A/N: This is just some Dramione fluff and I hope you enjoy it! I'm hoping to one day post a full-length Dramione story and this is kind of an experiment for me in hopes that it will help me for that bigger project in the future. I really appreciate reviews and your feedback means so much to me! Happy reading :)

Draco shifted awkwardly in his chair, trying to look at Hermione without her noticing, which was very difficult, considering she was sitting at the table next to him. On her other side, she was having a very animated conversation with Ron Weasley, where they were trying to make their potion. Draco was pretty sure that making a potion didn't require that much laughing. He should tell them to shut up. They were disturbing the entire class.

"Um, Draco-"

"What?" he hissed, turning around to face a very scared looking Goyle, who gestured awkwardly towards the potion they were supposed to be brewing together. It consisted of a bubbling, mud-like substance that Draco was pretty sure was not correct, not that he cared.

"Shouldn't we, er, keep going?" Goyle asked, looking very unsure of himself.

"Can't you do it yourself, you imbecile?" Draco demanded, and Goyle nodded quickly, going back to the brew.

"So- Hermione," Draco heard Ron say from across the table, "Do you want to go to the Yule-"

"Ron, did you do three clockwise stirs or two?" Hermione demanded, and Draco, livid with anger, thanked his lucky stars for her interruption. If Ron was the first to ask Hermione, Draco would make his life miserable. Not that he didn't already.

"Oh! Er, three, I think," Ron said sheepishly, his cheeks reddening.

"Ron! The book says two," Hermione reprimanded, flipping the pages rapidly to search for a way to fix it. "What did you ask me?"

At that exact moment, Ron met Draco's gaze, who gave him the coldest stare he could muster.

"Do you- never mind. Nothing," Ron said, dropping his head. Draco smiled to himself. He didn't need that bumbling idiot destroying the courage he had been trying to work up for the last year.

Finally, Potions was over, and Draco hurried to pick up his books, stuffing them in his bag as Hermione headed for the door, waving goodbye to Harry and Ron. Crabbe and Goyle started to follow him, but he brushed them off angrily.

"Keep out of my way, will you? I'll meet you back at the common room," he said darkly, pushing past the two of them as Hermione disappeared in the crowd outside of the classroom.

He practically ran out the door, trying to keep up with Hermione.

"Granger!" he called before he could stop himself. She turned around, her face twisting into a scowl when she saw him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she demanded as he came up beside her, walking briskly in order to keep up with her pace.

"Do you- Are you-" he cursed himself for sounding like such a fool, and Hermione rolled her eyes, picking up her pace so that Draco had to skip a little to keep up with her.

"Am I what, Draco? Cat got your tongue?" Hermione mocked, and his face reddened as they crossed through the courtyard of the castle.

"Do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?" Draco blurted out before he could stop himself. Hermione stopped walking, turning to face him with a disbelieving expression on her face. The chilly wind wrapped around them, ruffling Hermione's untamed brown curls. He had always loved her hair, the way it framed her face and cascaded down her shoulders. He thought the wildness of it was what made her so beautiful. Ugh. Control yourself, Malfoy.

"I'm sorry, is this some sort of joke?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide. His heart sank. He knew she'd react like this. After how he'd treated her all these years, why wouldn't she?

"Never mind," he said darkly, turning around and starting to walk off. He was stupid. Stupid. What kind of idiot was he for expecting her to ever like a worthless Slytherin like him?

"No, wait!" she called, and Draco stopped in his tracks. Slowly, he wheeled around, and Hermione strode up to him, her face the picture of concern. "I haven't answered the question yet."

"I know what your answer is," he said sadly, looking down at his shoes, and Hermione crossed her arms, an unfamiliar smirk on her face.

"I'm not so sure you do," she said mischievously, and Draco's gaze jerked up to her face. "You may be an ignorant prat, but that doesn't mean I completely hate you."

"You mean-"

"Yes, Draco, the filthy Mudblood will go to the Yule Ball with you. That is, if you still want her," Hermione said, and a wide smile broke across Draco's face before he could stop it. This couldn't be happening. He shouldn't be so happy. He should be composed, mature-

"But only if you smile like that more often," Hermione said, interrupting his thoughts, and Draco grinned. "And stop being such an arse all the time."

"I can try," he said with a grin, and Hermione smiled back at him.

"Alright then," she said, and Draco felt like his heart had wings. Hermione Jean Granger was going to the Yule Ball with him. With him.

"Alright then," he replied, and she gave him a little smile as she turned around and waltzed back to her common room, a stack of books slung over her shoulder. How in the world did he get so lucky?

By the time the day of the Yule Ball rolled around, Draco's excitement had given way to nervousness, and he couldn't seem to enjoy any of his Christmas presents as he opened them that morning.

He unwrapped a box of various sweets from Crabbe and Goyle, and did his best to fake an approving nod and brisk thanks that was appropriate to his normal arrogant self, but inside his head, his thoughts were going crazy.

What if she changes her mind? What if it was all a joke? What if Potter and Weasley are just waiting to ambush me with some stupid prank?

Pansy Parkinson had gifted him with a single woolen sock, perhaps in retaliation for not asking her to the ball. He knew she had wanted to go with him, but he wasn't sure he could put up with an entire evening of her too-sweet words and simpering smiles.

