I have started my own mini-FB group for dark-themed fics (Dark Hearts, Dark Arts). For those interested, I have posted the link on my FFN Profile Page.

Chapter Eleven

Yet Somehow, It's Worse

Hermione stopped again, looking back over her shoulder. Her father had paused on the front walkway—not for the first time—merely staring up at the imposing manor, an unpleasant expression on his face.

Harry and her mother had halted, also, eyeing the man warily. It seemed everyone expected him to explode any moment, and Hermione was beginning to think that if he was going to do so, she'd rather he do it now than while in an enclosed space with Lucius Malfoy.

Sighing, she pivoted on her heel and walked back to him. Looping her arm through her father's, she started dragging him along. "C'mon, Dad. Please don't make this more difficult than it needs to be." They'd already had this discussion so many times over these last two and a half weeks, she was sick to her eyeballs of it.

William Granger swung his head back to look at Harry. "Harry . . . . You're certainly not all right with this—this situation, are you?"

"Not even remotely," Harry said with a smirk. Shaking his head, he shrugged. "But then, neither is anyone, so we're just trying to all make the best of it."

"Thank you, Harry." Hermione nodded. "Look, Dad, I know this isn't exactly ideal, and I'm not going to pretend as though I expect you and Lucius Malfoy to become best friends, but Narcissa Malfoy is trying very, very hard to make this as palatable for everyone involved as possible. It's the least you can do to be a polite guest. You might well be the first Muggles ever invited here; you should want to make a good impression."

"Fine," Dad said, lifting his free hand to adjust his tie as they stopped before the door. "The things I do for you, young lady." Despite his words, his tone was loving.

A smile curving her lips, she stood on her toes to drop a kiss on her father's cheek. "I know, Dad. I promise, this will be the one and only time I invite you to tea with my two fiancés and my future in-laws."

Arching a brow, he tried to repress a grin even as he said, "You're not funny."

"You've no idea how many times I've told her that."

Hermione's bright expression turned into a scowl at Harry's quip, though it managed to make her father laugh, so she supposed that was a plus.

"You're certain we're not overdressed, Sweetheart?" Hermione heard her mum ask as she pulled the bell.

Without bothering to look, Hermione knew the woman was fussing with the sleeves of her black dress—elegant for its simplicity and accented by silver statement jewelry. "No, Mum, believe me. You'd feel under-dressed around these people, otherwise."

Her parents could fuss all they liked—they were here, and they looked spectacular. Even Harry . . . .

Hermione thought Harry looked quite dashing in his understated collarless black silk button down and matched trousers. If she had anything to say on the matter, she was going to start finding excuses to dress him up like this more often. Perhaps if she told him she'd dress as she was now, that might help—she'd caught him, quite a few times, tracing over her legs with his gaze when she'd looked back at him.

It was still a new sensation to feel her pulse quicken and her heart flutter because of her best friend Harry Potter, but she decided she rather enjoyed it.

When the polished double doors opened, Hermione's father gave a start beside her. She looked to find him holding the gaze of a house elf. Bloody hell, she'd forgotten to warn them that the Malfoys had managed to retain some of their elves following the War. Though she did find herself pleased that the diminutive creature was clad in clean, neatly-cut fabrics—they didn't qualify as clothes, of course, but this was certainly a step up from what she expected of any elves still in service to pure-bloods, even with the guidelines of the Post-War Reformations.

Forcing a grin, she said, "Good afternoon. Mrs. Malfoy is expecting us."

The elf narrowed her enormous eyes at them and nodded. "Mirell will fetch Mistress."

As Mirell turned and toddled off, William could do nothing but gape after her.

Hermione frowned and tugged at her father's arm. "Dad! Don't stare, it's so rude," she said in a whisper, her tone admonishing.

Clearing his throat, her father nodded, averting his gaze just moments before Mirell returned. The Lady of the House trailed behind the elf on graceful footfalls.

