Chapter Text
“I like your ascot.” Granger runs her fingers over the intricate folds around Draco’s neck. “It’s very Mr. Darcy.”
“Who?”
When she laughs, he dies inside. When she says, “Never mind. You look very handsome,” he is resurrected.
The orchestra starts to play, and Draco musters his courage. “Will you dance with me, Granger?”
She smiles and takes his hand. “I’d love to.”
They whirl around the ballroom while he searches for something, anything, to say. Finally—
“Who’s Mr. Darcy?”
“A man who knows how to wear an ascot.”
“Are you—is he—your boyfriend?”
He hates being laughed at, but her laugh is so beautiful he doesn’t mind. “I wish,” she says, then adds, “He has ten thousand pounds a year, you know.”
“I’m not sure about the pounds to Galleons conversion, but that doesn’t sound like much. I certainly have much more than that.”
“I’m sure you do.” Her eyes sparkle with an unshared joke. Probably at his expense, but it’s hard to care when she’s this close to him. The back of her shimmery navy blue dress dips low, and her bare skin is warm and soft under his hand. “Ditch this gala with me and take me to dinner, and I’ll tell you all about Mr. Darcy.”
He stops waltzing abruptly. “Yes. Right now.”
She laughs (again) (never stop) and kisses his cheek. His face goes hot; he’s pleased to see that her cheeks are pink when she pulls back.
They head out, arm in arm. Draco fist bumps Theo as they pass. Theo looks dumbfounded.
Draco doesn’t hear Theo turn to Harry and say, “I told him Granger had a thing for ascots, but only to have a laugh when he arrived looking like a prat. I didn’t think it would actually work.”