Author's Note: This is my first attempt at writing for my Harry Potter OTP (besides Harry/Hermione, but that's another story…literally), Draco/Hermione. I really love them. I've been planning a multi-chapter story for these two in the near future, but I had the visual imagery and idea for this piece a while ago, and couldn't quite fit it into the longer piece I'll be writing.

Anyways, reviews would be more than extremely welcome! I really love to get feedback and hear back from my readers! Also, there is another Author's Note at the end of this story that has a little tidbit of information that helps to explain something in said fic, so do make sure to read that.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series. It is property of J.K. Rowling respectively. I do however own a Gryffindor scarf set, although I've determined in my mind that I'm a Ravenclaw. Bummer.

…

The benefit was expected to bring in not only much-needed funding for St. Mungo's, but the most wealthy and influential witches and wizards of the magical world.

And perhaps that was because the event was hosted by non-other than former Death Eater and Slytherin alumni, Draco Malfoy.

Upon receiving a small gift basket of high-quality magical goods and a bottle of fine elf-made wine, Hermione Granger had been ready to toss the package into her flat's fireplace, and set the parcel ablaze. Especially when she unearthed a vial of silvery goo imported from France that guaranteed to tame any type of hair, on any creature's head. Already heated from the personal jab, her suspicions of who sent the parcel were confirmed upon further inspection of the wine. It was his personal favorite; something she had learned over numerous dinners and more than a few secret rendezvous between them.

But, her heart softened when she read the gold-embossed invitation and she began to think twice about hexing its sender. 's had been suffering from an ugly lack of funding, and unfortunately there had only been so much the Ministry could give.

Sighing in defeat, Hermione wrote a short RSVP to the benefit's host before opening Pigwedgon's cage and one of the living room windows, attached the note to the hyper-active owl's leg, and sent him off. She watched him soar over several flats, past three large advertisements and around two skyscrapers before he faded out of view, and she decided that it was time to open the bottle of wine.

…

The night of the benefit arrived quickly, and though Ron and Harry had shown some resistance in attending, they eventually agreed after thinking of the priorities of the evening and more than an earful of nagging from their closest female friend.

…

"Harry, you're the most influential person in the wizarding world! Do you realize how wrong it would be of you not to attend the benefit?"

He grumbled, then folded his arms and nodded.

"And, Ronald, think of how disappointed your mother would be if you didn't go…especially after your father was just admitted for chest pains not even six months ago," she turned to her next victim, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

He cowered away from his girlfriend, gulped, and followed Harry's suit, nodding silently, promising to attend.

…

Ron's reluctance to accompany her to the benefit seemed to wither when he was promised new and stylish dress robes (memories of his Yule Ball attire still haunted him), and both he and Harry perked when they were informed of the other guests attending, former schoolmates, and numerous friends. Even a heavily pregnant Fleur and Bill had received invitations. Passionately supporting the hospital where her second child would soon be born, the half-Veela may have chided the pair into attending as well.

After apparating in front of the exquisite manor, Hermione adjusted one of her long curls back into place and pulled Ron aside to straighten his collar. Ginny and Harry walked before them, arm-and-arm, meandering into the oncoming crowds of all directions on the sidewalk. They followed Ginny's long yellow train and linked hands somewhat awkwardly, still not used to expressing affection in their short newly-rekindled romance (especially in public), before presenting their invitations to a guard in front of the black wrought-iron gates. They would have been welcoming had they not been so naturally intimidating.

As Hermione's feet carried her closer and closer to the entrance of the gray venue and the sound of light classical music mixed with mirthful chatter caressed her ears, her stomach clenched tightly and her head became misty.

Here we go.

…

"Honestly, people, is it that challenging to conjure up a couple of floral arrangements? Bloody hell…" Draco chastised as the banister and steps of the grand staircase became mutilated in thick overgrow and several decorators cursed; hurriedly attempting to tame the makeshift indoor garden. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing and moved down the corridor from the entrance hall, as a particularly nasty vine lifted one of the workers into the air and he screamed for assistance from his fellow employees.

He moved towards the unwelcome warmth of the kitchens in the muggy August heat, and entered the bustling room, as dozens of house-elves prepared numerous dishes for that evening's magnificent feast.

"Ruby!" He called to the nearest elf, a tiny thing with larger eyes than most of her kind and a faded orange sack on. She nearly dropped the glass jars of spices she carried stacked atop each other and turned to him obediently.

"Yes, master!" She squeaked, straightening her back.

"I take it tonight's dinner shall be ready and served for eight o' clock?" He glanced at the clock next to him, reading that it was only eleven o' clock in the morning.

Suddenly intimidated, she stammered back, "O-of course, sir! On the d-dial! Ruby ran out of eggs for the desserts, but s-sent Smokey out for some more!" Ruby shook under her master's cold eyes. Though he hadn't been even an eighth as mean or abusive as his father, her former master, he could be just as scary.

