A/N: Life stuff happening. There may be a delay in future updates. Maybe not. But just in case, thank you for being patient with me. I promise I will never abandon any of my fics. They are my children, warped and disturbed, and each one precious to my black heart.
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
. . .
Draco ran the tip of his index finger over the sharp edge of the Jack of Spades, head tipped down and eyes pinned to the man seated across the felt lined table.
The Doctor.
He took a deep breath, trying to maintain an air of calm despite his racing heart and mind.
He works at the Home.
Draco still couldn't get his head around it. What were the bloody chances?
Why is he here?
He leaned back with easy grace, his mannerisms born from generations of finely tuned idiosyncrasy.
"Place your bets, men."
Rabastan took on the role of dealer, the most adept at shuffling and maneuvering with a slight of hand that bordered on pure magic itself. Draco knew the man had a serious gambling addiction stemming from his youth, no doubt giving way to decades of harnessed skill.
Of course, the gentry would never label it such. The aristocracy refused to acknowledge such vices until they impeded on financial assets, in which case they referred to a man's hardship as the result of a poor investment or some other economic downturn.
Seeing as the Lestrange family was third in wealth only behind the Crown and Draco's own family, destitution posed no great threat. Therefore, as was publically known, Rabastan didn't have a gambling problem. He had a fervent pastime.
The fact that he was choosing to deal cards rather than engage in the actual game was quite remarkable, at least to Draco. No one else seemed surprised by the turn of events, which only perturbed the young blonde more.
Something about this entire evening is off.
Why did his father insist Draco hand deliver the legal documents to his Uncle on a Friday evening? The magistrate's office was closed over the weekend. When Draco tried to argue the point his father had sent him a bone-chilling look of finality, reminding him who was in charge of the family coin purse, and if Draco hoped to see another pence to his name he would deliver the documents without further protest.
He resented his father more each day. Always dangling a bit of silver over his head, just out of reach, taunting.
And yet Draco caved each time.
Ever the obedient son.
The loyal lap dog.
His left eye twitched at the mere thought of his father, perched in his study with a pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth, naught a care in the world.
Draco blinked as he realized the room had fallen silent. All eyes were on him.
"You with us, Drake?"
Draco's gaze narrowed. "Call."
He tossed his chips into the pot with little care. He'd picked up an unhealthy obsession with cards as well. He'd like to blame it on some hereditary dysfunction but he wasn't related to Lestrange by blood. Still, Hermione had once argued with him on the topic, scolding him for his rampant patronage to the gambling dens of the east side. She'd claimed environmental factors played just as much, if not more of a contributing factor to vices developed later in life.
She'd been so passionate on the subject, so filled with self-righteous fury. She was utterly breathtaking. He'd argued the point simply to see her cheeks flush, her hazel eyes glow from within, the moonlight reflecting off the Thames at her back as they stood beside the embankment, hidden from view of the party they'd escaped.
He'd silenced her with a kiss. He'd never admit it aloud, but he loved to hear her lecture him on one triviality or another, simply for the excuse to press his hungry mouth against hers, descending rapidly into clawing hands and snapping teeth, animals breaking free from the constraints of their human skin.
He swallowed thickly.
Bloody hell. How do I always bring it back to her?
It's like a sickness of the mind...
He adjusted in his chair, the room stifling, desperately trying to push the image of her stern set lips from his mind, flexing his hand beneath the table to erase the sensation of her soft curls gliding between his fingers.
He glanced up.
And his blood ran cold.
The Doctor was watching him with an eerie intensity, that when paired with his absolute stillness made him a disconcerting sight indeed.
And once more, Hermione's face took root in his mind.
This man lives under the same roof as her.
His spine straightened, muscles tense.
"Doctor." He tipped his head, casually examining the man from mid-torso to eye. "How long have you worked at the Umbridge Home?"
The man raised a dark brow, the corner of his mouth lifting up as though the question amused him. Draco clenched his teeth.
"Only a couple weeks now."
"And before that?"
"I was practicing medicine in France before returning to London."
"France, eh?" Avery spoke around his cigar. "I hear French women are practically begging for it in the streets there."
"Bloody hell, Jon," Rodolphus narrowed his eyes. "You're like a dog in heat."
"Just making conversation-"
"So," Draco interrupted, eyes never straying from the man seated directly across from him. "How did you make my uncle's acquaintance in such a short time?"
"He made my acquaintance," Dolohov said, eyes on his cards. "I was fortunate enough to meet the good Doctor while visiting a client."
Draco's eyes snapped to Antonin, a handsome, slimy sort that always unnerved Draco.
"I didn't realize you did pro bono work."
Dolohov threw his head back and laughed, as did Yaxley and Avery. Draco raised a pale brow.
"Come now, Drake, you know me better than that. I'm merely handling the estate of a young woman who resides there. It's my duty to check in from time to time, make sure she's being looked after properly."
"I'm sure it is," Rabastan said with a roll of his eyes. "Alright, gents, let's-"
"Who's your client?" Draco leaned forward, the game forgotten.
Dolohov knew the Grangers. Draco never discussed such matters with Hermione, but it would make sense they'd use the man as their solicitor. Draco assumed after their deaths Hermione's case was turned over to a public magistrate since she was unable to access her funds until marriage.
But if Dolohov had maintained controlling rights…
The idea of the man keeping Hermione under thumb made Draco's chest quake.
"You know I can't disclose such information, Drake."
He felt his temperature rise, blood boiling in his veins.
"Can we at least pretend we're playing poker? Everyone place your bets." Rabastan snapped.
Draco swallowed back the steam rising in his throat. He'd find out tomorrow, at the party. He'd get time alone with her, whether he had to drag her kicking and screaming-
"Fucking hell, Draco, get your head on straight, won't you? It's your bet."
His left eye twitched as he gazed upon the community cards, fighting back the base urge to flip the table over in frustration.
"Raise."
"Now we're playing!" Yaxley clapped his hands together, face ruddy with drink.
"What are you doing here anyway, Drake?" Antonin cut in, picking up his glass. "What urgent matters did Lucius need attending to on a Friday evening?"
Draco picked at the corner of his card with his thumbnail.
"Hell if I know. I'm just the future heir, not to be trusted with matters of business."
Rodolphus chuckled, blowing smoke. "Don't pretend Lucius doesn't try and groom you at every turn. You just resist him at all costs."
"Then why did he seal the envelope?"
"Because he likes stamping that gaudy 'M' on everything," Rabastan mumbled beneath his breath, causing Avery to sputter up his drink.
"It's a petition against the Medical Act if you must know." Rodolphus placed his cards down, leaning back. "Your father is leading the opposition, he's collecting support before he presents his argument before the Committee."
Draco leaned back as well, the blood draining from his face. Before he could formulate a response the Doctor spoke up, posture at ease.
"This is the Medical Act Gurney presented two years ago?"
Rodolphus nodded, sipping from his lowball glass. "Yes. It's undergone several revisions since then, mind you. But it's finally going to be laid to rest in the coming weeks."
"I take it you're all in opposition of it then?"
A general chorus of laughter could be heard around the table, excluding Draco and the Doctor.
"Women parading as doctors? Can you even imagine?" Yaxley coughed out a plume of smoke.
"You're a medical man, Riddle. Surely you find the entire idea ludicrous." Dolohov raised a dark brow, amusement etched across his features. "Women are temperamental creatures, controlled by the whims of their emotions. Not to mention their delicate constitutions. Can you imagine one of them wielding a scalpel?"
Draco blinked as something in the Doctor's eyes flashed, scorching as hell flame. Dolohov seemed to notice it as well, leaning back in his chair, putting more distance between them.
Then the Doctor smiled, teeth white and gleaming. "I imagine such a scene would end in fantastic bloodshed."
