The crowd was loud at the Old Vine Tavern, in the centre of Wilton, whereby during the day the neighbouring market stalls were brimming with goods on offer, at night men of all classes of society came out and gathered at the back of the main building, assembled as they were around the pit.
Red coats drinking their leaves away, town merchants escaping the marital confine, local farmers spending their harvest proceeds, travelling tradesmen passing time on their journeys, punters craving altogether different pursuits and even gentlemen seeking the release of pent-up blood lust, all gathered around the arena, with little more than a low wooden fence separating the fighting cockerels from the rowdy spectators.
The King, and his son the Regent both, partook in the sport with a dedication rarely seen from the often apathetic monarchs, impassioned to the point of owning their own birds, staff tending to the royal pens, and hosting a series of mains at the celebrated Cock-pit Royal in London to the highest stakes.
It was an altogether less dignified affair tonight in Wilton, although dignity was a theoretical concept when applied to the gore on display in the pit set in the middle of the tavern's back garden. Shouting, singing, booing, laughing, hollering, all boisterously intermingled to create a maelstrom of human conditions and emotions into a single tableau.
"Come, Malfoy, I must have you bet. I hate to see you sitting about in this stupid manner." Theodore Nott approached Draco who was enjoyably drinking away his evening, far enough from flying feathers and errand blood spatters.
"Nott, you insisted for us to come to the cockpit tonight, therefore here we are." Draco replied good humouredly. "Return to your wagers and mind your guineas. I will be partaking in the libation on offer instead, happily so." He proceeded to finish his tankard, gesturing to a barmaid for a refill.
"Whatever is the matter with you? You usually enjoy cock fighting." Theodore said with a pout, unsteady on his legs, swerving on the spot as he turned around, before adding reflectively. "I think I shall take a moment with you after all, the ale is plentiful tonight and I feel like sitting." He dropped summarily on the chair opposite Draco, the barmaid handing him a fresh drink with a flirtatious wink.
Draco couldn't deny his friend's astute observation, he had in the past been a vocal participant around the pit, betting, winning and losing vast amounts of money with little notice. But he had been under a spell of the most peculiar nature for a while, such that all that used to stimulate him, now bored him. He was going through his usual habits with a listless energy that even the most spirited horse riding jaunt couldn't dissipate.
His days, even when spent hedonistically, lately brought him no pleasure. And his nights … Well, his nights offered him no rest whatsoever, plagued as he was by visions of golden eyes, heaving bosom, aurelian skin and thick curls, waking him up in all manners of unravelling such as he hadn't experienced since being a young lad.
Awake, he refused to recall her repartee, her crystalline voice, her dry wit, her beauty, her unwavering poise under his scrutiny at the Longbottom dinner, all irremediably tainted by the newly found knowledge of her repulsive origins. He oftentimes could feel a burning feeling rising in him, for having been so taken by her, when it had turned out that she was so far beneath him in birth, wealth and connections.
But when asleep, images of her filled his mind continuously, her name alone he couldn't speak out loud as he would have expired on its breathless nature. Hermione.
Of course he was well aware of his desire for her, but one thing Malfoy men had in plentiful supply was control. Control of others through their ancestral privileges, but more uniquely, control over self. He was adept at shutting down his thoughts, dissipating the troubling pictures his mind unhelpfully conjured, washing his thoughts clean as an artist were to prime a canvas, rearranging his ideas to submit them to his will. And it worked. It worked perfectly, albeit for his tormented dreams.
It was as if the harder he was willing away his attraction by day, the deeper he was drowning in her by night, his mind relenting to his control only long enough to reassert itself with passion come nighttime. It wouldn't do. He had to regain ascendancy over this situation.
He reasoned that the paths well travelled would always lead to the same destination, so that if he sought the same pleasures as he did before, corresponding contentment would befall him in return. His life, and that of every other fashionable young gentleman of his acquaintance, could have been summed up to drinking, gambling and whoring, therefore these familiar delights ought to bring him closer to his previous sense of self, surely. Only he had been drinking heavily already, and gambling wasn't appealing tonight.
"So tell me, how is your father? Is he well?" Theodore interrupted Draco's self reflection.
"Astonishingly, his hand has shown no sign of pestilence. As a matter of fact, he made his way to London accompanied by my mother this Tuesday last." Lord Malfoy's departure had been delayed by a few weeks while his hand healed at the Manor, giving Draco cause for celebration, finally being free from the paternal lectures about Mr Riddle's higher opinions on all things, as if that man could say or do no wrong in the eyes of his father.
