A/N: Rad to see overall positive reactions to Bellatrix as Lady Catherine! I had to put in a rando in this chapter (and next) to take Colonel Fitzwilliam's place, but he doesn't really play a giant role, so there's that.

I got asked if I plan to put anything about Tom Riddle in this, and my initial reaction to that was no, simply because my main intention was to follow the P&P plot and focus on the "romance." But I am totally open to it, so if inspiration strikes, I'd be happy to put it in – although probably not as a major plotline. Another question was if I could change things up since everybody already knows what happens in P&P. I don't feel inclined to do that because again, my intention of writing this was to follow the P&P plotline, but there is a slight-ish change at the end that I've already written.

Now that that's done, happy reading!

Chapter Eleven

Their familiarity with each other was enough to pique Lady Bellatrix's interest, as she rose to her feet to address this. "You know my nephew?"

"Yes, your Ladyship," Hermione said, now looking at Mr. Malfoy with furrowed brows, attempting to make out the odds that she would see him here, at Rosings. "I happened to meet your nephew in Devonshire."

It was only then that Hermione noticed another figure behind Mr. Malfoy. He was a dark-haired gentleman, tall and slender. He courteously bowed to Hermione. "Marcus Flint, how do you do, ma'am."

Afterwards they were shortly escorted to the dining room, but not before Hermione had been able to tease out the details of Mr. Malfoy's unexpected presence at Rosings, most of which was derived from direct inquiry. Lady Bellatrix of the lavish Rosings Park was apparently Mr. Malfoy's aunt, and Mr. Flint was an acquaintance and business partner of Mr. Malfoy's. Mr. Malfoy was staying for a few days at Rosings to visit, and Mr. Flint was in town to peruse available nearby properties to acquire, which Mr. Malfoy was assisting him with. The two gentlemen had known each other since their boyhood days at Hogwarts. Indeed, Hermione was currently discovering Hogwarts to be the place such stalwart friendships were to be forged – the ability to dispense of such considerable wealth being a reliable commonality of which to nurture such relations.

Still, Hermione found herself intrigued with Mr. Malfoy's sudden appearance for reasons she could hardly discern. She sensed a change in him. She watched his hands occasionally – and past anyone else's notice – clench and release behind his back. Then there was the way he looked at her. Gone was the dismissive, skimming manner of his gaze from their first few encounters; she began to wonder if this was not a more recent development than she realized.

At the table the seating was arranged such as that Mr. Malfoy would be occupying the seat next to her, where he struck up conversation with her.

"I trust the Weasleys are faring well, Miss Granger," he remarked, quite cordially.

Hermione tried her best not to appear so surprised at his pleasant tone. She quickly remembered, however, that they were in the presence of his aunt and old school acquaintance, which would nudge any respectable man to be on their best behavior.

"They are, thank you." She cleared her throat, watching as everyone else took their seats. "Ginny – the youngest of the Weasleys, if you remember - is in London. Perhaps you or Mr. Zabini happened to see her there?"

"I'm afraid not. We've quite had a few business matters to settle since we got back, which have precluded –"

"Miss Granger," came the authoritative voice of Lady Bellatrix, causing Mr. Malfoy to fall silent. Both their gazes were immediately directed towards the head of the table. "Mr. Longbottom tells me that you teach lessons to children."

"Yes, your Ladyship. For several months now."

"And what is the extent of your magical education?"

Hermione could feel all eyes on her. She as quickly realizing what a horrid thing it was to be the subject of Lady Bellatrix's attention. "I… am mostly self-taught, Ma'am."

Lady Bellatrix scoffed. "Self-taught? You mean to tell me you did not receive any formal magical education? Not even a tutor?"

Hermione smiled to herself. "I attended school when I was younger, but it had very little to do with magic."

Lady Bellatrix's eyes narrowed at her, her comprehension quick. She understood her perfectly. "My, what a very veiled way to reveal your Muggle birth, Miss Granger. The shop owners must be very desperate, if they could not manage to find someone of a more sophisticated education."