Antonin swallowed thickly, then smiled as well, a bit nervously. However, the other men at the table seemed to find his response wildly amusing. Draco felt his stomach clench in revulsion.
It was impossible to push Hermione from his mind now. This bill was everything to her. Her entire future in the medical field.
And his father was leading the charge against it.
How could Draco not have known?
Lucius had kept the knowledge from him purposefully. But why? Could it have to do with her? How could his father possibly know her desire to become a doctor?
Both her parents were in the medical field, it's not that far off to assume she'd follow in their footsteps…
Draco took a deep breath, willing himself to calm.
And realized the Doctor's eyes were once more upon him.
His open-mouthed smile had fallen into a smirk, but a shadow passed across his eyes and turned his expression truly sinister. He and Draco were the only two not laughing. Their gazes remained locked, and tension grew to sweltering proportions.
"Riddle, it's your bet."
The Doctor didn't blink, didn't glance away from Draco.
"Call."
And suddenly Draco was able to decipher the intense gaze.
It was a challenge.
Draco's spine went ramrod straight, chin tipping up.
On some instinctive level, he knew this had nothing to do with the game. He just wasn't sure what the man was attempting to lay claim to.
Perhaps my pedigree. Men always resent me for my name and title.
No.
The man's gaze held no jealousy, no covetous envy Draco was so used to seeing.
It held something more feral. More base.
Almost as if…
Draco's eye twitched once more.
You're being paranoid.
"I'm out." Yaxley threw his cards onto the table face up, leaning back in a slump and draining the rest of his drink in one heavy swallow.
"Me as well. And I need a refill." Avery followed suit, pushing back from the table.
"Oi! Get me one while you're up." Yaxley held his glass aloft only for Avery to scoff loudly.
"Get off your fat arse and get it yourself!"
Rodolphus shook his head, leveling Riddle with a sardonic expression.
"My apologies. They were raised in the stables of the West End."
"And where about do you descend from?" Draco interjected, detecting the sudden rigid lines of the Doctor's back and shoulders.
The man smirked yet again, though Draco could see a mask was firmly in place this time, erasing the vicious repose from moments before.
"Funny you should ask. I-"
A heavy knock sounded at the front door. Everyone turned their head to look.
"Bloody hell, who is it now?" Avery grumbled, pouring more liquor into his glass.
"We must have left the sign out on the front lawn inviting every wayward drifter inside. No offense, Drake."
Draco didn't spare Yaxley a glance. "Seeing as my pocket square is worth more than your entire suit I take no offense."
The object of his scorn turned red while Rabstan and Antonin burst into laughter.
The butler could be heard crossing the wood floor to the billiards room, knocking softly on the door frame. Rodolphus scowled.
"Christ." He threw his cards onto the table. "I'm out anyway. Keep going, I'll return shortly."
Draco couldn't help but watch his Uncle cross the room with a sense of rising dread. Any other additions to this little party were sure to be just as awful as the current company.
The Doctor excluded. He didn't have the lemming quality of Yaxley or Avery or the oily demeanor of Dolohov. And yet comparing him to either of his Uncles was perhaps the greatest condemnation of all.
So far, the man was wholly unique. And wholly unnerving.
Then Rodolphus's scathing voice filled the room, causing the rest to abandon any pretense of paying attention to the game.
"What the fuck are you doing here? I told you never to never seek me out in the open again-"
"I'm not here for you," a deep, gravelly voice replied. "I was summoned."
Draco tensed. The voice was hauntingly familiar.
"By who?" Rodolphus bit out, voice echoing through the entryway.
"By that lawyer ponce."
Antonin adjusted in his seat, his expression caught halfway between embarrassment and annoyance.
"You didn't," Rabastan hissed. "You aren't that bloody stupid."
"There's no cause for concern-"
"You invite that animal into this neighborhood and you don't think it's a cause for concern? How fucking desperate are you?"
Dolohov's jaw flexed. "You certainly weren't complaining when it was for you-"
"Shut your fucking mouth and go get rid of him. Immediately."
Dolohov pushed back from the table in a fit of aggravation and stormed to the doorway, Rodolphus appearing just as he was leaving.
"You have got to be joking-"
"Your brother already gave me an earful."
"Then I'll bash you upside the head."
"What was I supposed to do? Have him come to my office? Yours? Parkinson doesn't mind-"
"Shut up and get out here." Rodolphus grabbed Dolohov by the arm and pulled him forcefully from the room, pushing him into the hall that led to the foyer. And for the briefest of moments, a third man could be seen standing at the other end, his massive shoulders nearly touching either wall. His face was twisted in a scowl, yellowed teeth bared like an angry dog.
Yaxley reared back in his chair while Avery set the crystal decanter down with a clank. The Doctor tipped his head, eyes roaming the interloper from top to bottom with careful precision.
Rabastan took a deep breath, turning to face the table as the three men disappeared from sight.
"Sorry about that, gents. Let's get back to it, shall we?"
Draco leaned forward.
"I don't think so, Rab." He set his cards down, eyes narrowed. "What the bloody hell is Greyback doing here?"
The evening was going nothing as planned.
And yet Tom found himself far more intrigued than expected.
The man standing at the end of the hallway was unmistakable, even before the Malfoy heir uttered his name.
Fenrir Greyback.
Though Tom mostly heard the man referred to as the Boogeyman of East End.
Tom had never seen him in person before, and yet he'd heard the man's description enough times he was certain he could pick him out of a lineup.
And not just for his size, though he was without a doubt the largest man Tom had ever laid eyes upon, comprised of hulking muscle that pulled at the seams of his linen shirt and trousers, suspenders stretched taut over a barrel chest, sinewy forearms wrought with coarse hair and dark ink.
No, his size was intimidating to any man, and yet it wasn't his defining characteristic. Rather, it was the sizable facial scar that made Greyback the horror of legends. The jagged mark ran the length of his face diagonally, from right temple to left molar, bisecting his eyebrow and discoloring one of his brown irises a golden amber.
It made Dolohov's small scar look neat and surgical by comparison.
Tom was barely afforded a glimpse of the man before Dolohov was shoved through the doorway with Rodolphus hot at his heels, blocking his view before they all turned the corner and disappeared into the foyer.
And then a different sight appeared.
"Sorry about that, gents. Let's get back to it, shall we?"
Tom couldn't pull his gaze away from the approaching figure. She moved like a cat, each step sensuous and fluid. Her eyes glowed within the dim light of the hallway, dark pupils gleaming as they latched onto his, holding him steady in her wake.
"I don't think so, Rab." He only half listened to the young blonde prattle on. "What the bloody hell is Greyback doing here?"
Her hand curled around the door handle as she stepped inside the room, shutting it firmly behind her, never breaking eye contact with Tom.
She smirked, something sparkling in the depth of her gaze.
Tom gripped his cards more tightly, his other hand clenching to a fist on his thigh.
"Hello, boys." Her sultry voice rang through the room like a bell, effectively quieting the table. "On behalf of my husband, I apologize for that little interruption. But please," she winked, "don't let it ruin your fun."
Tom's jaw ticked as he watched her sashay her way around the settee and head for their table.
"Are you dealing, Rab?"
"You know it, luv." The man stubbed out his cigar. "I'm sure the men would have no objections if you'd like to take over Rod's hand."
She laughed low in her throat. "Why thank you, darling. But I much prefer to watch."
She met Tom's gaze once more. Something in his chest tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs. And then her predatory gaze fell on the pristine coif of white blonde hair seated across from him.
"My, my, as I live and breathe." She wet her rouge stained lips, coming to a stop behind the boy, placing her hands on his shoulders. Tom watched the young man fight back a cringe.
This just gets more interesting by the second.
