I'm so thrilled to have reached 100 (and over) reviews! I'm not sure if I replied to all reviews but to those I did leave out, thanks for reviewing! :)
I actually rewrote this chapter like four times before taking pieces here and there and adding in new bits to make it flow. I'm sorry if it sounds a little dated but I've been reading a bunch of Tudor/Austen period books (Philippa Gregory, anyone?) and fanfiction and it's probably translated into my writing.. Anyway the ball scene is probably the longest bit I've written so far. I was going to leave it as a whole chapter but I felt that I owe you guys a little something more for waiting. Hope the extra scene at the end made up for the wait!
Again, I'm calling for baby names. Seriously. I have one or two names in mind for Nym's kid but I wouldn't mind changing it if anyone has a better one (with the meaning given if possible) =)
In Slytherin, Hermione Granger was known as the bushy-haired, buck-toothed beaver. Or Mudblood, depending on whose opinion one sought.
The muggleborn Gryffindor was rather unattractive in terms of appearance during their early school years as attested by the girl's wild and frizzy hair, overly large teeth and mismatched outfits. Although that had changed by the time Granger and Daphne's fourth year had rolled round. Someone, the most likely suspects were Granger's mother and Mdm. Pomfrey, had helped the girl with her startling appearance and dressing, leaving a rather pretty young woman in the bookworm's place.
Blaise had often remarked that it was humorous to watch Weasley number Six fall over his large feet trying, and failing, to impress the studious Gryffindor who clearly preferred Potter over the obnoxious redhead. Pansy used to shrilly imitate Granger's pitiful attempts to charm the oblivious Boy-Who-Lived.
Daphne had laughed at Weasley's pathetic ways and Granger's painfully obvious interest and possessiveness but now she had the most horrible feeling that she was about to be cast in a similar role as theirs if Harry still held a fondness for his long time friend.
"She's on the left, by the glass swan," Blaise' cultured tones cut through her thoughts.
Granting the man the barest hint of a smile, Daphne quickly turned her attention to where Blaise had pointed out.
Granger stood alone, looking extremely discomfited by the grandeur of the large ballroom as well as the inquisitive looks she was receiving from the other guests. Recognizing the deep plum colour of Granger's dress as Hannah Longbottom's signature colour, Daphne frowned at the potential symbolism. Granger was off-limits until she could ascertain Harry and Longbottom's stance towards the muggleborn witch. Daphne mentally reminded herself to be polite with the bossy Gryffindor if they came face-to-face until further notice.
As soon as she spotted Hannah Longbottom, Daphne had decided her plan of action.
Hannah had married Neville Longbottom shortly after the completion of their NEWTs. It had been a bit of a surprise because nobody seemed to know that Neville and Hannah were even friends, much less carried an inkling of interest for one another. Nevertheless it was a respectable marriage for both parties given their impeccable family lineages and Neville's standing in the new world order.
Despite sharing Herbology and Ancient Runes with the Hufflepuffs, Daphne was not well-acquainted with any of her Hufflepuff year-mates until her joining with Harry. Hannah was more Susan's friend than any of the other sister wives but Daphne had made good progress with the Longbottom mistress.
Knowing that Hannah's slightly more gossipy nature might bear fruit to answering her questions, Daphne caught the blonde's eyes and was granted a welcoming smile. Displaying more nonchalance and confidence than she actually felt, Daphne approached the chubby-cheeked blonde.
"Lady Hannah," she air kissed the pretty woman, "How are you and the baby doing?" she asked politely.
Shortly after Nym's pregnancy was announced, the Longbottoms had released their own news that Hannah was expecting the first of the next generation of Longbottoms.
Pregnancy suited Hannah Longbottom, Daphne thought a bit enviously. There was a pleasing glow in her face and the rounded belly did not look out of place or ungainly on her pear-shaped figure. Despite assurances from Nym and her mother that she would eventually regain her old trimness, Daphne constantly worried that her pleasing figure would balloon like an unsightly Quaffle and had reluctantly resigned herself to the eventual disfigurement of her body.
When Daphne deemed enough small talk had been indulged, she shifted their conversation topic to her true objective. "I see you have loaned out your design for to-night," she waved her goblet of juice in the vague direction of Granger.