"Shall I extend my stay with you at the Manor? I personally dislike being without company when in the country, the opportunities for divertissement being limited as they are and the society utterly savage." Theodore shivered in repulsion.
"Don't change your plans on my account. Besides, you will be back in Wiltshire with your father for the Yuletide season, won't you?" Draco said distractingly, as his eyes were being caught by the sight of two women, one of whom was adorned with golden skin, appearing to glow in the candle light, her olive complexion contrasting against her fair companion's. Both of their frocks were fastened in a loose fashion, signalling a readiness for the act of undressing that left him with no doubt as to the nature of their trade, this time around. "And to assuage your solicitude, know that I will be hosting my godfather. He is finally making his way south for a few months, staying at the Manor before making his way to town in the new year."
"Ah! Let's drink to this small miracle indeed! Whatever could have convinced the old coot to leave his dungeon at the University?" Theodore spoke to the bottom of his drink, not fully invested in the reasons for Draco's godfather visit.
"Some favour to a Magistrate friend of his. To be perfectly honest, I am not sure of it myself." Draco wanted to end this line of conversation, not inclined to discuss his austere godfather when the women were approaching their table, the fairer buxom clearly the more gregarious of the two, smiling at him in a flirtatious manner.
"Good evening beautiful maidens, what would it cost to have you sit with us?" Draco accosted them without preamble. "My friend and I are seeking the finest company Wilton has to offer tonight, to lift our spirits from the disappointment of having bet against the wrong bird." Theodore, not having seen the newcomers approach, turned around quickly, promptly perking up at the unexpected company.
"My Lord, you can count on us to liven your party. Are you not enjoying the cock-matches tonight?" Replied the more affable sporting lady.
"I am, very much indeed." Draco answered one woman while staring at the other. "But tell me, does your friend here have a taste for cocking as much as you do?"
"We both enjoy the sport very much, my Lord. And for a few shillings more, we can even enjoy it together, especially if fine gentlemen such as yourselves were to join us."
Draco's arm snaked around the waist of the girl of his choice, drawing her to his lap to stare at the tawny skin of her neck. "What do you say, Nott? It would seem that our presence is desired upstairs in the Tavern."
"I say it's time to move from blood sports onto sweeter endeavours." Theodore grabbed their haggler facetiously, her giggle providing ample assent to the negotiated transaction.
Draco stood up, keeping his girl close to him. "My thoughts exactly! Lead the way, my lovelies…"
"It is so good to see you again after all these years, Severus! And Captain Potter, a delight as always. Please, do sit down." Lady Minerva busied herself with the tea service, set in the front parlour, the large south-facing window giving plenty of light on this cold December morning.
"I wanted to extend my heartfelt thanks to you Severus, for recommending Captain Potter here to our acquaintance." Minerva's face appeared stern but for the most unmistakable twinkle in her eyes when looking at the Officer. "He has proven to be a very welcome addition to our group of friends. But tell me, through the years we have known each other, you had never mentioned the young man. How did your relationship come about?"
Professor Snape, lecturer at the University of St Andrews in Scotland, long-time pen friend of Lady Minerva, and benefactor to Captain Potter, sat down on the offered seat in a flourish of long coat and rigid manners. He had come to call at the McGonagall house this very morning, accompanied by Captain Potter, to pay his respects before continuing on his journey further north in Wiltshire.
He cut an imposing figure, thought Hermione, all dressed in black as if belonging to the clergy. His face displaying no outward emotions, a blank slate which could easily be misconstrued for boredom, if only it wasn't betrayed by cordial words of greetings offered to Lady Minerva just prior. His formal posture, accepting his cup of tea from the Lady of the house, spoke of rigour of mind and discipline.
"No doubt you remember that I grew up near the town of Cokeworth in Lincolnshire." Professor Snape spoke in a slow drawl. "What is not commonly known is that our house bordered on the estate of Captain Potter's mother's family. Liliane…, I mean Mrs Potter, and I grew up very close in age. I am fortunate to have been able to call her my friend during these years, until her betrothal to Mr James Potter, that is." He paused at that point, took a sip of his tea along with a deep breath before continuing. "Captain Potter's parents had named Commodore Sirius Black as his godfather, and it grieves me to say that the scoundrel had done a fine job raising the boy until the unfortunate events of 1812…"
"My apologies Professor Snape, but I am not familiar with the events you are referring to?" Hermione leaned forward, a look of eagerness on her face, drinking in all facts shared by the Professor.