"Is it really my nephew, come to pay me a visit?"
"Hello, Bella."
His voice conveyed no ounce of affection. She laughed again, leaning down to whisper something in his ear, her ample cleavage pressing into the back of his head.
Tom couldn't make out her words, his ability to read lips hampered by her distracting presence. But whatever she said painted no amusement on the boy's face. If anything he went impossibly more rigid in his seat, head tipping away from her just a fraction, just enough to convey his deep-rooted desire to evade her touch.
She squeezed his shoulders, talons hooking into her prey, and then pecked him on the temple, a motherly gesture of affection that caused him to scowl and finally jerk free of her hold.
"Always a pleasure, Draco, my sweet. I hardly get to see you anymore."
She released him from her clutches, stepping away and running her fingertips across the chair back of Dolohov's abandoned seat. "How is the game going?"
"We're almost through. With Rod gone, it's just Riddle and Drake left."
Her eyes brightened, fastening on Tom once more.
"Is that so? Then I arrived at the perfect time. The climax is my favorite part."
Malfoy rolled his eyes, wiping away her rouge from his temple with the back of his hand. Rabastan shook his head with a chuckle.
"You're incorrigible, Bella."
"There are worse ways to be in life. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"
Tom forced his tense body to relax, reflecting amusement back at her with a smirk of his own.
"That depends on your definition, Madam. In philosophy, incorrigibility is a property of a philosophical proposition, which implies that it is necessarily true simply by virtue of being believed."
She blinked, then her smirk expanded to a full-fledged grin as she released a delighted laugh, resting a hand on Rabastan's back to balance herself as she succumbed to her amusement.
Avery finally returned to the table, full glass in hand.
"It's like have a dictionary at the table."
"Rather like having someone with more than half of a functioning brain," she said through her laughter, wiping absently beneath her eyes.
"Don't stop, Doctor. Tell us more."
His leaned back, tipping his head to examine her at an angle. He'd already forgotten about the others in the room. They were merely background props to their two-person play.
"Based on its original usage a common example of such a proposition is René Descartes' famous saying cogito ergo sum; I think, therefore I am. If we're applying this classic meaning to the word then I agree, Madam, there are far worse ways to be in life, since the alternative would be to cease one's existence entirely."
He wet his lips. She'd stopped laughing, eyes hooded, fixed upon him.
"However, as with most words deriving from a language not of English origin, the usage evolved as it was traded between foreign tongues and cultures, taking on an entirely different meaning in most modern British circles. I believe Lord Lestrange used incorrigible as a term synonymous with incurable. And as a Doctor, my one true nemesis is the incurable. In which case I would have to disagree. Incorrigible is the worst way to be."
The room was deathly silent. Madam Lestrange was still at her brother-in-law's back, barely a meter away from Tom. Her gaze radiated an intensity that caused the floor to hum, vibrating through his heels, into his legs, and through his chest.
Finally, Avery broke the eerie silence with a drunken laugh.
"Well. That certainly clears that up."
Yaxley joined in, albeit a bit high pitched and nervous. Tom spared a glance to Rabastan, who shook his head in amusement.
And then he glanced at Malfoy.
And paused.
The young man's eyes were narrowed and harbored as much potency as his aunt's.
He didn't like Tom.
Not one bit.
Which made him the smartest person seated at the table.
And that annoyed Tom a great deal. Because the Malfoy heir was a powerful player in this game, unwitting or not, and he obviously harbored some secret tie to the establishment in which Tom was employed.
But given his disdain for his family, Tom doubted he was involved as deeply as the others, if at all.
So why his intense interest in Tom's job? Why give up his evening to attempt and stealthily draw information out of a stranger?
The blonde was a mystery. One Tom would look into unraveling at a later time.
Tonight... tonight was about something else.
He drew his focus back to Madam Lestrange. She had sidled closer, placing a hand on his arm.
"May I watch you play the final round, Doctor?"
He held her gaze.
"Of course."
He faced forward once more, ever aware of her fingers curling around his shoulder, squeezing lightly, the heat of her body just at his back.
Her scent invaded his nasal passage. Sweet and poisonous. Such a contrast to the way she smelled-
Tom blinked, drawing his attention back to the young man seated across from him. Malfoy's face showed open distaste and yet it seemed such a natural repose it told Tom little about the boy's hand.
Rabastan laid the final card down.
"Alright, men. Final bets."
Malfoy's mercurial gaze flickered briefly to the feminine hand atop Tom's shoulder, then back to Tom's eyes, his own turning molten. His left eye twitched, just a fraction before a calm mask of indifference slid into place.
"All in."
He pushed his mountain of chips to the center of the table.
Avery chuckled into his glass, spilling some over the side.
"Now it's getting interesting. Finally."
Rabastan glanced at Tom.
"It's all on you, Riddle. Knock this smarmy little shite off his pedestal, won't you?"
"Hush, Rab. Aren't dealers supposed to be impartial?" Her tone was a lilting tease as she stepped even closer and curled her fingers over Tom's other shoulder, boxing him in.
Her proximity put every one of his senses on high alert, to the point he was nearly overloaded by the nuances of sight and sound, scent and taste. His jaw tensed briefly before he smirked, eyes never straying from his opponent.
"Call."
He pushed his pile into the center as well, the clay chips falling over in a cascade of color.
Yaxley whistled low under his breath. Rabastan's eyes brightened, thrilled by the stakes. They weren't even betting real money. Tom suspected the man was an avid gambler.
Yet another useful tidbit to stow away for later use.
She leaned forward, pressing against Tom's shoulder blades.
"Moment of truth," she whispered in his ear, loud enough for all to hear, yet low enough to remain dangerously intimate.
Malfoy smiled, eyes still narrowed, wicked in its triumph.
He threw his cards face up, leaning back with an air of smugness that was befitting a King upon his throne.
Rabastan rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell, every single time... "
"A straight flush," she said, hands skimming down Tom's shoulders to trace his jacket lapels. "Good fortune runs in our blood." She winked across the table. "Good job, Drakey."
The boy's look of triumph was briefly shattered by pure revulsion. Tom drew his attention back as he threw his own cards down.
"Three of a kind," Tom said, leaning back, pressing further into Madam Lestrange as her hands splayed flat across his chest. "Congratulations, Malfoy. Impressive hand."
His tone was brimming with amusement, knowing what it would do to the boy's ego. Malfoy's interest in the Home may pose a mystery, but his weaknesses certainly didn't. Youth and privilege were the boy's Achilles heel as much as they were his strength. He would be easy enough to wind up and release in whatever direction Tom wanted to point him.
Sure enough, the blonde's eyes narrowed, jaw tensing.
Then the door flew open.
"Sorry about that." The elder Lestrange strode in, chest heaving as though he'd just sprinted the distance between the foyer and billiards room. "What did I miss?"
His wife released Tom slowly, hands retracing their path back up his chest and over his shoulders before falling away completely. She turned around.
"Your nephew won the game. But the Doctor put up an impressive fight."
Her husband nodded, eyes falling on Malfoy. "Good job, Drake. Sorry I missed it. How about another round?"
"Not tonight." The blonde pushed back from the table. "I've lingered long enough, I must be going."
Tom smiled, copying his movement. "I'm afraid I must follow suit."
Madam Lestrange looked at him sharply. "But you've just gotten here."
He buttoned the front of his bespoke jacket. "I've neglected my duties long enough. I'm still getting the office in order, I need every minute of spare time I can afford to get it situated properly."
Dolohov slowly entered the room, cheeks ruddy.
"What's all this? Why's everyone standing?"
"Drake and the good Doc are leaving," Avery supplied, finishing off his glass once more.
Dolohov looked at Tom. "But you've just-"
"We've been through it already, Antonin. Why don't you pour yourself another drink and shut up."
