Chapter 14

Octavia looked at the invitation in her hands, and the letter that had arrived only that morning. The invitation to the engagement party, along with the invitation to the wedding had both arrived by owl days earlier. When they had come, she had looked at them with longing, but didn't give them real consideration. She had kept herself hidden all of this time, had thought it best to keep Hermione in the dark about her parentage for as long as possible—though she hadn't expected that to be nearly as long as it had turned out to be. What were those solicitors thinking, leaving the office to a house elf for maintenance for so long?

She still remembered the way she had felt when Hermione had been born. She had been so proud of the baby, so in love with her offspring long before the birth ever happened. Octavia had been in hiding for several months already, but when the owl had arrived with the marriage contract and she had realized what was in store for her baby, Octavia had been unable to sit by and allow her daughter to be taken, to be raised by Augustus or any of his Death Eater family. The Zabinis, though not known sympathizers of the Dark Lord, were not much better with their pure-blood prejudices.

Before twenty-four hours had passed, she had realized there were only two choices. She could hide with her little girl and hope they weren't discovered, or she could hide her baby among Muggles and hope the upbringing the tot learned with them would keep Hermione safe from danger, hidden in the Muggle world until the Dark Lord's reign ended. It couldn't last more than a few years, could it?

And then Hermione had gone to school and made friends with the Boy Who Lived and her future was set. Worse, Octavia had put herself in a position where she couldn't protect her daughter, or even speak up for her.

After years of following her daughter's school exploits in the papers when she could get a hold of a copy, Octavia had the opportunity to be at one of the biggest days of Hermione's life—you know, aside from facing down the Dark Lord and the myriad other things a teen should never have experienced. The question was whether Octavia could affect an appropriate disguise, something others wouldn't even think to try and look through. She wanted to see Hermione dressed up in the finery the gossip columns had mentioned—she had recently re-subscribed to the Daily Prophet knowing it would be the only way she would get any of the information she craved.

And then there was the letter from Hermione. It had arrived in her Muggle post box only that morning, a note directly from her daughter, forwarded by the solicitors, asking for information. Why had she left Hermione with the Grangers? Why hadn't she made sure Hermione knew about the contract years earlier? Why hadn't she felt it necessary to share the truth about her heritage? Didn't Octavia care about her at all?

That last question caused an ache in Octavia's chest. She still loved Hermione with a mother's pure love, but was uncertain whether the truth and a meeting between them would serve any good purpose.

Still, she turned to the mirror and picked up the wand she so seldom even pulled out to look at, never mind used. Pointing it to her hair, she turned it to a bright brassy red, then decided that was too close to her natural shade, and changed it to black. Then she turned it to her eyes. Blue, she thought and used the spell that would make them unrecognizable.

* * *

Hermione stood in front of the mirror in the room at Zabini Manor that had been appointed for her use when she was on grounds before the wedding. In this case, it was used for her to change into her party clothes, and allow the professional hairdresser and makeup artist to do their work once they finished with Patrizia's. The mirror said they did their work exceptionally well—though Hermione had never completely gotten used to mirrors sharing opinions out loud.

Hermione was impressed with the coif the hairdresser had managed, making the most of her curls so the wild mane appeared surprisingly sophisticated. It was pulled up on top in some sort of knot with tendrils teasing the skin of her neck and cheeks. The makeup emphasized her eyes, making them look impossibly large, her skin unnaturally perfect without appearing to be made up at all.

The dress robes were exquisite as well. Hermione hated to admit Patrizia had chosen so perfectly. They were a faded golden color that fell and gathered to make the most of her assets, and downplay her less amazing features. They fit perfectly, despite the fact that Hermione hadn't put up with fittings for them after her argument with Patrizia. All in all, she felt like Cinderella at the ball.

Now she tried not to fidget as she waited for Blaise to collect her. The party was about to begin, and according to the house elves, the first guests were already sampling the canapés and champagne.

The door opened and Blaise entered without so much as a knock. He looked very handsome in his black robes, like a tuxedo for Muggles. It made the best of all his many, many assets. Choosing not to mention how smashing he looked, Hermione instead lifted a brow. "What did I say about you walking into the room without knocking? What if I had been dressing?"

