[Just to be clear: this is an AU. It's 1815, Hogwarts has gender-segregated classes and, for reasons that will eventually become apparent, Harry and Hermione never met. The Second Blood War happened, but very differently than in canon. Harry and friends did eventually win, and this story begins about an hour into a ball that Harry has been pressured into hosting now that he's one of the wealthiest and most popular men in Magical Great Britain.

Trigger warnings: canon-typical violence, threats of sexual assault (past, described vaguely), infliction of eye injuries (past, described vaguely), PTSD

Thank you to Cilla and DeMa for beta'ing this! Any mistakes are solely my own fault.]


Harry slipped into the last room in the house Ron would think of to look for him in and locked the door with a murmured Colloportus, wishing not for the first time in the last two hours that he'd never agreed to host this damned ball.

"I must ask–" a woman's sharp voice lashed out from the near-darkness behind him, but that was as far as she got before Harry's war-honed instincts kicked in. (He may also have jumped six inches vertically, not that he would admit to that later if questioned on the matter.) His wand leapt from his wrist holster into his hand and he was already pointing it behind him by the time the woman said "Impedimenta."

Harry dropped to one knee just in time to dodge the jet of turquoise light and responded with a nonverbal Full Body-Bind Curse at a figure in an armchair about ten yards from him. A bookcase hid the chair from the direct view of the window, and the occupant was silhouetted by a blue flame in a jar on top of the chair behind her.

"Pro–" was as far as she got before a splash of white light froze her in place.

An accusing, demanding voice in Harry's head hissed, "Constant vigilance!" at him, yet another reminder of what the war had cost them all. He followed the voice's instructions, though, and stayed low for a moment to watch and listen for other potential attackers. No one made themselves apparent, so he cast a Human-Presence-Revealing Charm. Only when that came up negative did he rise and approach the woman.

His eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the Bluebell Flames by that point, and he could make out that she was roughly his age, dressed in a conservative periwinkle gown, and holding a copy of an ancient copy of A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions in her off hand. Her hair was done up elegantly, but clearly so strong-willed that even the finest hairdresser couldn't fully tame it. Though her body was frozen, a mixture of fury and terror was still somehow visible in her eyes.

Harry ran his hand through his hair awkwardly. "I'm terribly sorry, miss. I didn't know anyone was in here and I'm still a bit…unsettled from the war. I'm going to release you now and I request the indulgence of not being cursed once I do." He took a deep breath, Finite'd the Curse, and kept his wand ready for a shield.

She gasped as soon as she was freed and leapt to her feet, but no new spells burst forth from her wand. "You may request, sir," she said, "but I'm scarcely inclined to grant it. You burst into the room and locked me in here with you without so much as a By-your-leave, then aimed your wand at me when I attempted to politely object. Why should I not have attacked you?"

"Frankly, I would have done the same thing in your position," Harry said. "As I said, I've been unsettled since the war and I sometimes react inappropriately to surprises. I can only beg your pardon, not justify myself."

She sighed and lowered her wand. "I know more about such unsettling memories than I should like. You have my pardon, sir."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, miss. Now, if you'll accept this question very much belatedly, may I join you here? I find myself in need of respite from the ball."

"Not that this library is mine," she said, "but you are welcome to hide in here with me."

"I appreciate your willingness to share your retreat," Harry said as he pulled around a chair to face her. "May I ask what drove you here?"

"My own inadequacies." She sat down primly as she spoke. "My parents demanded I attend this ball, but they cannot make me dance…or fail to find dance partners, as would more likely be the case."

He raised his eyebrows. "You do not wish to find a partner here?"

"I do not," she agreed. "This…this was to be the first big gathering of the veterans of the Duke of Peverell's Defence Association, was it not?"

"That it was." Harry's eyes narrowed at the possible implications of the question.

"I thought so." She looked away and, when she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. "A roomful of war heroes is no place for a coward."

"I…don't understand," Harry said. "We tried our best to keep women out of the fighting."

She turned back to him. "I'm a muggleborn. When the Earl, now the Duke Peverell warned everyone Voldemort was back, I used a Confundus Charm on my parents and fled the country. We have some vineyards along the Douro River where we make our Port, so we moved there."

"At least you were smart enough to run," Harry said. "Most people didn't believe that warning."

"Most people are simpletons," she said, and something about her matter-of-fact tone drew an undignified snort from Harry. A smile flitted across her face before she continued, "Anyway, now that we've returned to the country, my parents insisted that I have my Season. I cannot imagine deserving the affection of one of the men I left here to fight and die in my stead and I could not imagine desiring the affection of one who was neutral or on the other side. We argued, I lost, and now I pass my time in this fine library rather than seeking out men who, if they are not disappointed in my looks, would soon find my character wanting."

