A/N: Thank you for the favorites, follows, and reviews!
Sorry about the late chapter. You can find updates and progress about my stories on Tumblr as JessiyL
Chapter Ten
Despite having the belief that Grindelwald would break out of Azkaban within the day, things were quiet for much longer than Hermione ever expected. It had been the end of May when she took Grindelwald to Azkaban but now it was the middle of September, mere months away from Merope's due date. The leaves had changed, the air cooled, and she missed him. Not that she would admit that to anyone.
Had Azkaban really been that hard for him to escape from? Sirius had done it, but of course, Sirius was an unregistered Animagus, something that Grindelwald wasn't. Neither did he have a grieving and dying mother to take his place. But he had been so sure of his ability to break out. Hermione didn't know what to think.
Either way, she had her hands full with her family. Dumbledore was back to his Transfiguration post and Merope was staying in her old bedroom at Hermione's so that she would have help when the time came. The vow thrummed in happiness as Albus and Merope seemed to fall farther and deeper in love each day. Merope's contentment settled around Hermione and kept her from totally sinking into depression. What was there to be depressed about when Tom was soon to be born?
Gellert Grindelwald's charming face flashed in her mind and she savagely thrust it back behind walls so high, they could reach the moon. That door was firmly closed to her. There was no point in playing what if.
"Hermione!" Merope yelled from another room, and Hermione hightailed it out of her office and into the sitting room where Merope was being fed grapes by Jesper, her feet propped up on a green velvet pillow on the chaise.
"What's wrong?"
"Come here! The baby is kicking!"
Hermione smiled in relief and indulgence and approached, reaching out. Merope took her hand and guided it exactly to where Tom was kicking. Together they cooed in amazement to the active fetus, watching as a foot repeatedly kicked Merope's belly.
"We've settled on a name," Merope said, hand still over Hermione's and Hermione looked up in interest. It never occurred to her that he may be named anything other than Tom. "Albus and I both think we should use the name, Tom, after the baby's father but mostly because you told me that was his name in the future, Marvolo after mine, and Dumbledore for his surname. Obviously. It wouldn't do anyone any good to know this child was conceived out of wedlock."
Hermione nodded. That was the whole reason why Hermione vowed to take Dumbledore's place in hunting Grindelwald in the first place. So that Tom would be born with legitimacy.
"People are going to ask; Why Tom? Why not something else?"
"And I will tell them that we named him so because of you. You can tell them whatever you like."
"Tom- the Tom I grew up fearing- dictated everything about my life. There was no greater influence, that is true. Even if it wasn't a positive influence."
"See… too much information. Just tell people that Tom was a beloved relation and leave it at that."
"You want me to lie?"
"What? Do you want to tell the truth?"
"No," Hermione mumbled.
"Then it is settled. To the public, Tom is named in honor of you,"
"Fabulous…" Hermione muttered sarcastically.
Merope laughed at Hermione's expense and drew her attention back to her moving belly. A tapping came from the window and Jesper left his post to let the owl in. A pretty owl swooped in and alighted on the back of the chaise, sticking her leg out, waiting patiently to be relieved of her burden.
"What a beautiful owl," Merope crooned, and Hermione let her take the scroll off the bird's leg while she still massaged Merope's stomach every time Tom moved.
Everything was quiet for several minutes as Merope read the missive before exploding, startling Hermione badly. "Oh shit!"
Hermione's hand lay over her thundering heart as she gasped wide-eyed, trying to get her body back under control. "What the hell, Merope?"
"You didn't tell me that you are going to a ball! It's only a little over a week away! Have you already picked out your costume? Do you need help? What am I saying, of course, you need help! Jesper grab my jacket and shoes," Merope said in a flurry, clapping her hands in excitement, jumping to her feet while cradling her belly. "We are going shopping!"
"I am not going to a ball, settle down,"
"Oh yes, you are. This says that you have already R.S.V.P.'d. They are expecting you and it's much too late to back out now!"
"I didn't reply to any invitations," Hermione frowned.
"You didn't say you would go to the Prince Charity Ball?" Merope asked doubtfully, glancing back at the reminder in her hands.