Dolohov glared at the back of Rodolphus's head briefly before making his way to the liquor cart.
"Thank you for joining us, Riddle. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Rodolphus supplied, extending a hand to Tom. Tom understood the impact of this moment, this symbolic seal of approval Lestrange was offering.
Tom accepted his hand, shaking. "The feeling is mutual. It was an honor to be invited. I do hope to cross paths again soon."
Rabastan had a hand clapped atop Malfoy's shoulder, saying something that Tom couldn't hear or focus upon as Madam Lestrange flanked her husband, hanging off his arm.
"Luv, we must have the Doctor over to the Club sometime."
Rodolphus looked down, sharing a loaded glance with her. Dolohov made his way over, standing far too close for Tom's comfort.
"Riddle's a good sort, he'd have a good time." He clapped Tom on the shoulder, eyes glazed. "We can talk more there since you can't stay tonight."
Rodolphus glanced back up. "We'd love to host you, Riddle." The man paused, eyes narrowing a fraction. "Have you heard of Amortentia?"
Tom didn't flinch.
"I can't say that I have."
Bella smirked. "You'll love it, darling."
Rodolphus wound his hand around her waist, drawing her into his side. "It's a pleasure house."
He held Tom's gaze, no doubt waiting to see any trace of disdain or judgment would surface.
Tom felt his chest swell, rib cage cracking open, blood surging.
"Sounds exciting. I'd love to join you."
Bella squealed in delight. "Perfect! Come Sunday night."
Her husband gazed down upon her with indulgent admonishment. "Bella, luv, we've monopolized enough of his weekend."
She pouted. "But-"
"It's no inconvenience. I'd be honored to attend."
Dolohov clapped him once more on the back, jolting him. Tom's hands clenched at his sides, the urge to break the man's wrist nearly overpowering his good sense.
"It's settled then! We'll pick up where we left off in a far more enjoyable setting."
Rodolphus pinned the man with a ferocious look. "Just make certain not to invite any additional guests without notifying me, Antonin. I won't have a repeat of tonight."
Dolohov paled slightly, stepping back. "Of course, Rod, I wouldn't-"
"I'm heading out now." They all turned to face the blonde at their backs. Malfoy glanced at each of them in turn, his silver gaze lingering on Tom.
"Pleasure to meet you, Doctor."
"Likewise."
Tom offered his hand, smirking in amusement when the young man seemed to debate snubbing him. Finally, he relented, accepting the offer and putting extra force behind it.
They stood level, both at impressive heights.
"I'm leaving as well, perhaps we can head that way together."
Malfoy visibly fought back a sneer. Tom's smile deepened.
"Brilliant." The blonde relinquished his grip, stepping back with a nod to his relatives.
"Good evening."
"Nice try, Draco. You might be a foot taller but you'll never be too big to give me a hug."
Tom glanced away for propriety's sake, watching the exchange from the corner of his eye. He was endlessly fascinated by the dynamic between nephew and aunt. Malfoy's face tensed as he stepped closer, allowing her to do all the work, finally leaning down at her insistent tug to allow her to kiss his cheek.
"Do send Cissy my love. I was hoping to see her this weekend but it seems our schedules leave no window of opportunity."
"Of course."
"Good boy." She wiped away the rouge stain on his cheek, tipping her head, hand lingering on his face.
"You're the spitting image of your father. It's almost frightening."
He attempted to pull back but she curled her fingers in, long nails indenting his high cheekbone, holding him captive.
"And yet you are your mother's son on the inside, where it counts. A Black. Do well to remember that, Draco."
The blonde blinked, looking unnerved. Tom tucked his hands into his pockets, absently thumbing the satin ribbon. It had been a risk to bring it here of all places, and yet he found himself adding it to his pocket at the last minute before departing from the Home. It had become a balm to his nerves.
And most importantly, a reminder of all that was at stake.
"Goodnight, Bella," Malfoy clipped, finally freeing himself. He glanced at Tom. "Shall we?"
He nodded, smiling pleasantly. "Lead on."
After a few more cursory goodbyes to the men seated at the table, Tom entered the hallway at Maloy's side, easily matching the younger man's stride.
"Excellent game," Tom said, staring ahead at the door, denying the awaiting butler even a parting glance. "You have true skill with the cards."
Malfoy smirked. "I've always been a dab hand at poker. Though it seems I always have the best cards when the least is at stake."
Tom smirked, detecting something lingering beneath the simple words. A steel tooth trap lying in the tall grass. He gracefully sidestepped the metal claws, casting his own net into the fray.
"It was a well-deserved win, even with your left eye constantly sabotaging you."
Malfoy blinked, pausing in the entryway, prompting Tom to do the same. The butler glanced between them, hovering at the door.
"You're saying I have a tell?"
Tom raised a dark brow. "Of course. All men do."
"This is the first I'm hearing of it. And I've played a lot of cards." His eyes narrowed. "If you knew I had the better hand why the hell did you go all in with three sevens?"
Tom tipped his head, eyes scanning the young man's alabaster skin, the sharp lines of his face, pinched in annoyance.
"I knew you bluffed on the turn. I wasn't sure how many masks you wore. I needed to be certain." He met his gaze once more, grey eyes gleaming. "Now I am. And in the future, I'll be able to recognize your deceit." His smile deepened, revealing his teeth. "Sometimes strategy extends beyond the table. Enjoy your evening, Mr. Malfoy. And your victory."
He nodded to the butler who quickly opened the door, still gazing upon Tom as though he were a wine stain on white linen.
But it did nothing to dampen Tom's elated mood as he swiftly exited the townhome, trotting down the marble steps with a smirk, well aware of the seething aristocrat at his back.
Hermione tipped her head, peering more closely at the expanse of exposed skin.
"The mark is symmetrical, has a defined border and consistent coloring throughout. Have you noticed any changes to the shape or size since discovering it?"
The girl shook her head. "No. But I only noticed it last week. I normally wouldn't worry, but given the location, I thought I should have it looked at. It's not like I'm flashing my bare thigh out in the garden."
Hermione smiled. "Understandable. But moles aren't only caused by sun exposure. Genetics plays a large part. Did either of your parents have moles or freckles?"
The girl shrugged. "I never knew my pa and ma died when I was a babe."
Hermione's smile fell, expression sobering. "I'm terribly sorry." She swallowed lightly, helping lower the girl's shift over her bare legs. "I see no indicators the mole is cancerous. If you're still worried I can ask the Doctor to-"
"No!" The girl sat forward. "I only came because the girls said you were helping examine patients. I don't want a man seeing me in such a state."
Hermione nodded, placing a hand on the girl's bare shoulder. "It's alright, Mandy. I understand completely. As I said, there's nothing to worry about. But if you notice the mole change shape or color, come and see me immediately. Alright?"
The girl sighed in relief. "Thank you, Hermione."
"You're very welcome. I'll let you get dressed in privacy. Have a good rest of your day."
"You, too."
Hermione ducked out from behind the partition, walking to the desk and grabbing up Mandy's patient file. She spun around, eyes searching.
Her heart skipped a beat as she found him standing across the room, open medical book in hand, eyes upon her.
She bit her lip, rocking back on her heels before proceeding forward, trying to maintain a slow and steady gait.
Amusement danced in his eyes, lips forming a slow smirk.
"How is our patient doing?"
Hermione fidgeted with the file in her hands.
"Mandy Brocklehurst, I examined a possible melanoma, I saw no cause for concern. She's getting dressed right now."
He nodded, setting the book back on the shelf and extending his hand for the file. She passed it over, watching him flip through the pages.
"And the previous patient?"
"Oh, Sally-Anne Perks, she just stopped by for menstrual pads. She requested extras for her roommates as well, said they were too embarrassed to stop by themselves."