"First, that rule was for your flat. This is my house and my rules. Second, it wouldn't have bothered me at all to get a preview of all those soft curves before the wedding. Though at this hour I didn't expect to be so lucky." His eyes trailed over her form, and he wet his lips in a manner that made Hermione think it was unconscious. "I wouldn't mind seeing you without the dress. Then again, I must admit that dress does admirable things for your figure. You look fabulous."

Hermione huffed and glided past him to the door even as her cheeks turned hot at his words and the frank admiration in his eyes. "You do have grand dreams, don't you?"

"Does it drive you off your nut knowing you can't stop me from imagining what's beneath all that fabric?" he asked as he slid his hand around her waist, making her pulse scramble when he drew her near. She felt warmth and little zings of electricity spread along her skin from the point of contact.

His voice was low, meant for her ears only, sending shivers down Hermione's spine. When did I become attracted to him—really attracted and not just for pretend? "I couldn't care less what's in your head, Zabini, so long as you keep your hands to yourself." She pushed his grasp from her waist and he snagged her hand and set it to his elbow before she could exit the room. Her comment wasn't precisely accurate, but she wasn't about to let him know she found it titillating, thinking of him fantasizing about her. She gulped in a deep breath when she realized she had all but stopped breathing.

He laughed low in his throat. "That's just as well. I have a very vivid imagination."

They entered the ballroom a few moments later after being announced at the door like some British royalty. As Hermione smiled and looked around the room for one friendly face, she mused that the Zabinis were about as close to royalty as the wizarding world got. Money was king, after all, and in the absence of any titled families, she was close enough.

The next several hours included round after round of introductions, small talk, congratulations, canapés and sips of champagne. Hermione didn't allow herself more than half a glass per hour, not wanting to end up even the slightest bit tipsy on this night. She did her best to blend with the other pure-bloods, without losing her sense of self, a balancing act whose difficulty Blaise didn't seem to appreciate. At least he didn't seem to enjoy her struggle to keep her own identity.

When Blaise approached again, she was speaking with a small group of people that included a French Potions master, a British oil baron and his wife who had a foot in each world and enjoyed their dual status, and a black-haired matron with amazing ice-blue eyes that seemed to penetrate Hermione to the core. "You will forgive me for spiriting my bride away, won't you? It's time to start off the dancing."

They all agreed and he led her onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms, far closer than waltz regulations allowed. They took the first two turns of the room before others joined them. The musky scent of his cologne filled her senses as his touch made her burn for more. The solicitor had said the compulsion charms would draw them closer, compel them to create offspring. She could believe it with the way she felt now. His voice was low, husky in her ear as he began to speak to her of all the things he wanted to do when they were married, the places he would touch her, the fire he would put in her veins.

She shivered as he pressed his lips to the soft skin of her neck and wondered if he had any idea of the inferno his words were creating inside her. Still, she wasn't read to give in to him. The fact that he took her side the previous night did not undo all of the horrid behavior that came before. Both strong thankfulness for the end of their proximity, and great reluctance to let her go hit her as he released her at the end of the song.

He looked her in the eyes and undoubtedly noted the flush in her face, the desire burning in her eyes, and he kissed her softly. "If it wouldn't be unpardonably rude, and if I thought there was even the slightest chance we could get away with it, I'd spirit you back to my room right now and see what is hiding under that dress."

She pushed him away gently, though it took all of the strength she possessed to do so. "We have guests, and I'm sure your Mum is dying to introduce me around to all of the important people."

He shuddered slightly, then, as if in slow motion, lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. "Until later."

They saw each other here and there through the evening, managed to eat dinner together, but shared no more than a few private words the whole rest of the night.

It was nearly three in the morning and Hermione held onto Blaise's elbow for the strength to stand as they waved away the last of the guests. She didn't remember ever being so tired before. Perhaps she had been young enough in school that her body had dealt with stress better, or perhaps it was the stress of trying to keep up appearances all night.

In any case, when Blaise walked her back upstairs to her room, Hermione was incredibly grateful to have it over and done with. "How many people did I meet tonight, two thousand?" She struggled not to yawn.

"There were only four hundred in attendance, and I'm sure you didn't meet them all." Blaise's response was little enough comfort. "At most parties we'll be the guests, so we'll be able to leave at a decent hour. I was beginning to think the Dunzels would never leave." He covered his own mouth as he yawned, giving the first sign of weariness Hermione had seen all evening.