His intensive gaze broke as he swept his vision over the hot ovens and numerous ingredients sprawled out over countertops. "Good. At least one thing around here is going right. Back to it then," he ordered before Ruby ran off to the pantry. And with that he left, ready to micromanage any other mundane task being carried out at the manor that he could.

…

"Why can't you forgive me? I've changed! I have proven to you that I am different! I wouldn't fucking be here if I hadn't!" His glass fell from the nightstand and smashed into hundreds of sharp pieces over the wooden floors of her bedroom as he unintentionally knocked it over while disentangling himself from her sheets.

"I have forgiven you! I'm just pointing out that not everyone else has!" She reasoned, following after him while pulling on her robe over her flimsy dressing gown.

"And who exactly is everyone else? Potter and the Weasel?" Draco's voice grew even louder as he hurried out to the kitchen, and she glanced around as if one of her neighbor's would enter her flat to complain over the noise at three o' clock in the morning.

"This is isn't about Harry and Ron!" She emphasized their names. "This is about us and making our relationship known at the right-"

"The right time?" He cut her off. "When is the right time? When you're sure that we're going to make it and you don't need to keep the Orange Nuisance around as a backup?" He threw his arms out, questioning her.

"Draco, what are you talking about?" Hermione murmured softly and stepped closer to him, before changing her mind and stomping to the living room and raising her voice. "I told you! Ron and I are over! We have been over since the end of the war!" Her voice lowered. "I am here with you. I have been with you. And I want to stay with you," she breathed, turning around to face him in the doorway.

"Then why won't you tell them about me? Us?" Draco replied just as softly before he crossed the room towards her and held her face between his palms gently. "I even told my parents about us before you did. Father threatened to take away everything. Everything. He said he'd disown me. If it wasn't for mother, right now I wouldn't even have my name. She said she was happy." Hermione tried to turn her head away, but Draco wouldn't allow it and kept his hands firmly placed, careful not to hurt her. He continued, "She said, she was happy for us. Happy that I was happy. Happy that I had found someone who loved me despite everything that's happened; despite my past. She doesn't care who you are. She doesn't care about your blood-status. She just cares that you exist." He chuckled darkly. "Wish I could say the same about Dad."

Hermione closed her eyes as tightly as she could. "Draco…" was the only thing she could manage to get out before he broke away from her and continued on.

"So they shouldn't care! They should love you more than they hate me! I'm sick of this. I'm sick of having to creep into your flat at some ungodly hour in the night because we can't be known about. We can't go walking through the park unless Harry's at Quidditch practice and Ron's in Uruguay on a case," He mimicked her, because they might drop in and see us together! Well they can stay in Uruguay for all I fucking care!" He snarled.

"I'm sorry! Alright, I'm sorry!" She bellowed sarcastically. "Do you think I like counting the hours until Ginny and Luna leave whenever we get together so that I can see you as soon as the door behind them closes? Do you think I like making up excuses and feigning ill to come visit you? Do you think I like telling Ron that there isn't someone else who's caught my eye…and that's why it didn't work out? No. I don't. But-"

"Choose." Draco's solemn voice silently interrupted.

"What?" Hermione questioned.

"You need to choose. You can't have two different lives. You can't have your perfect life with the Weaselbee family and the Boy Who Lived and have me on the side. I can't do it anymore. I told my parents. I'm the blood traitor here, remember?"

"Draco, I can't just-"

"So you've already decided?" He moved to fetch his coat.

"No! Where are you going?" She followed him to the door, as he grabbed his jacket and covered his bare chest. Not bothering to pull on his expensive shoes, Draco merely grabbed them, and turned to her.

By now she was crying, and she hated that he had to see her at her weakest. She hated him even more because he was the reason behind her downfall. "Don't…don't go…" She rested her hands on his chest, and for a moment, everything stopped. With his free hand, he wiped a tear off of her lightly freckled cheek and pushed one of her miserable curls behind her ear.

"You can change your mind."

She remained silent, and wouldn't look him in the eyes. He turned away and left the flat with a slam of the door and a "You can keep the shirt," as he exited.

Hermione yanked it open after him, only to discover that he had already apparated away from her.

…

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the loud ring of the doorbell. Upon her surprised reaction, Ron nudged her gently with his shoulder, asking silently, Are you okay?

She only nodded in response, and soon the door was answered by no other than Narcissa Malfoy, dressed in a deep shade of purple and an intricate silver necklace similar to the tiara Fleur had been lent for her wedding. Hermione reckoned that it too, was goblin-made. She hadn't aged much since Hermione had last seen her; about a year back one day at the Ministry. Her hair, pulled into a tight and respectable up-do, was still as blonde as ever, and her skin still taut and smooth. Rather than old, Mrs. Malfoy simply looked tired.

