Hermione stared at the blond in front of her. She couldn't deny that they were in different social circles. They were from totally different worlds. And yet there was something there that wasn't so different.

Malfoy had been born into privlige. Even though he had been stripped of some of it due to his involvement with the Death Eaters during the war, there was no way for it to be completely lost. He'd kept enough of his wealth to be important.

Hermione had been middle class. Not poor by any means. Having two parents working in the dental industry meant that money wasn't much of an issue. But they weren't as wealthy as some were. And they were muggles.

Though Hermione, through the role she had played in the war, had gained some status, she felt uncomfortable in formal situations. And the discomfort only grew as she stared at Malfoy and his extended hand.

"I'd be delighted," she finally said.

Once on the dancefloor, Hermione found that she had more of a voice. "You haven't danced with a single woman tonight. Why me?"

It was Malfoy's turn to be speechless. He swallowed.

"Is it bad? Or are you just using me?" Hermione's mind had raced to the worst possible conclusion.

"No," he said immediately.

"Then what is it?"

Malfoy spun her out and then pulled her back, quickly pushing a curl back behind her ear before once again resuming the proper dancing position. "Is it so hard to think that you're the only person I wanted to dance with?"

"You hate me."

He let out what felt like the longest sigh ever. Hermione felt his hand tighten just a smidge on her waist, pulling her closer.

"I never really hated you. I hated that you were better than me in just about every subject. I hated that you managed to shatter my expectations of the world. I hated that I liked you."

Hermione frowned. She hoped that his actions weren't going to wrinkle her dress. She liked the gold satin she had chosen for the ball. But it was easy to wrinkle, and she hadn't worked out a spell that worked well on the duchess satin without ruining it.

"You made my life horrible."

"And I'm sorry. I don't think I've had a chance to give you a proper apology. And I don't think I could ever truly make up for the damage I've done to your life. And though I would like to try to make it up to you, I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Maybe with a coffee?" Hermione said. "Friday morning, about eight? You're paying."

"Of course."