Though Hermione wanted to pay attention to her surroundings, getting more familiar with the layout of the house, and learning about the ancient Egyptian artifacts and Ming vases lining the walls in discrete alcoves, she was far too tired. Her eyes felt bleary.

They arrived in the room and Hermione began walking about, picking up the bits and pieces of her belongings.

"What are you doing?" Blaise asked after a moment.

"Preparing to go home. It's late, in case you didn't notice."

"Don't be a fool. You have a room here. Stay the night. You'll splinch yourself Apparating and you'll undoubtedly exit at the wrong grate if you Floo. Besides, that dress is far too expensive for Floo travel."

She felt ready to drop, but still thought she ought to put up a token resistance. "Blaise, I have my own flat for a reason."

Blaise removed the belongings from her arms and guided her exhausted form to the bed. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Get into bed."

"In this dress?" The thought was appalling. It would be completely ruined. And there was no way she was going to strip out of it while he was in the room.

"I'll remove it magically once you're under the covers."

"I can take care of it myself." Hermione was scandalized.

"Don't been such a worry wart. You're too tired to mess with magic. Climb in and I'll take care of things. Then you can sleep here and return to your flat after breakfast tomorrow. I promise to be a gentleman, no matter how tempted I am to act otherwise."

"You, a gentleman?" Still, Hermione began slipping from the high heels that made her feet feel as though they were on fire.

"I may never make the offer again, so you better take advantage of it while you can." He nudged her onto the bed, which already had the covers pulled back. When she sat, he nudged her closer to the headboard, then placed gentle pressure on her shoulder so she rested against the pillows. Lying in the bed was like floating in a cloud. Hermione was afraid she would melt into the softness before his eyes.

He lifted her feet onto the bed and sat near them. "You actually did much better tonight than I expected. I was impressed."

Hermione moaned as he picked up one of her feet and began to massage it. "I was sure you glared at me a few times."

"It must have been your imagination." He moved to the second foot after a moment, making sure to get between her toes and along her arch.

"Where did you learn that?" She bit back another moan as his fingers expertly teased her sore feet. "We have a new rule: I will willingly spend my life in ridiculous shoes attending your social events if you promise to give me a foot massage after."

He moved to her calf, causing her to moan again. She was starting to wonder why she held herself back. If his touch on her lower legs could feel this good, she could only imagine what else he could manage. She felt herself heat as the magic and her own growing attraction began to take over. He gave her a sad look. "If I thought you were awake enough to make an informed decision, I'd keep on going. But as you're not . . . " He left the sentence unfinished, and placed both her feet under the covers, then drew the blanket over her. He tapped at one visible strap at the top of her shoulder with his wand and the dress flashed off her, reappearing in a chair across the room. "Goodnight, Hermione."

Sleep already claiming her, Hermione felt her eyes drift closed. "Good night, Blaise." She felt his lips brush across her forehead, then heard his footfalls cross the room and the outer door close before she slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

The next morning she awoke to find Blaise sitting by her bedside. He was fully dressed and buttering a steaming hot muffin.

"What are you doing in here?"

He placed a dollop of jam on the muffin and turned to her. "I'm eating." He took a bite of the muffin and grinned at her.

"So I see. But why are you eating in my room?" She rubbed her face with her hands and felt the covers rub against her skin. Looking down she realized she was wearing only her bra and underwear, and the blankets had slid down her torso. She grabbed them up and tugged them to her chin.

"I admit, the view is better in here than in the dining room. Or it was until a moment ago." He took another bite of muffin. "I can always hope it'll improve again, however."

His words annoyed her. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"What kind of gentleman would wake a woman who was obviously so knackered?"

"What kind of gentleman would creep into a woman's bedroom to spy on her in her sleep?"

He grinned. "One with flexible morals. Besides, it's nothing I won't see in the future."

"Not the very near future."

"Not that distant, either. Only a week, no matter how much you'd like to put it off longer." He eyed her heated face and smirked. "Then again, perhaps you don't wish to put it off for long." He put a dollop of jam on the other half of his muffin and held it to her mouth. "Try this, I guarantee you've never eaten anything like it."

Hermione opened and nearly moaned as the flavor and heat exploded in her mouth. There was a whole stack of the little goodies on the table beside her bed and Hermione felt suddenly ravenous. She slid one arm out of the blankets and summoned a robe from the closet. "Turn your back."

He looked her over, lust glowing in his eyes. "I'd really rather not."