Finally, there was less than an hour left until the ball. He changed quickly in his dress robes, examining his hair in the mirror to make sure that it was styled perfectly. If there was anything in this world he liked more than Hermione, it was his hair.

He walked down to the entrance hall in a daze, telling Crabbe and Goyle, who were both clad in an unflattering green, that he didn't want to see them again for the rest of the night, and that if they didn't stay out of his way, he'd murder them both.

Potter and Weasley stood amongst the crowd with the Patil twins, Weasley looking like a clown in some ghastly dress robes that looked like someone had ambushed him with lace and scissors. He was tempted to go over and comment on them, but then he remembered his promise to Hermione. Being less of an arse would be harder than he had thought.

Professor McGonagall called the Triwizard Tournament champions over, and Draco watched in envy as Potter sauntered over with the Patil girl, grinning like an idiot. But he couldn't be distracted by Potter, not tonight. Where is she? He searched the hall for Hermione, but she was nowhere to be found. Maybe she's not coming, maybe she just wanted to stand me up-

Suddenly, there she was, descending the grand staircase like something out of a fairy tale. He drew in a sharp breath. She was breathtaking. Her pink robes fluttered elegantly around her like the wings of a bird, and her hair was twisted into a prim knot that framed her face beautifully.

And her smile- Draco thought that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his entire life. And for once, he didn't care that she was a Mudblood. All he cared about was that she was here, now, and that she was here to be with him.

She floated across the hall towards him, taking his arm gently.

"Hi," she whispered excitedly, and Draco did his best to ignore all the heads and shocked faces that had turned towards the two of them. All around them, wizards and witches whispered behind their hands, sharp words echoing around the hall and making Draco cringe.

What's Malfoy doing with the Mudblood?

What's Hermione doing with that good-for-nothing prat?

She deserves far better than him.

What kind of fool is he to come with a filthy-blooded Gryffindor?

"Ignore them," Hermione said suddenly, and he tilted his face towards hers. "They don't know what they're talking about."

"I will. You look beautiful," he breathed, her words making his shoulders relax as they started to file into the Great Hall, and Hermione smiled softly.

"You look rather dashing yourself," she said with a laugh, and Draco grinned. He had bought the finest robes he could find for the ball, searching Madam Malkin's for the most expensive pair he could find.

"I hoped you would like them," he admitted, and she grinned.

The Hall had been decorated elegantly, with frost and mistletoe and ivy dotting every corner, and Hermione let out a little gasp as they entered. Delicately, they made their way over to the ring of students, watching the champions swirl around in pairs across the dance floor. Draco was pleased to see that Potter looked like he'd never danced a day in his life, and the Patil girl was practically dragging him across the floor.

"Harry looks rather uncomfortable, doesn't he," Hermione commented once they were seated for dinner, and Draco nodded.

"As usual," he said with a smirk, which he quickly wiped off his face once he noticed Hermione's expression. "I mean, yes, he does, but I'm sure he's trying his best," he choked out, the kind words making him shudder.

"Working hard on our agreement, I see," Hermione said with a small smile, and Draco put a hand on his chest in mock pride.

"But of course! Anything for my lady," he said dramatically, and Hermione laughed, the sound of it making Draco's heart warm. He still couldn't believe she was here, next to him. That she even wanted to be around him. But something still weighed on him, something he knew pressed on Hermione too.

"Hermione, I-" he began, but he stopped. He wanted to do this right. Slowly, he put down his fork and turned to her, looking into her eyes. "I've liked you ever since you punched me in the face in third year."

A quick giggle escaped her mouth, and she quickly stopped herself by putting a hand to her mouth.

"Oh dear, I'd forgotten I did that. Draco, I'm so-"

"You have nothing to apologize for. It's me who owes you an apology. I've been an idiot ever since I first met you and I don't deserve any of this. I'm so sorry for everything I've said to you. I completely understand if you don't forgive me," he said seriously, and Hermione looked at him for a minute before smiling.

"Of course I forgive you, Draco. Why else would I be here with you?" she said, and Draco's eyes widened. He hadn't expected this. "I- I've liked you too, Draco, and we've both said and done things I'm sure we regret. But I wouldn't have rather come to this ball with anyone else."

"Thank you," he said quietly, her words ringing in her head. Hermione Granger liked him? Useless Draco Malfoy, who was never enough for anyone, not his father, not his teachers, not this school. But Hermione made him feel like he was enough. Like he belonged here. With her.

Suddenly, music flooded the hall, and students stood up excitedly, flocking over to the dance floor. Hermione grinned, grabbing his hand.

"Come on, silly boy. Let's dance."

Dancing with Hermione felt like something he'd been missing his whole life. They turned in slow circles, the music washing over them in waves as they danced. She smelled like lavender and parchment, and he pulled her closer to him, never wanting to let go.

"You're a good dancer, Malfoy," she said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder as they revolved around each other, two planets in orbit.

"You're not so bad yourself," he said with a grin, and she smiled against his robes, slowly swaying with him.

Draco never wanted to moment to end. He wanted to dance with Hermione until the end of time, to pull her closer and breathe in her heavenly scent again and again and again. He never wanted to let her go. Because Hermione- she felt like home, and even though he was broken and cruel and a wreck of a person, he knew she could make him better. Because she was his dance, and he had a feeling that the melody of them would be one that would play through the ages.