She offered a small smile, more polite than anything, to her former enemies, and with a simple "good evening," welcomed them in. Hermione thought she caught her frown disapprovingly at Ron's ever-crooked collar, and attempted to fix it once more. A house elf then rushed towards them and offered them guidance to the ballroom where the event was being held, but not before Narcissa held Hermione's gaze for what felt like hours and then turned to greet several other attendees. Hermione knew exactly where the ballroom was, but kept silent as they passed the magnificently-decorated staircase and were lead to the grand ballroom of Malfoy Manor.

…

By the time dinner was over, Hermione had seen him a total of six times.

The first was when he made his grand entrance into the ballroom, a petite and mousy brunette with a pretty face in a backless emerald gown, clinging to his arm. She heard from a woman at their assigned table whisper to her long-nosed friend that her name was Astoria Greengrass, an aspiring model who had recently become the face (and eyelashes) of Lady Laurel's Magical Lash-Length Serum. Hermione recalled seeing the former Ravenclaw two years her junior and the younger sister of Daphne Greengrass, who had 'accidentally' knocked Hermione off of her broomstick during Flying lessons back in first year, in the Hogwarts library numerous times.

She already disliked her.

The second was when he halted the gentle tune produced by the orchestra and announced that the evening's auction would take place in the drawing room after dinner. Draco's blond head then disappeared in the party, and Hermione only saw him again twenty minutes later, dancing with his stunning date to an upbeat waltz.

She saw him for the fourth time when she and Fleur, positively glowing in a white Grecian gown and messy French braid, excused themselves to the powder room and she caught a glimpse of his dark gray metallic robes near the exit of the ballroom. The fifth was upon her reentrance to the ornate hall.

But the sixth was the first time Draco had seen her. And Merlin, was she a sight to see. Standing before his guests next to a speaker from the Hospital, who thanked his generosity, babbled on and on about what a gracious thing he was doing for the patients and families St. Mungo's served, and commended his efforts to save hundreds of lives, he could only wonder when the bloke would shut the hell up and he'd be able to follow her out of the ballroom after she had gathered her skirts and exited. As the applause for the benefit's host finally died down, Draco slid off of the stage and coolly slipped out of the ballroom before sprinting down the corridor, an idea of where the former Gryffindor had wandered.

…

She didn't need to turn around to know that it was him behind her. Hermione had felt his presence in her doorway at all hours of the evening too many times before to mistake his aura. Draco's footsteps became louder as he crossed the loggia until he stood next to her, leaning against a large stone column.

Hermione glanced at him in the corner of her eye and caught his smirk, triumphant that he had guessed her location correctly. She had always loved the elaborate stone courtyard of Malfoy Manor, with its overgrown plants and pristine fountain. Almost each of her visits to Draco's home had resulted in spending time there, reading on the fountain's edge or perambulating around in lazy circles with him as he boasted over the architecture of the vast loggia and dark gargoyles above head, and explained their origins.

During these strolls, she had admired the architecture, and he her. It was no different tonight under the thousands of golden fairy lights that illuminated the courtyard and reflected of off the fountain's water and in the pair's eyes.

She was dressed in an off-the-shoulder gown of soft, nearly-iridescent lavender. The floaty material it was made out of trailed behind her dramatically thanks to the dress' empire waist. Its bodice was decorated with shimmery beading and real gardenias surrounding one light purple-pink ambrosia blossom at the dip of her sweetheart neckline, that opened and closed slowly, no doubt with the help of magic. Half of her long dark caramel curls were piled atop her head and sprinkled with lilacs, while the rest of it toppled down her back and over her bare shoulders. Tiny pearl drop earrings, the same she had worn to the first-day feast at Hogwarts at the beginning of their seventh year and return to the school, dangled gracefully from Hermione's ears.

"Your mother looks well," she broke the silence.

He chuckled. The first thing she had said to him in nearly a year and it was about his mother.

"I think leaving the manor with your father was good for her," she continued on.

"I certainly don't mind having the place to myself," Draco replied. "There were too many memories here by the end of the war. She just wanted to start again somewhere else. It's not like my parents couldn't afford another property anyways."

"I have a quite few memories here myself," she mumbled and her hand went to the tiny scar on her neck where Bellatrix's dagger had kissed her throat. Draco seemed to follow her arm's movement with his eyes, staring at the pearly white mark with regret. "What about you?" Hermione asked. "Do you mind staying here?"

"Someone has to take care of this old place," he patted the stone column behind him for emphasis. "Besides, if I was haunted by my past, I wouldn't have gone back to school." He paused. "And there are other more pressing things I dwell on in the dead of the night."

She ducked her head down; focusing all of her attention on the stone railing she leaned upon.