Snape stopped mid sentence, closed his mouth, turning to Hermione to observe her coolly with a haughty glare, his dark eyes flashing at the interruption.
"My godfather served in the Royal Navy under Admiral Dacres during the war against the United States of America." Captain Potter intervened to restore the flow of conversation, answering Hermione with a pained smile. "But he was sentenced to death for mutiny on the eve of the battle for HMS Guerriere. His court martial transcript makes no reference to the reasons behind his treasonous act. His disappearance was sudden and left me bereft of a sponsor to enter the militia."
Professor Snape picked up in the same manner he had left it prior, addressing Lady Minerva directly. "I was thus approached by a mutual friend of ours Minerva, the Honourable Albus Dumbledore, to recommend Captain Potter to his Colonel and join the Somerset Militia."
"Albus! But of course, it makes perfect sense." Exclaimed Lady Minerva. "I have been following his progress most avidly, organising the Bow Street Magistrate Court. What dedication to the greater good! He tells me that he now heads a group of over twenty Runners, and that they investigate all sorts of crimes in the city and beyond, throwing the darkest men in prison to protect the honest people of London."
"Quite." Professor Snape's underwhelmed demeanour contrasted against the relative enthusiasm of his host, glad as she was at the new order of justice taking shape in the capital. "That very same Albus Dumbledore is the reason for my leaving my position at the University this semester and spending the Season in London. It would appear he requires my expert opinion on a most peculiar case that has so far confounded his band of Runners. He suspects poison, but has no proof of it, and has called for my extensive knowledge in Toxicology…"
"From the greek τοξικός, the study of poisons, of course!" Hermione couldn't have held herself back if she'd tried, too proud to have pieced together the meaning of the word she just heard for the first time today.
"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Hermione. Are you incapable of restraining yourself, or do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it-all?"
Hermione closed her mouth briskly and pinked all over at the professor's reproof. While she had most certainly forgone propriety in speaking up as eagerly as she did, she felt the stern remark was unjustified in its verbosity and pointedness. Censored, she looked towards Lady Minerva, but was surprised to see that her guardian didn't show the least amount of either offence, nor surprise at hearing her guest speak in such a chastising manner. As a matter of fact, Lady Minerva sported a rarely-seen benevolent smirk, looking upon her old friend fondly.
Puzzled by her guardian's reaction, she turned to Captain Potter, only to see him struggle to contain his laughter behind his cup of tea, his mirth thankfully lacking any mockery, for he winked at Hermione in camaraderie. She answered in kind with a smile and a barely suppressed eye roll as their company resumed exchanging news from acquaintances of old.
Later that morning, as the gentlemen were bidding their goodbyes, Captain Potter turned to Hermione to address her covertly, away from the all-seeing presence of the ominous Professor.
"Miss Hermione, I have been meaning to ask you. Will you be attending the Assembly Ball in Wilton this Yule?" He enquired, lowering his voice for privacy.
"Why, yes! I was told that the Officers will also be joining the party, is that true?"
"Yes, our Colonel has agreed to let his men spend the festive season in good company. But tell me, will there be others from Elston joining you by any chance?" Captain Potter asked casually.
"Yes! Ronald's brothers Charlie and William have also bought tickets. Mrs Abbott and Miss Hannah will also be in attendance, I believe." Hermione recalled easily.
"And, pray tell me, are any other of Ronald's siblings coming?" Captain Potter asked, a blush spreading to his cheeks.
"Well, Masters George and Frederick will be in Elston from London, but they …" Hermione stated breezily, before noticing Potter's changed countenance, giving her pause. "You were not asking about the twins, were you?"
Potter's eyes flashed intently, lifting any doubts from Hermione's mind as to the object of his questions. "Yes, the two eldest will be attending … plus one Miss Ginevra Weasley." She answered, smiling at the captain's heartened disposition, having heard the hoped-for news.
"Capital. Capital indeed." Captain Potter inclined his head in parting. "Thank you, Miss Hermione. Good day."
Author's note: Of course, everyone will have recognised the Prisoner of Azkaban quote, I couldn't resist using it verbatim, it's too good. For the back story, the word 'toxicology' was less than 15 years old at the time of this story, barely in infancy, and would have sounded very 'high tech' to Regency people, same as 'cloud computing', 'big data' or 'blockchain' sound to us today.