In her typical black lace fineries, and her gleaming platinum hair hanging sleek and perfect against her shoulders, Narcissa Malfoy looked as though she'd stepped from the set of a Victorian Era-themed modeling shoot. Hermione winced inwardly as the woman smiled—she could just feel her mother raising a self-conscious hand to her own reddish-brown locks. Well, at least they'd know which of her parents to blame for her hair.

"I see what you meant," Mum said in a barely-audible whisper.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, Mum was smoothing her palm over her hair; ignoring that it was also gleaming and they'd tamed its natural bushiness into glorious curls that fell beautifully down her back, thanks to the guidance of a simple silver headband.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, I am delighted to see you, again." Narcissa waved them inside as she met the gazes of Hermione's parents in turn. "Do come in."

After they crossed the threshold, Hermione realized she might be behaving rudely by Narcissa's exacting standards. She hurried to correct the misstep before the woman had the chance to give her an eloquent look to back up the feeling. "Mrs. Malfoy, these are my parents, William and Dahlia Granger. Mum and Dad, Narcissa Malfoy."

"I am pleased to welcome you both into my home. Dahlia?" Narcissa's perfectly arched brows rose, her eyes lighting as she met Dahlia's gaze. "You are named for the flower, are you not?"

"Why, yes," Dahlia said, a smile curving her lips as she relaxed visibly. "Blue dahlias were my mother's favorite."

"Oh." Narcissa swept over and laid a gentle hand on the other woman's forearm. "Then I believe you shall truly appreciate our gardens. We have some very lovely species of dahlias amongst our blooms."

William and Harry watched, vaguely mystified as Narcissa and Dahlia started through the house, arm-in-arm.

"How do women do that?" William asked.

Harry shrugged in reply and both men pinned their gazes on Hermione. She shrugged as well, shaking her head. "Don't look at me." All her friendships with other females had formed over time, making her a rather inadequate source of information on this particular matter.

Frowning at them, she turned and trailed after her mother and—possible—future mother-in-law.

By the time she entered the sun room, she found Lucius standing, politely, though he looked expectantly tense, as Narcissa introduced Dahlia and made some light conversation. Draco, though he was standing, as well, was staring down at the toes of his finely-polished black shoes.

Though her own footsteps had struck silent against the plush carpet as she stepped into the room, her father and Harry were not by any means quiet. It was enough to make a girl cringe; bulls in a china shop, these two.

Lucius looked over at the three as Dahlia and Narcissa fell into some hushed discussion that didn't seem to truly include him, anyway. Arching a brow, he made no small show of nudging Draco with his elbow.

Draco glanced toward the door—his expression very much stating that he wished this afternoon was already over and done with—only to do a double-take, his brows shooting up.

Even with her father and her other fiancé standing at her shoulders, Hermione couldn't help a blush at the way Draco's grey eyes moved over her. Her normally wild hair was pinned to the back of her head in an almost-sleek twist, showing off the small silver butterflies that dangled from her ears. Her dress was a form-fitting black satin, that attached to a matched choker by an ornate silver brooch and flared out just a little at her hips, allowing the knee-length hem to flow and sway easily as she moved.

And just now she was rather certain she was moving, though that movement was more of a nervous shifting in place than anything remotely graceful or elegant. There was just something about the wash of pink that tinted the pure-blood wizard's cheeks as he stared at her just now that made her heart hammer in a chest.

The look had not gone unnoticed by Harry, apparently. He stepped up beside her and slipped an arm around her waist.

Her shoulders slumped and that blush drained from her cheeks, even as she heard her father whisper in a more-amused-than-it-should-be tone, "Uh-oh." Hermione was far less amused by the territorial display, but didn't want to appear as though she was favoring either one of the young men by deliberately stepping out of Harry's light grasp in front of Draco, either.

God, these two were going to drive her mad long before these five months were up!