"Weasley looks absolutely stunning tonight," he began sarcastically and she rolled her chocolate-colored orbs. "I assume you two are together then?" His mind flashed darkly to the white flower on the lapel of Weaselbee's robes that matched the blossoms covering her bosom.

"I don't think my relationship with Ronald is any of your business," she turned to him finally, scowling. "Especially when you're the one waltzing around with the Glamour Witch of the Year in your arms," Hermione chided hotly.

"Oh, Astoria? Nice girl, really is, and she comes from a good family," he stopped, "but the girl hasn't got one interesting thing to say. There's a reason she has an occupation that doesn't require her to speak. I don't know how on earth she was sorted into Ravenclaw. One of the biggest Hufflepuffs I've ever met." Draco shook his head. "She does like to read magazines though. Maybe that's it."

Hermione laughed. "I doubt it. Perhaps you don't know her well enough."

"Or perhaps I hold her up to impossible standards," he replied wistfully, staring at her. Her laughter stifled and she felt her cheeks burn and throat go dry at what he was implying.

"I should go…" she murmured after turning to leave, when she felt his hand grasp her wrist.

"Choosing the Ginger and Scarface, again?" His jealous voice barked out.

"Draco, now is not the time for this," Hermione glared at him and attempted to free her wrist, sick of the argument.

"I'm sorry, you're right. There never was a time for this," he bit out scornfully and threw her wrist out of his clutches.

She didn't turn to go leave immediately. "So you're saying that you would walk into that ballroom right now, hand in hand with me, and tell Blaise Zabini to his face that you loved me? To Pansy Parkinson? Theodore Nott? Hmm? You would betray them and every other Mudblood-hating wizard," he cringed at how easily she spoke that word; like he had once, "at the ready? They may not be Death Eaters any longer, Draco, and tell the Daily Prophet that they've changed, that they care, and now they all believe in equality, but let's be serious. They say it to avoid Azkaban. They say it to avoid Howlers being sent to them anonymously from blood traitors, half-bloods and Muggle-borns. They say it because Voldemort lost. Don't even try to kid yourself and say that they wouldn't care who you decided to date. Even though they hold benefits for broke hospitals and donate extra quills to Hogwarts, it's all for face value. They hate me for my blood, and they will hate you even more for not caring about it."

He remained silent as she stepped closer with each sentence, until she was only inches away. "I don't care about your blood." Draco inhaled. "And I sure as hell don't give a damn about what they'll think."

Without warning, he gripped her shoulders and pulled Hermione to him, staring into her wide eyes for a moment before crashing his lips over her own lightly-glossed mouth. She hesitated in his arms for a moment, and then moved her hands to his face and held his head to her own. Draco readjusted his arms to her waist, and two held each other in their passionate embrace for what felt like ages.

Memories flashed against Hermione's eyelids and once more she felt weightless and light-headed; strangely comfortable. The way that only he could make her feel.

They broke apart, and Hermione rested her forehead against his, both slightly breathing heavily. She traced her nose across his cheek, grazing her lips over his jawbone, and the empty courtyard fell into further silence as the sound of the fountain and music from the ballroom fell away.

"I…now, I really…" She inhaled, at a loss. "I have to go."

"I know," Draco replied simply, moving his hands from her waist to her shoulders once more, before releasing them. "One of us always ends up leaving, and honestly, I'm getting tired of being the one who does it," he smirked and motioned his head back towards the benefit.

A small smile danced on Hermione's lips and she turned to leave him, taking several steps to the French doors leading back to the inside of the manor before turning back, but saying nothing. Then, she was gone, off to predictably fall back into the arms of Weasley featuring a mild-dose third-wheeling from Potter.

But, Hermione showed no regret in what had transpired between her and Draco out on the loggia, where similar things had occurred so often in the past. And she definitely showed no worry at the idea of Draco relaying the information of the evening's more secret events back to Ron.

He smirked arrogantly, leaning against the spot she had just abandoned. And perhaps he just didn't have to rely on such petty tactics against Weaselbee because he was confident that, on her own, she would come back to him.

…

Author's Note: Whew! That was a lot to write and think about despite this only being a one-shot.

If you guys weren't aware, the flower on Hermione's dress, ambrosia, represents 'returned love.' I was originally going to use a different flower that meant something else, like 'forbidden love' or 'secret love,' but ambrosias worked into what I had imagined in this scene, so that's what was picked. Lilacs mean 'first feelings of love,' which I think fit into the story well enough. And I love their scent…I do suggest looking into flower terminology. It's a really neat concept and fun seeing what your favorite flowers mean. Mine personally, gardenias, represent purity.

Anyways, thank you, for reading, and PLEASE leave a review!

And also be on the lookout for another Draco/Hermione fic that will be written soon and feature multiple chapters.