"No, I didn't. And I am not going,"
"Oh yes, you are! I don't know exactly where the mistake occurred but if you don't go, we will be pariahs!"
"You are being overly dramatic," Hermione said laying back on the chaise.
"Do you want Tom to be ostracized by his peers? Because this is a good way to do it,"
Hermione closed her eyes and groaned. Merope was going to make her go to the stupid thing, and she would go, for Tom. Always for Tom. Everything for Tom… No that wasn't quite right. Everything was for Harry and Ron which meant, in this life, everything for Tom. Hermione rolled her eyes up at the ceiling as if the horsehair plaster held the answer of a way to get out of going.
"Fine," Hermione said, giving in with bad grace. She would just be hounded until she agreed anyway.
Part of the problem was that Merope was bored. Albus was at Hogwarts and the only thing that kept Merope occupied was Tom and decorating and anything else she could think of baby related. She sewed bunting, crocheted small blankets, knitted booties, met with other expectant mothers and poked her nose into Hermione's business. Well, only the juicy bits that revolved around her nonexistent love life.
Hermione watched helplessly as Jesper helped Merope into her shoes and jacket, shrugging on her own outer robes in the process. She just prayed that Merope would be satisfied rather quickly and begged silently to find a suitable costume at the first shop.
"Alright, Hermione, let's go!" Merope said happily, making her way to the floo. Hermione trudged slowly behind her, threw in the floo powder, and stepped through, knowing she just wasn't going to win against Merope. That didn't mean she intended to actually go to the event but telling Merope that would be less successful than if she had told the rocks or the flowers in the garden. Merope had the most intense selective hearing imaginable when it suited her.
The moment she appeared at the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione was hailed by all those she had met over the long months. She had made it her business to be well regarded and thought of kindly, much like Rhett Butler had in Gone with the Wind when he and Scarlett lived in Atlanta with Bonnie. And Merope was among them, receiving their congratulations on the upcoming new addition to the Dumbledore clan with grace and exuberance. She was nothing like the self-conscious, ignorant, abused girl that was pulled out of Gaunt Shack.
Before long, Merope made her way to Hermione and grabbed her hand, excitedly tugging her to the brick arch at the back of the leaky, tapping in the required sequence.
Diagon Alley opened to her in the same way it had when she was eleven and it still took her breath away. The hustle and bustle though were way more significant before two civil wars ravaged the magical shopping district. It was beautiful and resplendent, and dare she think magical? There was nothing quite like seeing magic promoted in such a flagrant, unabashed way.
Merope strode through the milling crowds confidently, cradling her belly while still gripping Hermione's hand, probably -correctly- thinking that she would try to escape when finally, they reached their destination. Madame Lauraude's, the precursor to Twilfit and Tattings.
The bell on the door rung as they entered the shop.
"How can I be of service today, Ladies?" a young, willowy woman in a tight green wrap dress that daringly bared her calves with a peek of the knee.
"My sister is expected at the Prince Charity Ball and as of yet has been unable to find the perfect costume."
"Cutting it a little close, aren't we," the woman sneered.
"When we find something worth wearing, it won't matter. We are rather choosy but if you feel like your little shop isn't up for such a daunting challenge of pleasing the Lady Slytherin, we completely understand and would be more than happy to direct our search elsewhere." Merope countered, a little twinkle of determination hardening her gaze. The young woman looked as if slapped and yet tried to hide it. It was clear she didn't dare turn them away now, especially such affluent patronage.
"I am sure we can accommodate even the most demanding of customers. Right this way ladies." The woman gestured for them to follow her to an exclusive alcove they have reserved for such high-profile clientele as Merope and Hermione were, for their privacy and comfort, of course. "You can call me Tilde."
"Thank you, Tilde," Merope said with a charming smile.
"We have a few different styles here that I think will suit Miss Slytherin very nicely."
"Excellent," Merope smiled. Tilde gestured to a comfortable looking chair for Merope before flicking her wand at a rack near the back. Something reserved for their special customers.
"We are very lucky to have been sent a few designs from the new up in coming talent, Alyssa Travers. She has even been featured in Flitterbill's Fashion Magazine this past summer." As Tilde spoke, she grabbed several options off of the rack in a variety of colors and styles, eyeballing Hermione's figure as she did so.