Hermione could tell by his expression that Draco was barely refraining from rolling his eyes as he stepped around her other side to speak directly to her father.

"Mr. Granger, I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, extending his hand.

She knew Dad was simply trying to be polite as he shook Draco's hand and said, "It's William."

To her—and probably Harry's—surprise, the pale-haired wizard said, "I would prefer Mr. Granger until we're better acquainted, if you wouldn't mind, Sir."

Harry ducked his head to murmur in Hermione's ear. "When did he learn manners?"

She bit her lip to hold in a laugh as they watched Draco turn, placing a hand on William's shoulder to guide him toward the table, before which Lucius waited.

"Mr. William Granger, my father Lucius."

Hermione stiffened as she waited. It felt as though everyone in the room—even little Mirell, who was puttering in the background, tending to flowers potted near the sun room's glass-paned walls—froze as the two men stared at one another.

Over Lucius' shoulder, Hermione had a clear view of Narcissa glaring in her husband's direction. Funny that he couldn't actually see her displeased expression from his position, but Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if he sensed his wife's gaze burning holes in the back of his head.

Especially not when he gave himself the most minute shake and forced a small smile, offering his hand. "William."

The bride-to-be felt the tension drain from her as her father shook Lucius's hand. "Lucius."

That seemed all the greeting they were going to offer each other, which was fine, as it was far more than Hermione'd been expecting. Honestly, she'd pretty much been prepared for the two to simply grunt acknowledgements at one another, like those lowland gorillas in Muggle nature documentaries.

Narcissa, on the other hand, seemed to have planned for precisely this scenario, because she was the absolute picture of relaxed refinement as she instantly began directing everyone to their seats at the table.

Of course, finding herself seated between Harry and Draco wasn't remotely ideal for Hermione's relaxation. Narcissa had insisted Dahlia sit beside her, and their husbands sat on either side of them. Both men were perfectly content to let their wives dominate the strained afternoon with conversation about all the preparations that needed to take place over the next few months.

Narcissa paused their discussion long enough to see to everyone's tea. All the while, Mirell looked on, her huge eyes hopeful, as though she wished she'd been asked to handle the matter. Hermione wasn't certain if the elf understood that her mistress was merely fulfilling the role of hostess to a tea party—which, as grim as the afternoon felt, was exactly what this function was supposed to be.

As the women settled back into their conversation, Hermione's father spoke up, his voice directed at Lucius. "So, Hermione tells me this . . . situation these three are in is unusual for witches and wizards, too?"

She closed her eyes, wishing for all the world she could sink down and hide beneath the table. But then she didn't want either of her—still, for the moment— fiancés getting any hopeful ideas about her reason for being down there.

Harry and Draco, for their parts, silently watched their elders over the rims of their cups as they sipped their tea. William's mild tone of disdain had not been lost on them, and they both waited on pins and needles for the Malfoy patriarch's reply.

Lucius offered the Muggle a mirthless, perhaps even pained grin as he shook his head. "Your daughter would be correct, William. Although, as I understand it, many of our ways must seem . . . odd to you. Even so, 'this situation,' as you call it, is not at all typical for us, either."

Nodding, William seemed appeased that they were both bristly about the impending, decidedly unconventional, marriage. Though, he did look into his cup with a disappointed expression. "How I wish this had more than tea in it . . . ."

Hermione's brows shot up. "Dad!"

William looked up at his daughter and shrugged. No harm in a minor honest admittance, was there?

Lucius merely nodded. "After this, there will be libations, I assure you. Narcissa forbid me from adding any liquor to the tea."

Hermione sank in her chair with her hand over her face. She was surprised to notice Harry and Draco both mirroring her defeated posture.

"It's worse than I thought," she said in a dull tumble of words.

"I know." Harry's green eyes were wide behind the wire-rims of his glasses as he nodded.

"They're actually getting along," Draco said, his tone a mixture of horror and mild confusion.