"I would be delighted if someone else of such experience would come to teach the children, but as it is, Ottery St Catchpole is perhaps too small to attract them, and not very many seem to pass through. However, if the children mind having a teacher from such a humble background, they are very good at keeping their opinions to themselves, for they have yet to pelt me with rotten turnips to run me out of a lesson," she laughed. There were a few chuckles from around the table – all except for Lady Bellatrix and Mr. Malfoy.

"You speak very confidently for someone of such disadvantage," Lady Bellatrix remarked.

"I enjoy conversation, your Ladyship. I find ample opportunity to practice."

"Yes, I assume this is because there is little other business for you to attend to," she pointedly murmured. Her Ladyship then snapped her fingers, after which their supper immediately appeared in front of them. It was a grand spread, with delectable, steaming dishes running down the length of the table. Hermione almost found it all too alluring, had her appetite not been lost from her interrogation. Still, she served herself and tried to eat, noting with relief as Lady Bellatrix moved her aggressive ways of conversation towards the others at the table.

After supper they were led back into the drawing room for tea and post-dinner beverages for the men. Hermione walked along the walls of the large room, looking at all of the antiques. One in particular interested her very much. Lady Bellatrix had an old, framed picture of the Hogwarts founders – all except one. There was an empty space between Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw where she surmised Salazar Slytherin had been, once upon a time. They were smiling faintly with the famous castle in the backdrop.

"Miss Granger, come play the pianoforte for us."

Hermione turned to see a seated Lady Bellatrix looking expectantly at her.

"I would, Lady Bellatrix, but I'm afraid I'm not very good—"

"Music is one of my only avenues of delight, and I find that music after such a hearty supper helps one settle down. You may even play a Muggle composition if you are so inclined. There is such fine music from both realms, and I care not to separate the two too vigorously. After all, Beethoven was a Squib, and he was still able to create quite remarkable pieces after he ran off into the Muggle world."

"Ma'am, it is not in my character to avoid a public display of talent – however, in this case, I fear I am simply protecting you and present company—"

"Then perhaps you'd better leave it for us to judge," she said, definitively, as everyone else remained silent.

It was apparent to Hermione that this was not an argument she had a hope of winning. She slowly walked over to the pianoforte in the corner of the room and seated herself, as the others in the room began to converse. The last time her hands had even touched a pianoforte was a month ago, and that had been during a duet with Ginny that they most hilariously played very ill. Indeed, Hermione had always enjoyed music, and admired those with such talents, but never found herself particularly devoted to practicing, as there was always so much to do around the Burrow and at Moony's. She had never been made to regret such disinterest until this very moment.

Hermione began to play a piece that her mother had taught her. It was a simple piece but had a lively melody and was one of the only pieces Hermione had memorized quite well. However, having not practiced it for many months, she winced when her fingers happened to hit a sour note. She was relieved to discover that her mistakes seemed to go unnoticed in the background as the conversations in the room continued without interruption or pause.

"Malfoy, how is Daphne getting along? She played so beautifully during her recital two summers ago," said Lady Bellatrix.

"She still plays beautifully."

"Such talent should be continued to be nurtured. I trust she practices, even at school?"

"Yes, I had arranged with her Head of House for her to have access to one of the school's pianoforte for regular practice."

"Very well. No true proficiency can be obtained without diligent practice. I have relayed this to Mrs. Longbottom. Though your cottage is without an instrument, you are welcome to the pianoforte in basement. That way you shan't be a disruption to the rest of the house."

"Thank you, Lady Bellatrix," said Luna.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed as Mr. Malfoy separated himself from the main conversation and came towards her and the pianoforte.

"I suspect you mean to intimidate me by lingering in such close proximity," Hermione said to him, still keeping her focus on the pianoforte keys. "But I refuse to be unsettled, even if Miss Greengrass does play like an angel."

She heard a slight smile in his voice. "I am too well-acquainted with you, Miss Granger, to ever believe that I could intimidate you."

Hermione's finger slipped and hit the wrong key. She winced.

Another presence joined them, genially clapping Mr. Malfoy on the shoulder. "Tell me, Miss Granger – what was my old acquaintance like in Devonshire?" Mr. Flint asked.

