face and allowing himself the guilty pleasure of stroking the rose blush that had stained her cheek with his gentle touch.
He beams at her.
She beams at him.
In
that moment, the image they create of two people pressed against each other
seemed to embody their idea of perfection.
They're so romantic.
The End.