His grey eyes rapidly scanned the document before him. Hermione interlaced her fingers, twisting her hands.
"I was thinking…"
He continued to read, finally glancing up at her prolonged silence.
"I've noticed you rarely stop."
"Pardon?"
"Thinking."
She blinked, then smiled, a blush staining her cheeks. "Right. Well, I was thinking we could keep a supply pantry in the corridor outside the clinic stocked with menstrual pads and bloomer cloths, so the girls don't have to stop in every month to request products."
He held her gaze in silence. She took a deep breath, continuing on as her nerves rattled within her chest. "I mean, I only make the suggestion after speaking with Sally. I'm afraid that some girls will forgo their monthly hygiene because they're too nervous about asking a man for supplies. Also, before your arrival the supplies were kept on a shelf in the clinic, the girls were free to take them as needed, there was never an issue with hoarding or-"
"Relax, Ms. Granger." His smirk grew. "I was merely thinking. I agree with your assessment of the problem, and think keeping an external supply closet is a sound solution."
Her mouth clamped shut, flush spreading down her neck. The Doctor lowered the file, pinning her beneath the full intensity of his gaze.
"However, the decision will ultimately be up to the Matron, as she oversees all ordering and inventory."
Hermione felt herself deflate. "Then we can't tell her I had anything to do with the idea."
His eyes flashed even as his smirk grew into a smile. "Per usual, you are right again."
She held his stare, the air thick, sticking to the back of her throat.
A sudden noise from behind jolted her, drawing both their attention.
Mandy stepped out from behind the partition, smoothing her skirts. She glanced up, smiling and waving somewhat nervously at Hermione. Hermione returned the warm expression and bid the girl a final farewell, watching her depart the clinic at haste. Once the door fell shut Hermione turned to face the Doctor once more. His eyes roamed her face, making her fidget anew.
"So far every patient who's entered the clinic has requested you."
Hermione blinked. "No, the first girl who came in-"
"Requested you as well. However, she required a pelvic exam. I was going to ask you to stand in to keep her at ease but you were seeing to someone else."
She bit her lip. "Well, that's just because I'm a woman. And you're…"
He raised a dark brow. "A man?"
"Well, yes. That, too. However, I was going to say intimidating."
He tilted his head, expression lit by the afternoon light streaming in through the windows. "Is that so?"
She rolled her eyes. "Oh dear, am I the first to bring that to your notice?"
Deep laughter erupted from his chest. The sound was an instant balm to her nerves.
"I see. So I scare the patients?"
She bit her lip. "Well, not all of them."
His eyes continued to gleam with mirth.
"I've noticed."
She caught the double meaning of her words. "No, I didn't, I just meant-"
"I know what you meant." He put her out of her misery, setting the file aside and striding towards the medical cabinet. "And I'm well aware that some of the residents harbor no reservations whatsoever when it comes to paying me a visit. At all hours."
Hermione felt her pulse quicken. "You don't mean…"
He opened the cabinet. "I do."
She felt the heat rise within her again, this time born of a far different emotion.
"Residents have… propositioned you?"
"That's one word for it." He reached into the cabinet, grabbing a small glass bottle with a faded label.
Her mind reeled, rendering her silent for several moments before she burst.
"That's- that's ludicrous! How can they possibly think such a thing even remotely appropriate-"
"I don't think proprietary was top of their mind."
She fell quiet, cheeks aflame. He glanced over his shoulder. "I assure you, I set them straight."
She took an unconscious step forward. "Of course you did. I never doubted that. I'm just shocked they'd have the audacity to do such a thing. Especially after the last physician-"
She stopped short, coming to a standstill. His back went rigid, shoulders tense. He was facing away, she desperately wished she could see his face but was also grateful she couldn't.
But perhaps it was best to pull the bandage off now, jump in head first rather than skirting the issue any further.
"Have you had an opportunity to attend the girls who…" she searched for the right term, mind too rattled to derive something decorous. She sighed. "Have you been able to examine his victims?"
He shut the cabinet, slowly turning the bottle over in his hand.
"The patient this morning was among those I suspect of being violated. However the majority of the girls Ms. Lovegood was able to identify have already vacated the Home."
Hermione drew in a slow breath, heartbeat reverberating through her limbs. "Are their files in the office?"
His eyes flickered up, rooting her to the spot.
"Many of them, yes."
Hermione shook her head, glancing away, overcome by emotion.
"Speaking of Ms. Lovegood," he said lowly, the steady tread of his footsteps approaching. "I'd like for you to pass this on to her."
He held the small bottle out. Hermione tilted her head, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to read the faded label.
"Aloe vera with rosehip," he supplied, tucking his other hand in his trouser pocket. "Her wound is healed enough to allow air exposure. This should help minimize scarring."
Hermione's chest swelled. She reached out, grasping the bottle, their fingers brushing. She bit back a gasp at the familiar sensation of heat rushing through her arm.
And without her permission, her eyes flickered up, meeting his shadowed gaze.
He maintained his grip on the glass, she held tight as well, their arms suspended between them, the pad of her thumb resting atop his knuckle.
She swallowed audibly. "That's very considerate of you."
"I am the Doctor, Hermione. It is my duty to see to the well being of everyone here."
"You seem to go beyond the regular call of duty."
For the expanse of a stuttered heartbeat, his expression morphed into something wild, dangerous. She squeezed the bottle, in turn pressing harder against his flesh.
"I didn't mean-" She wet her lips, other hand clenching at her side. "I meant in regards to Luna's hand. You ensured she didn't succumb to infection. You're not obligated to worry about scarring."
"I'm merely offering a topical ointment for her own use. I'll hardly be receiving any special certificates."
Hermione smiled. His eyes flickered to her mouth.
And she realized that at some point one or both of them had stepped in closer, minimizing the distance between them to less than a half meter.
She glanced down at their feet, wondering how on earth that happened, and then back up to his eyes. Or at least she meant to. Instead, her gaze became fixed on his lips, full and parted slightly.
His tongue darted out to lick them, and she felt her entire body throb.
"Scars are terrible burdens to bear," he spoke lowly, voice a deep rumble she felt vibrate along every bone in her body. "A constant source of suffering, long after the pain is gone."
She inhaled slowly, still focused upon his mouth.
"Yes. They are."
"Ms. Lovegood's cut was long but shallow. It should leave minimal damage in its wake."
Hermione nodded, transfixed.
"Unlike Mr. Dolohov's scar, which will only become more prominent with time."
The air was pulled violently from her lungs. She released the bottle, rearing back, meaning to step away, flee-
His hand shot out of his pocket lighting fast and captured her wrist, pulling her forward, causing her to tip off balance and fall against him. Her eyes snapped up, wide with fear and shock. His expression was void of emotion, a placid lake, but his eyes… his eyes were positively feral.
"A fine piece of work, if I may say so myself." His breath smelled of spearmint, blowing across her face, pushing past her own parted lips and invading her mouth. "What did you use to inflict such injury?"
She blinked rapidly, vision blurred by tears, lips pressing thin. She tugged her arm back once, felt his iron grip hold true, and recalled the last time he restrained her in such a way.
She accepted the futility of trying to escape.
Instead, she opened her mouth, mind spinning with rebuttals, refusals, lies.
But his eyes stripped her bare, dismantled her defenses as quickly as she contrived them.
Her chin tipped up as she held his gaze steady.
"A letter opener."
His dark brow arched high, nearly disappearing beneath the fall of his hair as his face tipped down, closer to hers.
"A letter opener," he repeated slowly, eye narrowing. "Must have been sharp."
She swallowed thickly. "Very."
"You sliced up and outward with your dominant hand."
She blinked, inhaling sharply, feeling the press of her chest against his.
