Never Been Kissed Like That

NEVER BEEN KISSED LIKE THAT

Chapter four:

"The Ministry Anniversary Ball"

"Oh, c'mon, Hermione! We'll never get into that stupid ball if you don't get out of the bathroom this moment," Harry shouted at the bottom of the stairs. They had stayed for the Christmas Eve night at the Burrow and from there would go to the Ministry Anniversary Ball.

"The Ministry's car has just arrived. We'd better get going," said Arthur Weasley. As head of the Department for the Regulation of Magical Artifacts, Mr. Weasley was also attending the impending Ball with his wife. Bill had already left for it, with his brother Percy, to pick up their dates.

Upstairs, Ginny was helping Hermione into the dress. "I shouldn't have had so many treacle tarts yesterday," she said. "I'll never fit into the robes!"

"Just hold on your breath for a sec, and I'll do the zipper, ok?" Hermione did as Ginny told her, and the zipper finally reached the top. Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror. Diamonds sparkled merrily on her neck. The red velvet fabric of the robes was wrapped tightly around her waist, revealing her curves. Too sensuous for her taste, but it was too late to think of that now.

"Wow, Hermione, you look wonderful! And sexy, for a change," Ginny grinned.

"Yeah, I guess if I don't move too much, or breathe, the zipper will stay put." She descended the stairs to find a very elegantly dressed Harry waiting for her. They said their goodbyes to the rest of the Weasley Clan and got into the car to get to London.

*****

From the outside, one might have been suspicious at the amount of strangely dressed people entering the apparently useless phone box on a back street of London city. But, from a magical point of view, this was the event of the year. Hermione tapped her foot nervously as the light emerging from the Ministry's hall started to creep up the box.

The sight was wonderful. Walls covered in shining golden stripes, impossible ice statues ornamenting the tables, and the most select of the wizarding society in their best attire. The power and splendour of the magical world was on display, but deprived of the bulk of all the magical creatures that formed it. Hermione was on a mission, and she wouldn't leave until she had talked Fudge into a meeting.

Wizards came to greet Harry every second, shaking hands and patting backs, paying no attention to Hermione. After a while, he turned to her, with a scared look in his eyes. "Don't look, Hermione. Ludo Bagman, at my right. Quick, move!" He motioned her through the people, towards one of the bars. "If he spots us, you better forget talking to anyone else for the whole evening. One more back-patting, and I'll be spewing my lungs out. No offense intended, for the spew thing, I mean," he said.

"No offense taken, Harry," she smiled. "Why don't you go get some drinks?" Harry nodded and went to the bar.

Hermione scanned the crowd, in search of Fudge. It'll be hard to get to him, she thought; she knew perfectly well that he would avoid her as much as he could.

A tall glass was placed in her hand; it was champagne. "Thanks Harry, but you know how silly I get when I drink Champagne. You don't want me to repeat that incident with the fluffy pink wig and the moose..." she stopped dead in mid-sentence. A very curious Draco Malfoy stood beside her, with a playful smirk on his lips.

"Go on," he said, "you can't start a story and leave it mid-way. I brought you a drink, so now be kind and tell me what was it with the pink fluffy wig and the moose," he arched his brow seductively.

Hermione rolled her eyes. If they had been still been in school, she would have told him to sod off. But they were adults now, so she just cursed him mentally.

"It was a silly story, nothing worth telling," she finally said. Malfoy looked at her disbelievingly. She decided to ignore him and instead concentrate on the people moving on the dance floor. Hermione could feel him staring at her, at every inch of her too-tight dress. Why did I have to buy it? She shifted uncomfortably.

"Sorry for the delay." Harry appeared at her right, carrying two glasses. When he spotted Malfoy, his smile faded.

"Potter," the blonde man drawled.

"Malfoy." Harry said his name as if he had stepped on dragon dung. "I thought you were on duty tonight," he said. Hermione noted the glint of malice in his words.

"Yeah, it seems someone talked the Head of Department into assigning me to personally investigate the sudden explosion of toilets at Victoria Station tonight." He glared at Harry murderously. "I dealt with that and still had time to come here unpolluted. I'm sorry I cannot say the same for you," he pointed at Harry's ever-messy hair.

Uh-oh, Hermione knew what was coming next. It was like those old westerns in which the bad guy narrows his eyes and the good guy narrows his eyes too, and they both finger their guns nervously, each at an end of a very long, dust-covered street. She could almost hear the wind blowing a tumbleweed far away.

"Hey Harry, I've been looking for you for quite a while. Bagman is out there on the loose and full of firewhiskey, so you better hide," Bill Weasley patted Harry's shoulder. Though Hermione had just seen him some hours before, she greeted the red-haired Weasley enthusiastically. After all, his interruption had saved the two immature gits from starting a row.

"Malfoy, hell, just heard you were back from France," Bill shook the other man's hand. "Fed up with the Bouillabaisse?" he laughed.

Bill was by far the coolest of the Weasley brothers, and he knew everyone worth knowing, but being on speaking terms - correction, on friendly terms- with the perpetrator of the Hogwarts hit 'Weasley is our King' was a shock. In response to the questioning looks from Harry and Hermione, he explained, "Malfoy and I were in the same Mountain Auror Training in the Himalayas, and later in the Pyrennes. Did he ever tell you why he stopped using hair gel?"

Malfoy glared at Bill. "I don't think they need to know about that."

"Oh, but we do," Harry grinned as if Christmas had come twice, for tonight was really Christmas day. "Please, I'm more than willing to listen."

"Then, if you don't mind, I'll take the lady here to dance, and you can keep on drooling over a vision of me in snow robes," he retorted maliciously. Then he looked at Hermione.

