Dramione Drabbles

"If that guy takes you home, I don't wanna know."

It'd been six months since their breakup.

And Draco was over Granger. Really. He'd managed weeks now without her haunting his dreams. He'd moved on.

Or, rather, he'd thought he'd moved on, until he spotted her across the crowded ballroom of the castle, donned in a floor length gown that shimmered each time she moved. Her hair fell in loose curls down her back, though she'd pinned pieces away from her face, so that nothing concealed the infectious smile she offered her colleagues as she spoke to them.

Fuck, she looked ethereal.

The slit in the fabric of her crimson gown rose dangerously up her thigh. So inviting. He yearned to touch her there, among other places he missed.

Apparently, he was not so much over her as he was still completely in love with her.

He sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Aware he'd been staring too long, and not ready to exchange niceties with his ex - or to explain the staring - Draco started to look around for Zabini or any other of his idiot friends who might've been invited tonight.

The turnout was large - Draco guessed a couple hundred guests were in attendance, all sporting their best evening wear and attempting to schmooze each other out of thousands of Galleons to support their own self-righteous causes.

Of course, the real reason for the night was to raise money for St. Mungo's newest ward, which is why Draco had been forced to come, with a pocket full of coin to invest and thus continue his family's pursuit to cleanse the Malfoy name.

It was also the reason that Granger was here - as an accomplished Healer, she was the star of these soirees. Men and women alike fought to speak to her, to shake her hand, to thank her for her many achievements.

Draco felt a sudden shove to his shoulder, as a tall man, lanky in build, rushed past him with two glasses of wine.

"Sorry, mate!" he called over his shoulder. Draco grimaced, wiping the arm of his suit, as if the collision had somehow tainted it. He watched the man parry awkwardly through the crowd.

Scowling after the mannerless man, Draco regarded him irately as he reached his destination and, had Draco been holding his own glass of wine, it would have been shattered to pieces at his feet. He watched as the lanky man offered his second glass to Granger, then brought his newly freed hand to her arm. She didn't object to his touch and it pissed Draco off.

Seething that Granger had moved on when he couldn't, and furious with his friends for being so annoyingly absent, Draco resigned to seeking his pre-relationship distractions - alcohol and women. He scanned the room and soon spied a blonde leaning across the bar, seemingly dateless and without a drink. A target almost too easy.

It took little time for Draco to charm the blonde but, so used to Granger's intellectually stimulating conversation, this woman's droning about tonight's choice of nail varnish had him tuning her out after less than five minutes. Despite his anger, Draco's mind wandered back to Granger and her crimson dress and the horrible idea that someone else may be the one to take it off of her tonight...

"One glass of Chardonnay please," came a voice next to Draco, a voice he would've recognize among a crowd of a thousand.

It was too late to run, too late for him to do anything other than say -

"Granger."

Her head turned to look at him, tossing her thick curls over her shoulder. When she recognized him, her face fell into a comfortable smile, but it was fleeting. She had clearly registered his use of her surname and decided to return the same cold greeting.