Hermione chuckled lowly to herself. "Mr. Flint, I should hope you dare not ask if you are not prepared to hear the entire, unadorned truth. I warn you now – it will not be pleasant."

Mr. Flint laughed. "Please, go on. My intrigue cannot be kept in such suspense."

"Very well. Only at your insistence do I relay such dreadful news." Hermione paused playing for a minute to meet Mr. Flint's eyes. She noticed, however, that Mr. Malfoy's gaze was very focused on her. "The first time I saw him was at a ball at Netherfield Hall – one of the two hosted by him and his friend, Mr. Zabini. He did not oblige a dance with anybody aside from Miss Parkinson, even though there were not enough gentlemen for the women, and there was more than one handsome lady standing without a partner."

"Is this true, Malfoy?" Mr. Flint said, amused. He turned back to Hermione with a grin. "Unfortunately this does not shock me very much. Mr. Malfoy is quite shy, and very selective in his audience," the man remarked, before he was summoned away by Lady Bellatrix. This left Hermione and Mr. Malfoy alone at the pianoforte, and she met eyes with him before continuing her piece.

"Is it a habit of yours to take such notice of unfamiliar gentlemen at balls?" asked Mr. Malfoy.

Hermione laughed. "Only the select few who warrant such observation."

"And pray – what criteria is involved in meriting such critical observation?"

"I'm afraid the list is not very long. It's simply unusual behavior, Mr. Malfoy. A telltale discomfort or outward disinclination to familiarize with one's surroundings." Here, knowing Lady Bellatrix and others were within earshot, she did not take the liberty to call out his snobbery directly. After what she had experienced at supper, Hermione was in no mood to tempt fate.

"I'm afraid I do not have the talent required for such indiscriminate friendliness," Mr. Malfoy told her, in lower tones, as if he meant only for her to hear. Hermione's fingers slipped yet again and hit a bad key. "It is immensely difficult for me to converse with people I have never met before."

Hermione looked up and met his eyes. He was very close, she realized, and his hand was on top of the pianoforte, dangerously close to where her own hands were. His handsome features wore an expression of sincerity, and his quiet tenor had hinted to her a kind of unprecedented vulnerability. No, they had both been wrong. Mr. Malfoy could indeed unsettle her very much.

"That does sound very grave, indeed," she said to him. "But far from incurable. Perhaps you ought to take your aunt's advice and simply practice."

She shifted her attention back to the pianoforte, unable to account for the quickening in her pulse. How utterly strange to have found herself in an intimate moment with Mr. Malfoy in an otherwise occupied room, whilst butchering a beloved musical piece.

He lingered only for a moment more before he joined the others back at the center of the room, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

ooo

Hermione spent the next morning with Luna and Mr. Longbottom before they left for town to purchase more supplies for the greenhouse. They happily extended an invitation for her to join them, but Hermione did not want to wear out her welcome with the new couple, and the amount of light coming into the cottage presented optimal conditions for reading by their large windows.

She was a few hours into her reading when she received an owl from Ginny.

Dearest Hermione,

I am very glad to hear that the cottage is to your liking and that Luna and Mr. Longbottom have settled comfortably into married life.

Concerning the subject of Lady Bellatrix - you would be hard pressed to travel anywhere in the country where Lady Bellatrix's name and reputation is not known. She is a descendant of not only a very wealthy but very important wizarding family. It is even rumored that she is of distant relation to Salazar Slytherin, though none have been able to confirm this officially. You must tell me how the dinner goes. Only a select few have had a chance to meet Lady Bellatrix as she rarely ventures outside of Rosings Park.

I paid a visit to Miss Parkinson on Grosvenor Street a few days ago. She appeared surprised to see me, and as I suspected, confirmed that she had never received my owl telling her that I had arrived in London and wished to see her. I briefly inquired about Mr. Zabini, but she informed me that she has rarely seen him, for he has been very busy since they returned to London. Unfortunately I could not visit with her long as she claimed a very urgent matter had come up with her family and she had to leave shortly. I asked if I could visit her again before I left London, and she said that I should owl her, but that it would be unlikely, as her coming weeks would be very busy as she would be leaving for France.