"How do you know that?"
"The angle of the cut and variation in depth from one end to the other suggests greater force was applied at the base, near the top of the cheekbone, decreasing in pressure as the blade moved upward, across the eye socket."
She felt light headed.
"If you had used the same hand to slice his left side in a downward swing you would have easily ruptured the eye beyond repair."
Her jaw flexed.
"Hindsight is 20/20."
He chuckled darkly, her ribcage absorbing the sound. "Yes, yes it is." The pressure on her wrist increased. "I hope he bled like a gutted pig."
Her heartbeat was in her throat, in her captured wrist, behind her knees.
"He did. It made a mess. Ruined my dress."
The windows were at his back, casting his face in shadow, making the nuances of his expression hard to discern. But his eyes gleamed like a cat in the dark.
"How many times has he attacked you?"
If she hadn't been leaning against him already she would have surely collapsed. She'd never had an out-of-body experience before, but surely she was having one now, some supernatural force controlling her vocal chords.
"Once."
"After your parents died, I assume?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you report him?"
She swallowed past the constriction in her throat. But the lump was too thick, too rooted. His eyes flickered between hers, fingers squeezing her tighter yet. She cringed. He blinked, loosening his grip but not relinquishing his hold.
"Why haven't you reported him, Hermione?"
Hearing her name from his lips was usually a sure fire way to disarm her. But this time it triggered different memories within her mind. Different voices, different faces, and eyes.
"Why won't you come to Grimmauld, Hermione?"
"Why don't you move to the Burrow, Mione?"
She wet her lips, shaking her head. "I…" her breath was coming faster, shorter, making her dizzy. "I can't…"
His gaze narrowed, something dangerous taking root in their dark depths.
"Wilting flowers don't slash their attacker's face open. You can turn him in, but you won't."
He tilted his head. "Which leads me to believe..."
She felt her blood pressure rise, watching in abject horror as the pieces clicked into place within his eyes.
"He's got something over you."
She reared back, twisting her arm, but he merely pulled her captured wrist closer.
"I see. But what could it possibly be? You're not the type to beckon scandal."
His face darkened and lightened at once, mesmerizing in its unnaturalness.
"Unless... it isn't blackmail." He tipped his head, eyes scanning her face as though the truth were written across it. "Perhaps it's a trade-off."
She was rendered frozen, numb with growing terror.
His smile gleamed triumphantly.
"You're protecting some-"
The clinic doors burst open.
He released her at once. She staggered back, gasping for breath as though emerging from the depths of a frozen lake.
Shoes tapped lightly on the stone floor before coming to a stop.
"Oh. Sorry." The girl gazed at them with unease. "Um... are clinic hours still open?"
The Doctor fixed the young woman with a pleasant smile, mask firmly set.
"Yes. Come in, take a seat. I'll be right with you."
The girl nodded, cheeks flushing at being the sole recipient of his attention before quickly shuffling to the other end of the room.
Hermione's fingers twisted around her wrist, mimicking his hold, mind reeling. She couldn't meet his eyes, instead staring numbly at a spot on the wall just beyond him.
"You're free to leave, Ms. Granger. You've put in plenty of work today."
She nodded, slowly backing away.
"Don't forget the aloe."
He extended the bottle once more.
Hermione stared at it, heart racing, fingers twitching at her sides. She still couldn't bring herself to look at his face but she could feel the intensity of his gaze across her skin. She stepped forward tentatively and quickly took the bottle from his grasp, terrified of losing her hand to another steel trap.
The glass was warm from being encased in his palm for so long. She swallowed, spinning on her heal and heading for the door as fast as she could without outright sprinting.
"Ms. Granger."
Her muscles went rigid as she forced her gait to slow, pausing at the door and glancing over her shoulder.
He smiled.
"Enjoy the party."
Harry pulled his pocketwatch free from the inner lining of his bespoke coat, flipping open the golden lid and peering at the time.
He sighed, eyes briefly lingering on the engraving-
For those who love,
Time is eternal.
Lily
-before snapping it shut, tucking it away again.
He glanced at the man by his side.
"It's been twenty minutes, should I-"
"Hurry them at your own risk, my boy," Mr. Weasley said with a laugh, patting Harry on the shoulder. "You aren't married yet, so take my advice to heart. Never rush a woman, especially for a special event. Whatever time you save beforehand is nothing compared to the time you'll spend wallowing in the dog house afterward."
"Wiser words were never spoken," a third voice spoke from the doorway.
"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," Harry smiled, nodding politely.
"Hello, Harry, dear. Don't you look dashing in your suit! Oh, how I wish I could watch you walk across the stage." She crossed the room on her short legs, fussing with the lapels of his coat.
"I wish you would. You and Mr. Weasley were invited."
She sighed deeply, straightening his silk pocket square. "I don't bother going to such events these days. With all the boys grown and only Ginny left it just makes us seem a bit-"
"Desperate?"
Mrs. Weasley spun on her heel, eyes narrowed at her youngest son who was descending the stairs. "Excuse me, Ronald?"
He smirked. "Sorry, mum. Carry on."
She released a huff of annoyance, abandoning Harry to instead tug at her son's coat. It was slightly ill-fitting, yet another hand me down from his elder brothers.
"Oh, I just knew I should have let the sleeves out a bit more. Your knuckles practically drag across the ground when you walk-"
"Oi!"
Harry smothered a laugh, sharing a look of amusement with Mr. Weasley.
"I didn't mean it like that, darling, you're simply long-limbed-"
"Then say that! Don't call me a bloody knuckle dragger!"
"Watch your mouth, young man!"
"You're the one who-"
"Alright, alright!" Mr. Weasley stepped away from his position at the mantle and approached his wife and son. "No one meant to offend anyone, we're all in high spirits tonight." He placed a hand at the small of his wife's back, peering over her short form at Ron.
"How are the girls doing?"
"I don't know," Ron grumbled, trying to evade his mother's busy hands, still pulling at the fabric of his coat. "Door's closed. But I can hear Mione complaining from halfway down the hall."
Mrs. Weasley tisked. "I don't know what's gotten into that girl. Invited to a fancy party as the guest of honor's date, given a brand new dress for the event, what does she have to complain about?"
"Molly," her husband gently admonished, rubbing circles into her back. "She's been through a lot, and even before all that Hermione was hardly what you'd consider a normal young woman." He looked up at Harry. "I mean that in the best possible way of course."
Harry smirked. "Of course."
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had known the Granger family for as long as the Potters had. They considered Hermione a second daughter, just as they considered Harry yet another son.
However given that they weren't actually blood-related, Mrs. Weasley made her desire to have both of them marry into the family well known. She'd been quite open about her designs for Harry and Ginny as well as Ron and Hermione when they were all younger. As the years went on she seemed to accept that neither pairing was going to happen.
So she changed tactics, setting her sights on Hermione becoming the next Mrs. Potter instead. He and Mione laughed about it often, never keeping their sibling bond a secret from the Weasley family matriarch, and yet it never seemed to stall the woman from her fantasy.
And as if she read his thoughts aloud, Mrs. Weasley turned to face him once more with a wry grin and gleaming eyes.
"It was so lovely of you to purchase dresses for the girls, Harry. You didn't have to worry about Ginny, though. I had a perfectly appropriate gown laid out for her on the bed. It was the same one I wore the night I met Arthur."
Mr. Weasley chuckled. "And you looked stunning, my love. But fashion has changed since then, and Ginny deserves to have a gown of her own." He looked at Harry. "Still, I intend to pay you back for what you spent-"
"Absolutely not. It was my thank you gift to Gin for helping me drag Mione to this event. Not to mention picking out the dresses. I have no bloody clue what's in style these days."
He fought back a cringe at the mere thought of Pansy's copious skirts and flashy bustiers.