Hermione did a double-take and then understood. Not only had he referred to her as a 'lady', but he also wanted to dance with her. She took his hand reluctantly, leaving a very annoyed Harry behind them.

"So why did you really come to this event?" Malfoy steered her through the dancing floor expertly, his left hand clasped on her right, the other resting on her waist.

"First, what exactly makes you think I'm going to tell you? And second, why the hell did you invite me to dance?" she snapped. She was annoyed with the uncomfortable feeling she had every time he was around; it was all his fault.

"And third, why do you have to be so insufferable?" he frowned. "I was just trying to engage you in conversation."

"That's exactly why! Why do you want to converse with me?" She looked at him defiantly. He held her stare for a moment, as if weighting his answer. Then he turned his gaze to the side and dropped his hands from her.

"I thought I was doing you a favor by getting rid of a stupid conversation on hair gel and the Yeti's taste on first courses, but I see I was wrong." With that, he turned on his heels and left Hermione alone in the centre of the dance floor.

She didn't see him following the man in black robes that had made Malfoy a sign to follow him out of the hall.

*****

Draco walked down the corridor, his light brows creased in a frown. This was going to be harder than he had expected. But nothing is beyond the reach of a Malfoy, and he knew that, sooner or later, he'd have what he needed.

He opened the dark mahogany door leading to a wide office. The fake windows presented a cloudless sky, stars shining brightly against the navy blue background. He directed himself to the desk at the further end of the room, where a shadowy figure sat on a high chair.

"Did you get any information?" the man at the desk asked.

"I need more time," Draco drawled.

"You alreay had some days, and we're still at the start point. You'd better come come with something soon..."

"It's going to be harder than I thought," he interrupted. "She's quite reluctant to talk to me, but I'll sort that out," Draco spoke confidently.

"You know what's at stake, Mr. Malfoy. If you play your cards right, you'll get yourself positioned most conveniently at the Ministry." The man rose from his seat and approached Draco. He was a short, stocky man with short white hair, probably in his sixties.

"I won't fail, Minister Fudge. It's both your interest and mine that are at stake," Draco said. "You just keep postponing any meeting with the WMCA as long as you can, and I'll do my job." He nodded goodbye to Fudge and exited the office.

He was not there when a pair of Ministry guards escorted a very determined Hermione into Fudge's office. She had had to use Harry's influence to make them take her to the Minister of Magic. She took a deep breath before opening the door; this was the moment she had been waiting for so long.

****

"Harry. Harry!" Hermione spat for the third time.

"Uh, you're back. I want you to meet someone." Harry took her by the arm and led her to a girl with shoulder-length, silky brown hair.

"Hermione Granger, this is Sally Malinger," he said. The girl glared at Harry. "Oh, sorry! Sandy. Sandy Malinger," he corrected himself. Both Hermione and the other girl rolled her eyes.

"It's Mandy, Mandy Salinger," the dark-haired witch finally introduced herself.

"Pleased to meet you," Hermione greeted. Then, taking Harry aside, "I'm leaving. You can stay if you want to."

"What happened?" He eyed her with concern. She looked obviously disappointed at something.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," she said sadly. "I dindn't get the appointment, Harry. Fudge kept on saying this is a delicate affair and that he needs some more time to do some reseach on the matter."

"Maybe he's just trying to do things right," Harry said sympathetically.

"Rubbish. He's just making time to come up with something that will prevent the signing of the agreement. But he won't succeed." She turned to Harry and told him to stay at the party. She would walk home, for it was not very far.

Once outside, she wrapped herself tightly in the coat. It was a cold night, and the skies threatened with some more snow.

"You'll miss Fudge's Anniversary speech if you leave now. Or is that the reason you're leaving early?" Hermione felt this whole thing was some kind of recurrent nightmare.

"Malfoy, are you following me?" she turned to face the blonde man.

Malfoy snorted as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, and then pulled his hand from behind his back. He was holding a cigarette. "This is not allowed inside, if you must know."

"That is a horrible vice. I didn't know pureblood wizards smoked, that's so... Muggle of you."

"I don't usually do." He threw the remainder of the cigarette into a snow pile, where it melted a hole. "Only when self-important bookworm witches piss me off royally," he smirked arrogantly at her.

"Touché," she said. He walked to where she was standing, and she could see his pale face and red nose from the cold. Why was he so bloody attractive? Beep, wrong thought. He was a git. With beautiful, steely blue eyes. Wrong again. He was a git with cold stern eyes. Full stop.

"Would you mind if I walk with you for a while?" he purred innocently.

Hermione blinked once, twice. Malfoy never purred questions innocently, or invited her to coffee, or danced with her, or talked to her at all. The most he would have done is call her mudblood, and she would have called him arrogant git or something similar. But that was not talking, after all.

She had known the spoiled child of her school years, but the person in front of her now was a total stranger to her. And it was disconcerting. Maybe she was prejudiced after all. Great Hermione Granger, defender of the rights of the helpless, prejucided against blonde pureblood princes. She let out an exasperated sigh.

Malfoy could sense the gears in her brain working as she measured the question. She was eyeing him as if for the very first time. His plan was surely working.

"This is a free country, do as you please," she shrugged. "But this is MuggleLondon," she pointed to his robes, "and you'll look really funny in these, Mr. Malfoy."

"No problem with that." He drew out his wand and conjured a pair of black trousers under his robes. Then, to Hermione's dismay, he transfigured his green robes into a long leather coat.

"You know what they say of wizards in leather, don't you Malfoy?" Hermione teased.

"Oh, shut up, Granger, and let's have a bit of non-trascendental, small talk." He walked by her side, hands tucked deep in his pockets. "So, how was your day?"

"Wrong question, try again." Her muffled voice was heard through the upturned collar of her coat.

The two figures walked away through the deserted streets, their animated chatter echoing in the darkness of the night.