A/N: In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently obsessed I am with Regency romances.
Hello fam. I can't be tamed. Here is the first chapter of a new Sirmione fic that I am extremely excited to write. Is it plotted all the way out? Yes. Is it about 20 chapters? Yes. Is it self-indulgent? ABSOLUTELY.
Buckle up, my people. We are about to embark on a magical regency AU that will take the Ton by storm. Without further ado...
"You what?"
Minerva McGonagall — Minnie to her intimates — looked at her ward over the top of her spectacles, unimpressed. "Must you make me repeat myself? I said it's time that we seriously contemplate your Season."
Hermione looked at her guardian with an absolutely horrified expression as they sat in the solarium, a room they had dedicated solely to the consumption of tea and biscuits. "I thought we agreed that I didn't need a Season."
"No," Aunt Minnie corrected, "you said that you didn't need one, and I simply ate another biscuit."
"And silence is as good as tacit agreement," she insisted.
Aunt Minnie's eyes creased at the edges. "That's a pretty argument, lass, but it shall get you absolutely nowhere with me."
Hermione frowned and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms as she thought furiously. "What about going to visit Loch Lamond?" she asked, referencing her guardian's Scottish estate, which she held after her second husband's death. "We haven't been to visit in ages."
Sighing, Aunt Minnie put down the paper after folding it at the crease. "You can't avoid this, lass. We've done so already for two Seasons. Society accepted the first because of your parents' passing—Merlin bless them—and they accepted the second because I argued you were still grieving, but tongues will begin to wag if you don't debut."
Thinking of the incessant balls and parties and meaningless small talk made her want to be ill. "Is it all that important that I debut? Really? I don't want to be a leading lady or a Duchess or the Patroness of Almack's or any of that. All I want is to study magic and open a bookshop, or even a lending library, which I can safely do at Keltham." Her parents' estate included several large towns and villages that would gladly accept her patronage.
"It's not acceptable for a gentlewoman of your stature to simply abstain from the Season completely." Aunt Minnie's expression grew solemn, and she reached across the table to lay her hand on top of Hermione's. "I know that your parents' passing was...difficult for you, but wouldn't you like to experience the kind of match that they had? One of love and respect?"
Echoes of her mother's girlish laughter sounded in her ears as she thought of how her parents glowed in each other's presence, her light-hearted father making her mother laugh despite her tendency towards solemnity. Unfortunately, the halls of Keltham were silent now, those tinkling sounds never to grace the grounds again. Her mother had died, and her father, consumed by his grief, had followed shortly thereafter, leaving Hermione to haunt the grounds like a desolate spirit cloaked in blacks and drab greys.
"No," she said finally, thinking of her father's desolation. "No, I would not. I don't think I'm suited to marriage."
Aunt Minnie sighed again, her lips pursing. "Truthfully, my dear, I don't think they'll accept anything less from us than a full Season for you. They shan't less the Heiress of the Keltham slip through their fingers so easily. You'll be nothing less than a diamond of the first water, what with your looks and your fortune."
"My looks?" she sniffed. "Do be realistic, Aunt Min. My looks are nothing special. Why, Lavender Brown and Daphne Greengrass are marked to be the leaders of the Season this year, not I."
"I doubt that very much. You're a very pretty girl, both in beauty and in heart." Green eyes the colour of grass as the seasons turned to fall met hers, and Hermione was the first to look away.
"I really don't see the point of it," she felt compelled to say, her fingers picking at the napkin in her lap. "If I'm not going to get married, then why must I participate?"
"At the very least it will make you welcome in society should you choose to participate," her guardian said mildly, "which is no small thing. And besides, who else will be there to shepherd Harry through the process?"
Hermione cracked a smile at that. The Granger and Potter families had long been friends, their friendship borne first of proximity, as their estates were close to each other and their houses in town just across the Square, and then later of common interests and fondness. Harry and Hermione had known each other all their lives, and the black-haired boy had fairly pleaded with her not to abandon him to the "match-making mama's tender mercies" when she had last seen him.
"Fair enough," she allowed. "Both good points. But...I shan't get married, and there is nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. How many Seasons shall I have to endure before I can put myself on the shelf? I have plans, Aunt Min, and they don't include marriage to a wizard or a witch. They include books. Many of them, some of which I will sell and some of which I will read."
Aunt Minnie's expression remained unchanged, even as Hermione's shocking bluestocking and — even worse — commerce-minded tendencies made themselves known. Not for the first time, Hermione was grateful that she had somehow ended up with a guardian whose personality so well matched her own, as she feared what would have happened to herself if she had ended up with a more traditional society matron. Possibly run off, she thought ruefully, or perhaps something worse.
"It must be at least three or four." Aunt Minnie reached for her cup of tea and took a sip. "And you've got to truly try, at least for the first few, to convince everyone you're trying. Else, you'll doubtlessly offend those who see this as important."
"And it's important not to offend them?" Hermione asked archly.
"If you'd ever like to entertain the idea of some of your more...ambitious ideas coming to fruition, such as a lady's gathering for practicing spell work, then I would think so. Society can open just as many doors as it can close, so long as you establish and foster the right connections."
She had a point. If Hermione wanted such a thing to be even remotely feasible, or if she wanted to try and open a bookshop of her own that allowed ladies, even gently born ladies, access to all sections of the store, including the books on magic deemed too violent or advanced for a lady's delicate sensibilities, she would have to curry favour with those of the right influence.
She sighed and gave as gracefully as she knew how. "Two Seasons."
"Four Seasons. Trust me, my dear. I know what I'm about."
"Three Seasons," Hermione said, "and that's final."
Aunt Minnie put her teacup on its saucer, the porcelain touching without a sound, and placed her hands in her lap. "Very well. Three Seasons it is. Now, shall I send Mr Goldstein off to arrange an appointment at Twilfitt and Tatting's for us in the morning?"
Hermione groaned at the idea of spending hours being measured and fitted as she stood before a mirror. "Must we?"
"A lady's armour is her clothes," Aunt Minnie said, "and I have a feeling you'll want, and need, as much of that as you can get."
Unfortunately, Hermione had the sinking feeling that she was right.