"How nice of you to take Hermione as your date," she continued, tone lilting. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the unavoidable conversation to follow. "Tonight marks a major turn in your career. Who you bring means a great deal."
Harry opened his mouth but before he could respond Ron rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly. "Jesus, mum! When are you gonna accept that Mione and Harry are just friends? They're never getting hitched!"
"Ronald!" She hissed, spinning back around in a blaze of fury. "At least Harry is bringing a respectable date!"
Ron raised a brow. "You're calling your daughter unrespectable?"
Mrs. Weasley's face pinched in supreme annoyance. "I don't consider bringing your sister to such events the height of social decorum! You should have invited a proper date, someone you intend to court! You're too old to be-"
"I told you, I'm meeting my real date there!"
"And what kind of chivalry is that? Are you ashamed to have her on your arm?"
"I haven't asked her father's permission to begin courting her yet is all." Ron's face flushed as red as his hair. "And I'd prefer going stag but Gin blackmailed me into taking her!"
"I heard that, Ron!" A feminine voice yelled down the hall.
"It's true you nasty harpy!" He called back up.
Mrs. Weasley turned to her husband with fists clenched. "Arthur! Do something about your children!"
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why don't we go in the kitchen and have a nightcap and let the boys wait for the girls alone, give them time to prepare for the night?"
She groaned but allowed him to maneuver her towards the hall. They passed Harry as they went. She reached out and smoothed an invisible wrinkle on his pressed shirt. "You really do look dashing tonight, Harry. Hermione is a very lucky girl."
He smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."
"Yeah, thanks, mum."
She scowled at her son. "Sorry, darling. Ginny is also a very lucky girl."
"Sick, mum!"
Harry couldn't contain his laugh as Mr. Weasley finally pushed her from the room. Ron glared at him.
"Shut up."
Harry's laughter slowly faded as the sound of a door opening echoed down the upstairs hall.
"About bloody time!" Ron groaned, leaning against the railing from the outside. "Get your dolled up arses down here!"
"Shove it up yours, Ron!"
"Oi! You're supposed to be a high society bird tonight! How am I supposed to pawn you off on some clueless yuppy when your mouth's filthier than mine?"
Ginny scoffed loudly, the sound nearly identical to her brother's as she started to descend the stairs. Harry's smile broadened as her vibrant emerald skirts came into view. The waist cinched tightly, highlighting her lean features and pale, freckled arms adorned in cap sleeves. Her deep auburn hair was styled up in an intricate chignon, a white calla lily pinned into the side.
The gown was silk and cost a small fortune, one that Harry would never disclose to her parent's in fear they'd try and reimburse him. He'd been sneaking Ginny presents since they were children, considering her a little sister to dote upon. Hermione, though technically younger as well, always felt older, so full of wisdom and concern. And she detested when he surprised her with gifts.
Which is why he'd had to enlist Ginny to select a proper gown for her to wear tonight. He knew Hermione would be too proud to say anything, too practical to justify purchasing such an extravagant garment when she dressed modestly the majority of the time.
When she isn't running around pleasure dens half naked.
He shook his head, dispelling the memory, stepping closer to the stairs and offering Ginny his hand to help her step onto the ground level.
"You look absolutely stunning, Gin."
She beamed. "I know!"
He laughed, shaking his head. "Good. No point in playing it modest in a dress like that."
"You're gonna give her a big head, Harry. Not that it can expand much mor- Ow!" Ron reared back as Ginny punched him in the arm with a mean right hook. "Bloody bit-"
"Ron," Harry said calmly. "Tell your sister she looks beautiful or shut up."
"Always taking her side."
Harry rolled his eyes as he glanced up the empty staircase. "Where's Mione?"
Ginny sighed, tipping her head back and inhaling deeply. "Hermione Granger get your skinny arse down here!"
Harry cringed at the deafening volume of her voice, though it was certainly effective. There was no way anyone within a quarter mile could claim not to have heard her.
And yet the upstairs remained stubbornly silent.
Ginny scowled. "If you make me walk up those steps in these shoes to fetch you I'm going to drag you down by your hair!" She turned to Harry. "Not really," she whispered, patting him on the arm. "Took me almost an hour to get her hair looking perfect. I wouldn't ruin all that hard work."
Harry smirked. "Good to know. Why don't I try wrangling her?"
She shrugged, stepping aside. "Be my guest. But hurry, I want to arrive in time to be announced."
Harry blinked as he started up the steps, glancing over his shoulder. "Gin, you know this isn't a royal ball, right? We don't get announced."
She raised a delicate brow. "Does it at least have an open bar?"
"Yeah."
"Even better."
Harry shook his head and ascended the rest of the stairs, gazing down the narrow hallway to the closed door at the far end.
"Mione," he called out, slowly approaching. "Are you decent?"
"Harry, I can't do this!"
He sighed, stopping at the barrier, placing his hand flat against the wood. "Can I come in?"
He could hear her muffled groan.
"Yes."
He smirked, turning the knob and opening the door-
He blinked, heart jolting.
"Jesus, Mione."
She paled, placing a hand on her neck. "Is it that bad? I told Gin to go easy on the rouge-"
"You look beautiful."
She stopped short, mouth opening and closing. His eyes roamed her figure. He'd seen the gown Ginny selected on the hanger and thought it pretty enough, but seeing it on Hermione transformed the garment, brought it to life, and turned her into an ethereal creature.
"You're just saying that to get me out the door."
He smirked, eyes trailing back up slowly. "If you're fishing for compliments I'm happy to give them."
She laughed, high and nervous, face tinging pink, highlighting the delicate sweep of rouge along her cheeks.
"I'm not fishing, I assure you. You know I can't stand attention."
She gazed down at the full skirts, layers of white silk overlaid by sheer periwinkle, meeting a white bustier that fit her like a second skin, decorated in hand painted cherry blossom branches, curving around her ribs.
Her shoulders were bare, sheer bell tiered sleeves starting at her upper arms and ending at her elbows, adorned in the same hand-etched detailing. Tiny silk petals in varying shades of teal and blue adorned the sweetheart neckline and scattered along the waist and skirt, as though the branches were shedding their blossoms as she moved.
Her hair was in a low bun, soft curls framing her face, grazing her bare neck and shoulders. Unlike Ginny, she wore no flowers denoting her marital status. Harry knew the lack of open declaration would only intrigue men further.
He shook his head. "Then you're out of luck, luv. Because you're going to get all the attention tonight."
She raised a brow, trying her best to affect a stern expression and failing miserably. He could see she was practically vibrating with nerves.
"What's the matter?" He stepped fully into Ginny's bedroom, shutting the door behind him. "I'm the one who has to get on stage. You have nothing to worry about."
She swallowed lightly, head tipping down. "I know. I'm sorry."
He crossed the small room, placing a hand beneath her chin and tipping her head up. "Don't apologize."
She sighed deeply, closing her eyes. "I just, I haven't been to a function like this since…" she bit her rouge stained lip. "And there's going to be so many people, people I haven't seen in months. And they're all going to know about my circumstances, they're going to look at me and judge-"
"Mione. Open your eyes."
She released a slow breath, doing as bade. Her expression was tense, eyes heavy and resigned.
It pained him to see her in such distress.
"I shouldn't have pressured you into coming tonight."
Her hazel gaze widened. "No, it's not that!" She grasped his wrist with both hands, squeezing gently. "I want to see you up on that stage, being honored for all of your hard work. I want it more than anything. I don't regret agreeing to come." She breathed in deep, holding the air in her lungs for several beats. "I'll be okay. Honest. Just nerves."
Harry smirked. "I know the feeling."
She tilted her head, tense expression giving way to a look he recognized better than his own face.
Concern.
