Disclaimer: I do not own any part the Harry Potter universe.
As rain pours down from the sky, it is the color of the clouds. When he pulls out his cloak for the Ministry Ball, it is the color of the expensive material. In fact, it is the color of everything he's worn the past few months. He imagines it is the color of the pit in his stomach. As he mourns the loss of her beside him, it is the color of his sorrow.
Dear Mr. Draco Malfoy,
The honor of your presence is requested at the 3rd annual Ministry Ball, held in celebration of the anniversary of the war's end in 1998. One guest is permitted.
Attire is formal dress, with dinner beginning at 6:00 p.m.
Please respond with the attached card.
Ministry Affairs Coordinator
Draco rolled his eyes as he read the invitation once more. After weeks of debating on bringing a guest and who he could possibly invite, the night had arrived and he had never made a decision. Of course, he'd only wanted to ask Hermione and that wasn't an option. She was done with him, he knew it. Attending the function alone would probably make some reporter happy for the paper, as he was certain they would publish some story about him still being heartbroken. It was the only thing the Prophet seemed to care about him anymore.
He jumped slightly at the crash of thunder outside his window and he looked back over his shoulder outside. Rain, of course, would not stop the ball from happening, but it would dampen his mood quite a bit. He hated getting out in the rain and he hoped that they'd have a covered walkway from the apparition point. If not, he supposed it was a good thing he was not inept at quick-dry spells. He laid the invitation back down on his desk and moved over to his closet.
Rifling through his various cloaks, Draco thought he might blow off the affair instead. But then the thought of being able to see Hermione made him reconsider. Even if she didn't look at him, didn't speak to him, didn't come anywhere near him…being in the same room with her, even for a few hours, would lift some of the sadness he was feeling. With those few hours of being near her, he might be able to pretend things were fine. He could pretend she was just making her rounds through the crowd, leaving him on the side while she went to mingle with the other party goers.
He stopped on a grey cloak and pulled it from its hanger, not caring to be gentle about it. At least, he thought, if I don't manage to dry myself all the way, maybe the rain drops won't show quite as well on the grey. He took a last look in the closet, noting all the other grey cloaks he'd passed over. It wasn't like he'd had much of a selection of color anyway.