That is all the news I have for today.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Ginny.

Oh, how Hermione felt for Ginny. Though she did not reveal so in her letter, she could only imagine the disappointment she felt after her visit with Miss Parkinson. Hermione also refused to believe that Miss Parkinson's manners were as cordial as Ginny let on, as she had spent enough time in the woman's presence to know that any sort of perceived cordiality experienced from her came with its own sting.

She felt frustrated with Mr. Zabini. Could Ginny have been right? Could it be as simple as that they had read too much into his friendly demeanor and wrongly assumed it to be deep, romantic feelings?

Hermione grabbed some parchment, her quill and ink bottle, promptly beginning her reply. She had only written the first two words of her greeting before she was interrupted by the sound of the cottage's front door opening and closing, and suddenly Mr. Malfoy had appeared before her.

She blinked at him, unsure for one moment if she was hallucinating. "Mr. Malfoy. Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom have gone to town to purchase more supplies for the greenhouse. Have they forgotten they were to expect you?"

"No," he said, and Hermione was struck by how odd he was behaving. It was not his abruptness, for there seemed to always be a faint hint of that in all of his interactions, but something else entirely - an urgency in the way his eyes flickered over her. "No, they were not expecting me."

"I was just about to write a letter to Ginny. Please, do be seated. Should I make us some tea?"

"No," he said, "no thank you." He looked around. "I had not seen the cottage after its completion. My aunt was quite involved in its construction."

Despite herself, Hermione found herself rather amused by the randomness of his chosen topic of conversation. "I would believe so. She is very involved in the construction of the greenhouse from what I have heard, so one can only assume she was twice as involved with her manor's neighboring cottage. It is very charming."

"Indeed." He hesitated for a moment, as if stopping himself from saying something else. "I trust its tenants are pleased with it."

"Very much so. One would not find two people more inclined to be pleased with such accommodations. I, myself, am quite envious. Its large windows allow for much natural light perfect for reading."

"Yes," he agreed, softly. His eyes, again, did not shift from hers. "For reading."

Hermione had always observed Mr. Malfoy's eyes to be a stormy gray color – which suited him, she thought to herself, as gray was such a miserable, cold color, devoid of joy. But here in the open, bright light, his eyes had changed to a lighter gray, one that was speckled with faint hues of blue. Indeed, he appeared rather luminous, dressed in a deep cerulean overcoat, his white-blond hair styled albeit faintly tousled from activity. In fact, Hermione might even admit the sight of him was breathtaking, had she the nerve to be honest with herself. But alas, she remembered his unforgivable slight against Mr. Nott, and righted herself immediately.

"If it is the cottage you are interested in, I would happily give you a tour. I am sure Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom wouldn't mind."

"No," he said again, shaking his head. Hermione had never heard a man say 'No' so many times in one conversation. "I apologize – I am not here for the cottage, although I am pleased it is to Mr. and Mrs. Longbottoms' liking."

"Then pray – and forgive my confusion, Mr. Malfoy – what is the purpose of this visit?" she asked.

She watched his expression as he comprehended her question, a strange look flashing over his eyes. He pressed his lips together and then opened them again, as if to speak, before closing them again.

Suddenly, the door opened. Mr. Malfoy bowed to her and said goodbye, and he was gone as quickly as he had come. Hermione stared after him – as was becoming a habit, anytime Mr. Malfoy was involved - watching him with great bewilderment through the windows as he walked back to his aunt's manor with quick, determined strides.

Luna and Mr. Longbottom joined her at the window.

"Hermione," Luna said, her dreamy voice inflected with similar bafflement, "what in Merlin's name have you done to poor Mr. Malfoy?"

"He came out of here so quickly I thought the cottage was on fire," Mr. Longbottom said. "I hardly had a chance to even say hello."

"I hardly know," Hermione answered, still watching his figure was it grew smaller in the distance. "What can account for such odd behavior from a man?"

Here Luna and Mr. Longbottom shared a knowing smile.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Luna only laughed, slipping her arm through hers. "Come, Hermione. I've picked up a few things from town I think you'll enjoy."