"How are you doing? Have you had a chance to come to terms with the promotion?"
He sighed, nodding. "Yes." A pause. "And no." He smiled. "Things have been pretty busy around here lately."
She smiled as well, though it was weighed down by a great sadness that caused his chest to ache.
"Thank you for all you've done for me, Harry."
He rolled his eyes.
"No, I mean it." She tugged on his wrist, prompting him to meet her earnest gaze once more. "You've always been there for me. Through thick and thin, through blood, sweat, and tears. No matter the request, no matter the situation, you're the only one I've been able to count on without fail. Without reservation." She pressed the back of his hand to her cheek. "You're more than a brother. More than a best friend."
His heart swelled with emotion, prompting him to blink several times and swallow thickly. He cleared his throat, smirking to break the heavy tension.
"Don't let Mrs. Weasley hear you say that."
It did the trick. Hermione released a giggle and lowered his hand.
"Poor Molly. She'll no doubt be choosing our wedding colors while we're out tonight."
"Let her have her fun. Besides, whatever she organizes can be used for Ron and Susan. This will be their first date, so according to the rate in which Ron moves, they'll be married by the end of the month."
Hermione's laughter intensified. She grabbed her side, shaking her head, loose curls swaying. "Harry James Potter, you're awful!"
"And don't you love it." He winked, holding out his arm. "Shall we, my Lady?"
She smiled, stepping forward and grasping his elbow. "We shall, good Sir."
They both stared at the closed door, taking a deep breath.
"It'll have an open bar," he supplied, still unmoving.
She sagged in relief. "Thank Christ."
The carriage rolled off, leaving the quartet at the base of the large stone steps.
"Bloody hell, this place is posh."
"Blimey, Gin, try and act like you come from class."
The redhead spun on her heel, blue eyes narrowed. "How about I knee you in the groin instead of punching you in the face? That's classy, right?"
Ron tipped his head back and laughed, extending his arm to her. "Come on, you heathen."
She smirked, accepting his arm and proceeding up the stairs with wonderment in her eyes, gazing upon the large Baroque building.
Harry gave Hermione's hand a squeeze, peering down with a reassuring smile.
"Ready?"
She forced a smile in return, it felt grotesquely out of place, but she fought through her rising anxiety. This evening wasn't about her, and she wouldn't give Harry anything else to worry about.
"Absolutely."
He raised a dark brow, not looking convinced, but faced forward and led her up the carpet lined steps just the same.
Tonight's party was at Wilton Place in Belgrave Square. Westminster was a posh neighborhood to be certain, and with the building's adjacent location to Hyde Park and the Serpentine, it made an ideal locale for royal banquets and parties.
The last and only time Hermione had been to the lush venue was for Princess Louise's birthday party. The rebel royal insisted on having a celebration outside the palace, and the event had truly been one to remember. It was the first time Hermione had seen a live tiger outside of the zoo. It was also the first time she'd tasted anything stronger than champagne.
She smiled at the memory of the night, nerves settling.
Channel your inner royal, Hermione. They've been thrust in the public's eye their entire lives. You just have to get through one evening.
She squared her shoulders as they arrived outside the entrance, just behind the Weasley duo. The finely dressed staff opened the double doors and bowed. Hermione nodded with a smile.
"Thank you, gentlemen."
One of the employees glanced up in surprise.
Harry chuckled, drawing her attention. Her expression pinched. "What? Is being polite to staff considered gauche?"
He shook his head, eye fixed forward. "Not at all. I was just thinking about the last time we were here."
Hermione's ire melted away, a smile unfurling across her face. "So was I. We had so much fun that night, didn't we?"
"We did. Until you disappeared and Ron and I spent an hour and a half tearing the place apart looking for you."
Her smile fell, a blush staining her cheeks as she glanced away. "There's no need to bring that u-"
"Only to find you in the kitchen, giving the staff aptitude exams you wrote on the back of napkins."
"I was trying to help them find more fulfilling career paths!"
"You were drunk."
"That too."
There was a heavy beat of silence before they both erupted into laughter. Ron glanced over his shoulder as they entered the lobby.
"What? Do I have something on my back?"
"Not everything is about you, Ronald!" Ginny hissed.
"Did I ask you?"
"Let's all try and have a good time tonight, and remember this evening is about Harry," Hermione said lowly, hyper-aware of the people surrounding them on all sides, the steady hum of conversation and the gleam of watchful eyes.
They came to a stop in the center of the marble floor, glancing around at the opulence.
"I bet they have a massive food spread," Ron said, absently rubbing his stomach.
Hermione's eyes became fixed on the crystal chandeliers above. She felt her pulse quicken. Even when such events had been the norm of her social life she detested them. Getting all dressed up was fun every now and then, and she was vain enough to admit she enjoyed seeing herself in silk finery on occasion, but she never enjoyed mingling with large crowds under any circumstances. She did much better in small groups, preferably of like-minded individuals.
And she especially hated being paraded about parties like a cow to auction. She'd begged her parents to let her skip her Season. Her father had been happy with the idea, not ready to give his little girl up to another man just yet. Her mother had been more reluctant to snub the tradition entirely. So they'd struck a compromise and agreed to delay her coming out another year. That would also give time for the Medical Act to reach Parliament, and they'd know whether she was eligible for medical school.
Back then it all seemed to matter so much, the way society viewed her, the standards set in place. Now it all meant nothing. Hermione knew she needed a husband if she had any hope of obtaining her family's fortune. But she couldn't care less about that in the wake of her lingering grief. She refused to marry for money when her parents were alive, and nothing had changed in the wake of their deaths.
Still, she knew events such as this marked an excuse for men and women to scope out their prospective partners without the hassle of a traditional Season.
When the girls were getting ready at the Burrow Ginny asked for Hermione's help convincing the formidable Mrs. Weasley to allow her to skip her coming out party. Hermione was reluctant to agree, feeling Ginny had seen too little of the outside world to deny herself such an opportunity for the simple sake of rebelling. Hermione skipped a Season for a specific reason, to see what direction her career went, Ginny was simply trying to avoid social norms.
"Why don't you wait and see how you feel after tonight, Gin?" She said, taking the girls hands in her own. "You haven't met many men outside of your own family. There will be all types of people there tonight, from all different backgrounds. You might find someone you like. And you won't have the pressure or rules of a formal Season to get in the way of having fun."
Ginny groaned, tipping her head back, long red hair cascading down her back.
"I don't want to get married, Mione! I want to live on a ranch and raise horses!"
Hermione smiled. "Maybe you'll meet a jockey. Dare to dream big, Gin. Or in this case, small."
They'd both erupted into a fit of laughter.
Now Ginny looked pale and overwhelmed. Hermione touched her arm, gaining her attention.
"We're going to have fun tonight," she assured her with another forced smile.
"Famous last words," Harry mumbled under his breath. She rolled her eyes, pinching his arm. He smirked. "Just a fair warning, luv. Don't jinx us before the party even starts."
She shook her head, smiling despite her nerves. "Always the optimist." She faced the group. "Well, there's no point hiding in the lobby, if we want free food and booze we'll have to head to the main hall."
"You had me at free food," Ron said, once more rubbing his stomach.
Ginny smiled. "You had me at free booze."
Hermione laughed. "Lead the way."
Their small procession headed for the doors at the other end of the room, uproarious noise could be heard from the other side. Hermione squeezed Harry's arm for her own comfort, but felt the tension in the tightly drawn muscle and gazed up at him.
"Don't worry, Harry," she whispered, doing her best to sound assuring. "It's a party in your and Sirius's honor. What's the worst that can happen?"
She bit her lip as soon as she uttered the words.
His emerald gaze snapped to hers, brow raised.
"Good job, Mione. Now we're definitely screwed."