I Learned Your Pulse

"All pale in your presence tonight, Hermione."

"No," said Tori lightly, pointing to the top of the stairs, where a head could be seen peeeking around the corner. "She's there."

And there she was. When she moved into view, Draco was thoroughly stunned, and he wasn't the only one - there was a collective gasp that echoed throughout the room by girls and boys alike, because she truly was gorgeous. Her normally bushy hair was been tamed, trimmed and elboately and yet simply curled, and at the top of her head sat a crown of white snow blossoms, circling her brow like a halo. Her dress was tight at the top, and strapless, fitting very well and sparkling with diamonds that looked very real though he knew they must be fake. It clung to her curves, but the waist on down flared out, layer on top of see-through layer, creating a pure white, shockingly white effect, and the waist was a spiderweb of elegant black lace, coming down like a cut lily pad to the general area of her knees. He couldn't see her shoes, as her dress reached the floor, but he knew they must be just as spectacular. And while her body and clothing made her stand out alone, it was the eyes that did it. Her eyes were a mixture of brown and gold, a tawny bronze color, a fiery delight in the ball and her appearance, anticipating the evening. Her skin glowed, her posture was perfect, and normally, every girl in the room would be jealous, green with envy - but this was Hermione, who everybody knew to be kind, and instead they took up a hint of her beauty and self-acceptance. In that moment, Hermione seemed to think she was just as beautiful as she was, which Draco knew to be a blindness of hers.

"Tori, make my suit into a tux," he ordered, not tearing his eyes from Hermione, who stood at the top of the stairs, scanning the room for him.

Tori did not question his motives, but did as she was told, and Draco found himself wearing a brand-new, state-of-the-art tuxedo that still looked ratty next to her dress. Tori smiled knowingly and gave him a shove toward Hermione. Draco caught her eye, and she smiled broadly, lighting up her already-beautiful face, and he could not help smiling back. He made his way through the crowd, waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her, everybody giving appreciative murmurs and cries as she descended one glorious step at a time. She reached the bottom, and he bowed deeply, holding out his hand. He felt a soft palm touch his own, a warm palm, and the touch got him excited about the ball, whether he wanted to be or not. Straightening, he heard somebody say to them, "Smile! For the Daily Prophet!"

They turned just in time to see a photographer snap their picture, Hermione smiling radiantly and Draco looking slightly cross someone had distracted him. As the photographer stuttered over how beautiful Hermione was and then bustled away, Draco heard the music start.

"Time to dance," she said, and even her voice was beautiful.

And then, moving onto the floor, Draco remembered who she was and who he was and that it was a cheap dress and that he didn't want to be here. And he frowned sullenly, fighting against the urge to forget all in his partner's beauty. As the first steps started, he was stiff and angry-looking; she noticed something was wrong, and she seemed to think it was with her. Noticing that behind her, Ron glared at him and then grabbed Lavender Brown and snogged her fiercely, he was startled enough to feel bad about an act he hadn't committed.

Suddenly wracked with a guilt he told himself he should not feel, he loosened up and smiled at her once again, whispering, "All pale in your presence tonight, Hermione."

She beamed at him so broadly he never wanted it to end; when it did, it was to be mischievously replaced by a sly grin, and she said, " 'I dream when it’s night' ..."

" 'I dream when it's day,' ..."

" 'I dream of what I once did,' ..."

" 'I dream of what I will say.' "