A Yule Ball Proposition, Pt. 1

a/n part 2 on my tumblr page!

“Pssst. Granger.”

It was a late school night, and Hermione was burrowed in her homework at the quieter tables in the back of the library. Although fourth year had just begun, Hermione wanted to make sure she was on top of her game for her OWL exams next year. 

“Granger!”

Hermione whipped her head around, looking for the source of the whisper. To her surprise, Draco Malfoy stepped out of the shadows, his face carefully blank. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes, immediately tensing. “Malfoy. If you’ve got something to say to me, please drown yourself in the Great Lake,” she bit at him. She was really getting tired of the smarmy insults Malfoy and his friends had thrown her way over the past years. Once she’d gotten over the initial sting of his rude remarks, Malfoy had become less of a bully and more of an annoying housefly.  

Malfoy sneered back, pale blue eyes glinting as he sauntered over to her table with his chin forward. “Don’t worry, Granger. I’d rather have the Giant Squid strangle me than suffer from your presence.” He dropped into the chair across her, expression suddenly becoming oddly serious and vaguely uncomfortable. “Actually, I have a proposition for you.”

Hermione blinked at him. “A proposition?” She briefly wondered if this is a prank. 

“First. No one knows about this,” Malfoy ground out, his voice tight. 

Hermione smirked at Malfoy’s discomfort. “Why Malfoy,” she simpered. “You don’t want your friends to know you’re speaking to a mudblood?” 

“Would you want Potty and Weasel to know you’re secretly meeting their sworn enemy in dark corners of the library?” Draco arched a brow at her. 

“What’s the proposition?” Hermione asked, unwilling to concede that he was correct in his assumption.

“The Yule Ball is approaching, and given your subpar dancing abilities--”  

“My dancing is fine, thank you.” Hermione glared at him. 

Draco snickered. “Your dancing might be fine for a prancing hippogriff, but not if you’re going with Krum. Did you know that the champions of each school perform a dance at the ball?”

“And how do you know I’m going to the ball with Viktor?” Hermione hadn’t told anyone that, save for Ginny, the only person she trusted not to spill her secrets. 

Draco gave her a wide, Cheshire Cat smile. “I caught you practicing with Krum the other night. I’m surprised to see he still has full use of both feet.” 

Hermione immediately felt her face burn. She had spent so much of her life feeling like an outsider. In muggle primary school, she’d frequently been bullied for her accidental bursts of magic, turning to the companionship of her books instead. And when she found out she was a witch, Hermione had been elated, hoping to finally find a place where she could belong. She eagerly swallowed as many books on the wizarding world as she could the summer before first year, but soon discovered that she was an outsider here, too. On top of her blood status, her classmates continued to mock her for her proclivity toward knowledge, her appearances, and her apparent bossiness. 

So when Viktor Krum, international quidditch star and handsome celebrity, asked her to the Yule Ball, Hermione finally felt some sense of acceptance and belonging. But unfortunately, she quickly discovered that she had two left feet. She and Viktor agreed to practice dancing together frequently, and though Viktor’s dancing was far from lacking, his teaching skills weren’t on the same level. Their practice sessions often ended with bruises on Viktor’s shins and meet and Hermione profusely apologizing. 

“What are you offering?” Hermione inquired.

“I’ll teach you how to dance.”

Hermione blinked again at Draco, wondering if she heard him wrong. “You don’t even tolerate me, and you want to teach me how to dance?” 

Draco scoffs. “Of course I don’t want to teach you how to dance. However, I am in need of--” Draco’s face contorts into one of disdain as he breaks off, and Hermione internally rolls her eyes at his inability to get over his pride. She briefly wondered how desperate Draco was to lower himself to her level. 

He shifted in his chair, clearing his throat. “I need tutoring. My grades are not...great. I’ll ensure you don’t make a fool of yourself dancing if you help me study.” 

Hermione stares at him. “Why me?”

Draco sighs, rubbing his face as if relieving a headache. “Despite your blood status--” Hermione felt her hackles rise again--”I suppose you are the Brightest Witch of our age.” Draco visibly grimaced again, as if he’s in physical pain at the mere acknowledgement of her abilities. 

Hermione pondered Draco’s offer. The press was already writing awful things about her, and she didn’t want to hand them another knife. And tutoring wasn’t hard--she helped her friends with studying all the time. 

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Really?” It was Draco’s turn to look surprised. 

“Yes. On the condition that you will not make racist remarks at me.”

“Fine.”

Hermione extended her right hand, her gaze meeting his. “Shake on it.” 

He grasped her hand firmly, staring boldly into her eyes. “Meet me next weekend in the library. This table will do.” 

Draco stood up, and inclined his head in farewell.

Hermione watched him disappear into the dark library shelves, her hand tingling at the missing warmth.