She bustled into one of the back rooms, pulling out a large garment bag and adding it to the pile in her arms before gesturing to Hermione that she ought to step into the lavish dressing room. Tilde followed her in and hung the dresses on a hook, leaving without another word.
Hermione sighed as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror and smoothed her hair away from her face, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. This ball would achieve at least one of her goals. If she was present in society, Tom had a better chance of blending in. A better, easier chance to obtain the power he desperately sought the first time. Safely. Or as safely as politicking can be.
Meanwhile, Merope sat on the divan, staring at Tilde until Tilde fidgeted under her gaze.
"Can I help you further, Mrs. Dumbledore?"
"Now that you ask," Merope began, a slow sly smile spreading on her lips. "I wonder what else you have stored in that back room, and I wager, that the very best of costume to be had is back there. And I would hazard a guess that you would be willing to discreetly let down another patron for the right price. My sister needs the very best, as I said earlier. And I am willing to pay a hefty price to get it. I owe her much. So, if you cannot or will not disappoint one of your other customers, we will have no choice but to visit another shop. Hermione Slytherin will be watched, and I promise that whoever dresses her, will also become highly coveted. She cannot show up to such a prestigious social event, the first she is to attend in our country, with a subpar costume."
Tilde froze at the first utterance and by the end, she was clearly teetering in between doing as she had promised and basking in the fame and fortune that would follow Hermione wearing her shop's clothes.
"The only question that remains is whether or not you are going to benefit from our patronage. That is completely in your own hands."
A disgusted sound came from the vicinity of the dressing room and Merope had to bite her lip from keeping laughing. Even without knowing it, Hermione was helping her convince the taciturn, snobbish woman.
Tilde stood and nodded at Merope and said, "it would be my pleasure to dress Miss Hermione Slytherin for the biggest social function of the year. Now that I am thinking of it, I do have something in the back. I had set it aside for one of my other customers in the hopes they would be interested, but I can see that costume was fated to be worn by your sister. Let me go retrieve it now."
Merope clapped in happiness a deeply satisfied look on her face. If Hermione is willing to go through so much- time traveling, magical vows, moving among a society that she had little care for- all for Merope's son, nothing would stand in her way to ease Hermione's burden. Her upbringing may have been tragic, but she learned a lot more from her mother than she ever realized. Her confidence had grown as large as the distance between her and her father.
Merope was nothing like the sad pathetic wretch that Hermione dragged out of the Gaunt hovel that day. She likened herself to a phoenix, reborn from the ashes of her former life. Everything she had, every new adventure, every layer of self-confidence was all because of Hermione. There would be no repaying her, not ever. What she had done for them transcended every acceptable repayment. There was no amount of money that would do it. No amount of favors. There was only lifelong loyalty and devotion. They were bound together in more than blood. Sometimes, a family was more than just DNA. Sometimes family was bonded through a series of hardship and circumstance. And she would never take that for granted.
Thank Merlin that Hermione had come into her life, even if it was because of the horror her son turned into. Merope felt blessed.
"Come on out and show me at least one of them, Hermione," Merope called after shaking herself out of her self-reflection.
"These are not going to work, Merope," Hermione said, a tinge of despair in her voice. She was hoping they would find something suitable on the first try. The disappointment was hard to swallow.
"Give Tilde a moment, Dear, I believe she found something more suitable."
Tilde nodded and handed in a garment bag that was much finer than even half the dresses she had already tried on. And that was only the bag.
From inside the dressing room, a loud gasp was heard quickly followed by a string of crooning words. Hermione quickly changed and walked out, showcasing the lovely costume.
"I love it," Hermione said, running her hands over the blue silk.
"It absolutely suits!" Tilde exclaimed, finally having gotten into the spirit of their costume hunt.
"I daresay, every other woman won't be able to compete," said another voice from the doorway.
The newcomer was tall with dark curly hair, intelligent eyes, and red cupid bow lips. Beautiful in a familiar way. Familiar because he looked so much like Sirius Black. There was mischief in her eyes that showed anyone who bothered to look that his disposition was entirely inherited because in some way, this woman, had to be related to Marauder.
