Ending The Sacred Twenty-Eight (Dramione)

May 2003

May 2003

Another Ministry gala. Hermione Granger thought as she stood in the beautifully decorated main Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, surrounded by war survivors and fighters; from aurors to civilians, all gathered to celebrate the five-year anniversary of the end of the Second Wizarding War.

She, as a condecorated War Heroine, had dressed up in a long periwinkle formal dress, tied her messy curls in an elegant bun at the back of her head, added some jewellery to her ears, fingers and neck, and forced herself to stay at least an hour at that celebration – after the day she had had, she only wanted to go home and brace herself for a different kind of battle she’d have to fight that night: one against her heart.

“...obviously I told him I didn’t care what other people will say.” Harry was talking beside her, she had no idea what he was on about though.

“It’s been five years since the war ended!” Harry continued, “Even the Malfoys are welcomed in public again.”

“Yes.” Hermione replied with a smile, but she had been barely paying attention, for five minutes ago a tall blond man had walked into that party with a beautiful brunette on his arm and all attentions had turned to them – including hers.

Dubbed ‘The couple of the year' by that morning's Daily Prophet, the two heirs of three powerful Sacred-Twenty-Eight families, Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass, had had their upcoming nuptials announced in the front page of the newspaper's social section.

Hermione glanced at the blond man, dressed in a mouth-watering tuxedo that seemed to have been made for him – and knowing him she knew it certainly had.

It should be illegal to be that fit. She let out a sigh and sipped her champagne, nearly spitting it out as it hit her tastebuds.

“Didn’t like the bubbles, Mione?” Asked Ronald Weasley.

She controlled her desire to roll her eyes, Fucking hate that nickname, “No, Ron, not sweet enough for me. But I’m still recovering from a stomach bug, I shouldn’t be drinking anyway.” She put her flute on a table and it vanished to the kitchens to be washed and refilled.

She kept on glancing around the room, finding it impossible to ignore the “Couple of The Year” since everyone was looking or going towards them to give them their best wishes.

Fucking stupid bleached bitch. Hermione mentally growled, not meaning Astoria at all. She knew the Malfoy heir was a natural blond, but she liked to tease him by saying he bleached his hair.

She watched him walk around the party, all politeness and poise – playing the perfect Lord he had been raised to be.

Hermione fisted her hand, wishing she could just climb him and fuck him until he was moaning her muggle surname.

“Mione?” she heard someone calling her and felt a hand on her arm. “Hermione?”

“What?” she replied, clearing her throat, realizing she had been lost in her on thoughts.

She looked at Harry, “What? What is it?”

“It’s time for the speech.” He said with a concerned look, glancing briefly at where she had been staring before.

Yes, the blasted speech. She complained internally – suddenly realizing she had slowly become something of a grumpy moaner after years dating the Slytherin Prince.

She just nodded at Harry and he and Ron followed her onto the stage near the Fountain.

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