The warm smile that had graced Hannah's face for the last ten minutes wavered for a moment before becoming a tad more fixed. For an unseasoned courtier, which excluded most of the purebloods and the quick learners and upstarts from the muggleborn and half-blood communities, they might have missed it but Daphne prided herself on her well-trained ability to look for the nuances that most people would missed.
"She is Neville's old friend. There is no way we could have let her attend in a shirt and jeans," Hannah allowed.
Daphne was amused by the answer although she was careful not to show it. Neville Longbottom was the epitome of the loyal Gryffindor and Hannah, as a Hufflepuff, on principle would never abandon a friend, no matter how distant the connection. If Granger was truly a friend of the Longbottoms, both Neville and/or Hannah would be installed by Granger's side all evening to ensure that the bookish Gryffindor would not feel uncomfortable or slighted by the other members of Harry's court should they choose to snub Granger.
Given that neither were by Granger's side, it was safe to assume that she did not carry a favoured status with the Longbottoms. Daphne quickly deducted it was only because Hermione Granger had been a friend to Neville during their Hogwarts days that they had placed her under their protection for tonight by loaning a well-recognized Longbottom trademark.
She could see in her peripherals that Blaise was heading in her direction while her mother and Astoria, as her invited guests, watched impassively from their positions by one of the many buffet tables scattered along the walls. The Greengrass matriarch was to be her eyes and ears for the night but that did not mean that Daphne could let her guard down.
Having hashed out a few plans earlier that evening with Blaise, his approach had been timed to coincide with Harry's first acknowledgement of Granger. Knowing that he was coming to collect her before they made their way to Granger, she was thankful that she was spared having to make a hasty exit when Hannah excused herself before Blaise even reached them.
Blaise bowed – in deference to her status as consort, before they pretended to turn their attention to the dance floor. As per their plan, the duo waited a couple more minutes before cutting across the large ballroom to join Harry and Granger.
Harry's face was welcoming but his eyes showed polite indifference. Daphne took it as a sign that her presence would definitely be welcomed.
"My lord," she curtseyed before rising with as much grace a pregnant woman could have.
A triumphant feeling ran through her body as Harry's eyes, as well as some of the men around them, showed appreciation of the figure she cut. While she was no celebrated beauty like Calliope Zabini, Daphne knew her winning combination of a rosy complexion, beguiling blue eyes framed by thick lashes and a mischievous sort of half-smile had a powerful effect on both boys and men alike.
"Daphne," Harry slid his arm round her waist, drawing her close to him.
Blaise quickly bowed at Harry before the four of them reconvened near an alcove. Daphne could feel a fizzle of magic as people started to give their area a wide berth, granting them some semblance of privacy. Granger's eyes narrowed almost jealously at the display of magic. Harry was talented in the ways of wandless and non-verbal magic and this little show was further testament to it.
"Hermione, this is my wife Lady Daphne and my fellow council member, Blaise Zabini. Daphne, Blaise, meet Hermione Granger."
There was a slight twitch at the corners of Blaise' mouth but he gave a jerky nod at the muggleborn. Having known the man for years, Daphne knew the basic etiquette that was drummed into all purebloods and his need for Harry's continual favour barely outweighed his disdain of muggleborns. Still, she was glad that Harry did not seem to take offence to Blaise' lack of respect.
Thankfully as Harry's wife, she outranked any other female in the large ballroom and did not have to curtsey to Granger. Her smile turned into a smirk as she thrust her left hand forward towards the confused brunette.
"You have to bend over and kiss her hand as a form of greeting and respect, Miss Granger," Blaise chimed in helpfully or unhelpfully, his tone was darkly amused while remaining civil.
Daphne watched as Granger's expression shuffled through outrage, revulsion and unhappiness before settling on sullen. She was tickled by Granger's mumble of a barely polite greeting before the former Gryffindor dropped her rather limp grip on Daphne's fingers.
Immediately Granger swivelled to face Harry. "How can you let this happen?" She asked accusingly.
Granger steamrollered ahead, apparently not waiting or wanting an answer. "This whole Middle Ages behaviour is utterly barbaric and you having seven concubines," She pointed at Daphne, "Who parade as your wives is utterly obsceneand with three of them already pregnant and out of wedlock as well. You're a better man than that, Harry. You should be leading these people in the right direction."