His arrogance and pushiness was really too much, she thought. "That wasn't a suggestion."

When he made no move to turn around, she lifted an eyebrow and waved her hand again. His chair slid into the closet and the closet door slammed shut on him. Knowing she wouldn't have long, Hermione hurried to don the robe while he was still stunned by her actions. She flapped the robe around her legs, then sat back on the bed, covering her lower legs with the sheets before reaching for a muffin.

The closet door slammed open and he stood in the doorway, staring at her in disbelief. "I can't believe you just did that."

"Believe it. And know I'll do the same any time I ask you to leave or turn your head and you refuse. I don't appreciate you not taking me seriously. You're welcome to join me again, if you'd like to bring your chair over."

He stared at her as she added jam to her buttered muffin as if nothing of import had happened. In truth, she struggled to keep her hands from shaking, wondering if she had gone too far and he would be upset. They really didn't know each other very well, and she had no idea how he might react.

His response surprised her, however. "That was bloody wicked. How did you learn to do that?"

"Practice, focus, and aptitude." She looked at him, considering. "You've got quite a bit of magical talent. You may be able to do some wandless magic, in time. If you apply yourself. Then again, perhaps it would be better if I didn't teach you how."

He dragged the chair back to her bedside and sat again, ignoring the food for now, focusing on her. "You're such a combination of opposites."

Hermione kept eating, finished the last bit of muffin on her plate and then chewed and swallowed. "You seem rather resigned to the marriage, even like you might be looking forward to it. What happened to change your mind about marrying me?"

"My initial reaction was just the shock talking. Since then I've been able to see the personal advantages to our marriage—and before you snap at me, I'm not talking about the sex." When she gave him a disbelieving look he corrected his statement. "Well, I'm not only talking about the sex—it's been a bloody long year, I tell you." He grabbed another muffin and split it open. "Truth is, you've access to a whole segment of wizarding society that I don't. You have the perspective of a Muggle-born whatever your blood. That might come in handy in my business. Besides, once I bothered to open my eyes, I couldn't help but notice you're bloody beautiful."

She allowed an eyebrow to lift at that final declaration. Beautiful wasn't a word people normally associated with her. At least, it wasn't a word she associated with herself. She looked amazing the previous night, but not because she was beautiful, but rather because she looked almost beautiful. "I'm flattered, but don't think I don't know what I really look like. I have a mirror, you know."

Blaise opened his mouth to say something but a house-elf cracked into existence at their side. "Master, sir, Mr. Malfoy is here to be seeing you, sir."

"Thanks, Bitty. Tell him I'll be with him shortly. You put him in the Blue Parlor, didn't you?"

"Yes sir, I is doing it." The house elf Disapparated and Blaise returned to his breakfast.

Hermione said nothing as Blaise filled their plates with bacon, eggs, and muffins. He poured their breakfast tea and took a long sip of his before turning his attention back to his plate.

"Aren't you going to go speak with Malfoy?"

"He'll wait. He did interrupt my breakfast, after all. If he wants to speak with me, it won't kill him to cool his heels." He scooped a fork full of eggs into his mouth.

"Not that I have any problem with you keeping Malfoy waiting, but it's not very nice of you." And he said she was a strange combination of opposites, she thought. Weren't they supposed to be good friends?

He met her gaze and gave her a serious look. "I'm not always nice, Hermione." He took another bite of his breakfast and Hermione allowed him to eat in peace.

She was nearly finished with her food when he pushed back his chair and turned toward her. "I'm afraid this is going to take several hours." His eyes strayed to her lips, then down to her chest where the robe covered her, there was definitely longing in his gaze. He sighed. "I had hoped to have longer with you this morning, but I don't suppose it can be helped."

"I need to take care of a few things at home anyway. Between one thing and the next I've hardly had time for laundry, never mind anything else."

"And your schedule isn't getting any clearer. Mum said you get the morning off, but then she wants you to do a couple of afternoon visits with her." He pulled her close and pressed a linger kiss to her lips, trailing his fingers down her neck, along her collarbone, to rest on her shoulder. "See you later."

Hermione sighed and finished her breakfast before changing into her regular clothing and heading down the main staircase to the Apparition point out front. Before she reached the front door, however, she passed Blaise's office and heard he and Malfoy talking. She couldn't help but hear the conversation, or linger to catch more.