"Mrs. Black," Tilde breathed, dropping into a rather lopsided curtsy. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"
"I saw Miss Slytherin admiring this costume as I passed by and thought to drop in and see if you had anything else so flattering. If the Slytherin family shops here, it must be a good place to shop."
"You flatter," Tilde said, still breathless.
"I'm Melania Black." She said as she turned her gaze onto the two other women in the shop.
"This is Hermione and I am Merope," Merope said, and Hermione nodded and extended the usual greetings.
"Yes… Merope Dumbledore… I heard he had married into the Gaunt family. I was always told that the Gaunts were wastrels, little more than squibs. That is obviously not the case. I fear you have been neglected."
Merope shrugged. No matter how poorly she was treated by her own family she still hesitated in condemning them. After all, she still had pride.
Melania turned her grey eyes onto Hermione and studied the way she looked. "I have a feeling we will meet again, Miss Slytherin. Make sure to greet me and my husband at the Masquerade. There are several close friends that are dying for an introduction."
And before another word, Melania was back out the door, despite claiming an interest in the clothes. Tilde in the meantime was fanning herself, looking at Hermione and Merope with a sort of hero worship. They had brought the influential Mrs. Black into the shop. That alone would be enough to have the masses flocking.
"I'll take it," Hermione said softly stroking the gown with a smile. It was probably the most luxurious dress she had ever owned, let alone wore.
Merope smirked and watched Hermione retreat back to the dressing room. "The mask too, Tilde,"
"Of course,"
**HGHG**
The temperature had started to drop and Hermione was grateful her costume was long sleeved because the wind seemed to bite through her warming charms. Her stomach was full of flutters. She really hoped she wouldn't fail at making a powerful impression over the pureblooded society.
Hermione reached up and traced the elaborate iridescent white lace of her three-quarter mask. It hid her identity decently well, surprisingly enough, although it could have been the hours Merope spent curling her hair into smooth ringlets that gathered at the nape of her neck, held in place by a beautiful silver comb.
The apparition point had been set a small walkway from the main house and Hermione was glad. It gave her time to settle her nerves. Suddenly she felt as if Draco's instructions just hadn't been enough. Smaller altercations, arrogant hellos, were something she could easily do. Attending a ball? What the hell had she been thinking?!
All too soon, she was walking up the marble steps, following the rest of the guests in a steady stream to the welcoming hosts. Everyone was resplendent in the very best costumes, one of which was a knight in solid gold armor. Hermione shook her head at the fanciful display.
"I knew you would come,"
Again, a voice that mimicked Professor Snape's caressed her ears as the man himself reached out to take her hands between his own. How could he even tell who was who?
"I was invited,"
"Indeed," He murmured. "Where is your intended? Mother and I were shocked when your acceptance was for one. Ditch him, did you?"
For a moment, Hermione was tempted to say that he was merely detained by other matters and was unable to attend but if she lied now, she would be labeled as taken. How could she move on with her life and start her own family if she was still spoken for? The perks of not having Prince stalk her all evening nearly made her choose the former. But alas, she had to keep herself open. Tom needed family and normalcy. She wasn't going to lie to herself and say she also didn't crave those very things. Nothing had been normal or right since her fourth year.
"He and I didn't want the same things in the end," Hermione said quietly, already regretting it as his black eyes sparkled from behind his black silk mask. To break the tension, she asked the first thing that came to mind. "Who are you supposed to be?"
His lips curled upward. "Death who bestowed gifts upon the three brothers who dared cheat him."
"Ahh," Hermione said weakly, wishing the couple in front of her would move on so that she could greet the next person in line.
"I like your costume too. I never would have thought anyone could make a peacock costume look so alluring."
"Mmm… thanks… a Madame Laraude's creation."
"Remind me to send my compliments,"
Hermione tried to smile but it came out as more of a grimace than anything else. She tugged her hand trying to escape his long-fingered clutched to no avail. The moment she tried to pull away, he tightened his hold and he drew her entire body closer. Her face flared with an extreme blush. She couldn't even meet the eyes of the snickering man behind her, waiting for his turn to greet the Prince heir.