There was a short, uncomfortable silence following her little rant. Blaise's lips were curled into a sneer and Harry's face was unreadable. She supposed she should feel insulted but it was more absurd than disparaging.
Much to her surprise, Harry merely turned to Blaise before enquiring about some trivial council matters as Granger swelled in indignation to the lack of response. Belatedly it occurred to Daphne that she should have either retorted to Granger's baseless comments when Harry looked up and smiled at her.
"I'm sorry. I have been a terrible date. Blaise, Hermione, do excuse us but I believe I owe my wife a couple of dances."
Surprised with Harry's abrupt announcement, Daphne accepted the adoring smile and Harry's proffered arm without protest or by your leave. She was not surprised by Blaise' hasty departure from the group as Harry escorted her onto the dance floor.
As he laced her hand's fingers with his and placed his other on her waist, she stared at Harry in bemusement. "That was not the slightest bit subtle."
Harry was probably aiming for a snobbish look but the effect was ruined by his cheeky grin, "I'm a Gryffindor. We don't do subtle."
Happy to play along, Daphne wrinkled her nose haughtily. "That is a common failing for Gryffindors. I suppose I should be grateful you didn't start a commotion."
The hand that had been resting on her waist tickled her ribs. "Hey! I would let you know that the best scenes have always been created by Gryffindors."
"I don't doubt that," she said before they began a Viennese waltz.
It was a long-standing joke that despite Sirius Black's, Andromeda Tonks' and Lady Dowager Longbottom's extensive tutoring, Harry was at best an abysmal dancer. Her insides were warmed at the narrowed expression on Harry's face as he concentrated on leading her.
Taking pity on her husband, she insisted on taking a break for the baby and herself as soon as it was socially acceptable to do so. As usual, Harry jumped to be of assistance. He ushered her to the ballroom's Harem corner and after being assured that she was not in need of Healer Andromeda's services or needed to retire, Harry opted to sit with her instead of making his rounds of the ballroom.
The flash of plum fabric reminded her of her original mission but not for the first time, she felt twinges of doubt and apprehension.
Harry valued his privacy immensely. Despite having been married to him for nearly ten months, she was no closer to knowing much about the man with emerald eyes.
There will be another time, a better timing, she told herself sternly. Tonight was about making a stand against dissenters by playing the pretty, pregnant and devoted wife.
Despite her initial fear over Granger, it was clear that she had not been invited by Harry nor had he been expecting her. Daphne was not sure about how she felt about it but she shelved her thoughts when Harry cupped her face and kissed her sweetly.
"Blessed Ostara, Daphne."
Without even having to look at a mirror, Daphne instinctively knew that she was smiling to herself again. The dewy expression on her face annoyed her immensely but her cheeks burned whenever she recalled the reason behind it. It was just a kiss, Daphne scolded herself.
Collapsing back onto the mound of pillows that adorned the head of her bed, she let the memory of her Ostara kiss consume her mind for another moment. It wasn't the most mind-blowing kiss or the most romantic of settings so why was she all bothered by it?
It was probably just the excitement of the evening and her emotions running high, Daphne decided before discarding all thoughts on it. There was no time to think about kisses or magical moments.
Granger, despite her faux pas at Ostara, was still a regular face at Potter Castle. While Harry did not show any scorn or dislike for her, he was merely cordial to her face and an occasional meal time companion to the Muggleborn. Luna and Susan were quick to be welcoming but Granger had quickly spurned their company to devoting hours and hours in the library or hanging around the Council Chamber, as everyone called the large study that Harry and his council members often convened in.
The lamp light flickered for a brief moment and the gauzy, shimmery fabric of her Ostara dress glimmered from her open wardrobe. Daphne let her eyes roam over the dress that Harry thought suited her very well.
Her mother had often praised Daphne's eyes as her best feature and it was with this knowledge that Daphne often planned her wardrobe. The dress she had worn last night had been one of her favourites when she had been choosing the fabrics and colours.
Harry had complimented how the colour suited her. Harry's compliment was far more gratifying than any other male had complimented how well she looked. It was then she realized that Harry had not been talking about how good she looked in the outfit but rather how the colour had complemented her.
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