Leaning over, he placed his lips to her ear, whispering, "Save a dance for me,"
Things were starting to get awkward as she kept silent, really not wanting to dance with him. But although persistent, he wasn't really all that bad. Hermione winced. He could be prince charming and it wouldn't matter, her mind was stuffed full of indecent flirtation, boyish features, and dangerous liaisons.
"Alright," she agreed. He pulled back immediately, and she saw that his entire face had lit up in happy expectation. His elderly mother reached out to take her hands, obviously pleased and aware of what she had just agreed.
The rest of the line was a blur of influential people that commented on her costume, family, or prospects. How could they possibly know who she was under all the layers of finery and the large mask that was molded by magic to her face?
Great silver servers were piled with hors-d'oeuvres and crystal flutes of champagne. Both were incredible. She lost herself in the crush, stopping here and there to talk to someone who hailed her.
"Brilliant! I wondered if you weren't actually coming," Melania Black exclaimed from behind her. Hermione twisted around with a smile firmly planted on her face, relieved to see someone she had at least met before.
"How could you possibly know if I showed or not. I can barely move!" Hermione replied.
"I know. Despite having done this for hundreds of years, the Prince's just cannot seem to get it right. Don't worry though, we will be moved to the ballroom soon, where all the dancing will take place."
"Lovely," Hermione said dryly.
Melania laughed. "It's not so bad. You get used to it. There is rarely someone new though. What a novelty you are. The talk of the ton! By the way, this is my husband Arcturus Black. Arcturus, this is Hermione Slytherin."
"Charmed," He said taking her hand in his and leaning over to kiss her knuckles lightly. He was kind, obviously full of life and good humor. She always just assumed he would have been just as evil and snobby as Bellatrix. Hermione smiled back gratefully. At least there was one man she could count on being nice and not try to maneuver her into a marriage. She hoped there were no other Black men in the wings waiting to pounce.
"Anytime now," Melania muttered, standing on tiptoe trying to see over their heads.
And as if her words were magic, the great doors at the north end of the hall were opened and the throng flowed into the larger ballroom that took up the entire second floor of Prince Manor. Finally, she could breathe and was glad for the cooler weather that kept the stifling temps in the ballroom to a minimum.
The quartet jumped right into the first movement, drawing a crowd of couples onto the dancefloor.
"I heard you were engaged. Where is your fiancé?" Melania asked.
"I am not engaged,"
"Oh? I knew it!" Melania crowed elbowing her husband. "You owe me a thousand galleons!"
"You will get yours at home," he said suggestively, playfully to his wife. She tittered and smacked his arm lightly, blushing under her mask.
"I believe you promised me a dance," Magnus Prince said to Hermione as he joined their group. "Evening Black, Melania,"
Neither of the Black's smiled at their host but nodded with respect instead. Interesting, Hermione thought. She would have to find out about that later.
She sighed in defeat and let Prince lead her onto the dance floor. Dancing was something that she loved. It reminded her of her parents, who were known to spend an evening waltzing here and there. Her father had taken it upon himself to teach her how and she treasured each and every memory.
Surprisingly, Prince kept his hand appropriately placed on her waist, even if he did use the leverage to pull her in and keep her close.
"I've been hoping for a moment just like this," he smiled down at her.
"Why?" she couldn't help but ask.
"I think we could be great together," he murmured, obviously amused. "You could bolster our declining family and I could shower you with love and affection, children, and a foothold in our political world. Isn't that why you are here in England?"
Though she didn't care to have power for herself, she did need a foothold for Tom, an outlet for his more ambitious nature. Hermione bit her lower lip and looked down. He took it as a confirmation that he did have what she sought. However, she just wanted to avoid answering in the affirmative.
"Let me court you. Let me show you who I am. Give me a chance to win your favor,"
Hermione looked to the side of the dancefloor where the non-dancers waited for their turn, deep in thought. What would it hurt to say yes? And she could have sworn ice blue eyes shot daggers at her from the sidelines. But that was impossible. Gellert Grindelwald was still in Azkaban, wasn't he?