"I do not think it a character defect to desire safety for your parents," Harry said. "Had I had that option, I…don't know what I would have done."

"I'm sorry," the woman said softly. "Had yours...already passed, then?"

He nodded. "In the first war."

She looked away again. "How can you not hate me?"

"Because I would not wish my life as an orphan on anyone," Harry said.

"The generosity of your nature does you credit," she said. "Why, then, do you hide it away in here with me? The finer ladies in the ball would do well to seek out your hand, though whether they are wise enough to do so is perhaps another matter."

"I found myself sick to death of being stared at like a piece of meat by a roomful of women who, by and large, ignored Voldemort's rise until the war started in earnest," Harry said. "Had they and their families taken a stand when Headmaster Dumbledore begged them to do so, the war would have been much shorter. Instead, they turned their backs on those of us who were trying to warn them and now they expect us to welcome them with open arms. I may forgive them, but I cannot forget what they cost us."

"A reasonable position…and a clever double entendre," the woman said.

"Wait…what double entendre?" Harry asked.

"When you said 'with open arms,'" she replied, "I thought it was a reference to the fact that you would have to open your arms to them to dance."

"Oh," Harry said. "That is quite clever. I wish I'd intended to do that."

"I shan't tell anyone otherwise," she said. "Please feel free to use that line on a lady worth impressing and pretend it is of your own authorship."

Harry sat up straighter and fixed the firmest stare he could on her. "I cannot allow anyone to continue to disparage you in such a manner," he said, "even yourself. I've no doubt your beauty and wit would match any lady in this house and cannot fathom why you seem to despise them so."

"I fear the dim light of this room has misled you, sir," she said drily. "You would find me less comely were you able to see me."

"Very well." As he spoke, he drew his wand. "Lumos."

Light flared around them. The lady winced and threw up her hand to shield her eyes, and even Harry had to squint with the one eye he'd opened.

"Damn and blast, man, Nox that right now!" Her tone demanded nought less than immediate obedience, and Harry promptly obliged.

"Think!" she said as soon as the word "Nox" was out of his mouth. "Someone might have seen that from out in the garden and…are you winking at me?"

"No," Harry said, slowly opening the eye he'd closed and closing the other. "That's a trick we learnt during the war. If you're in a dark room and a light flares, close one eye. That way, if the light vanishes, you can open the other eye and still see in the dark. We drilled that until it became a reflex for us, and it saved my life at least twice."

"Oh." She stopped. "That's…quite a good idea, actually. I'm disappointed that it didn't occur to me while I was training. I'm still upset about the light, though. It wouldn't do for me to be discovered alone in a dark room with a man."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "If anyone comes in, I'll Disillusion you and lead them away myself. Just cast a spell when you want to be visible again and it will disrupt the Charm."

"Thank you," she said. "I appreciate the consideration."

"Consider it an apology for my own rashness," Harry said. "That said, my glimpse of you was enough for me to remain confused about the source of your disdain for your appearance." He considered waxing poetic about her soft-looking, tanned skin, ruby-red lips, or the elegant ankles visible below her skirt, but decided he was more likely to come across as "mental" than "poetic" and gave that idea a miss.

She fixed him with a glare. "I am the last person upon whom you need to waste your flattery."

"It's not mere flattery!" Harry said. "What proof do you require of me that I speak the truth? I would be honoured to provide it."

"None," she said, her features drawn tight. "Were I to accept your statement as accurate, then I would be forced to look to my personality for an explanation about my consistent lack of attention from gentlemen. My looks, at least, I cannot change, but if my personality is at fault…" she trailed off and stared off into space. "I…I don't wish to know if I would succumb to the temptation to drown everything that is myself to gain the security of matrimony."

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I didn't mean to discomfit you."

"I know," she replied. "You do not deserve to be drawn into the web of my own insecurities."

"I wish I could allay them," Harry said. "May I make amends by changing the topic to one you might find less troublesome? Something you said earlier intrigued me."

"Please do," she said. "I am now sufficiently depressed for the evening, I think."

"You mentioned training," Harry said, "yet you were not here for the war. Why did you seek such training for yourself?"

She sighed again. "I spoke too soon about sufficient depression, it seems."

"You need not answer if it troubles you," Harry said. "I have done enough of that for the evening."

"No, no." She shook her head gently. "It is a fair thing about which to inquire, and, honestly, I think I've desired someone with whom to discuss it. If you do not mind me saying, sir, your experience with the war might help you evaluate my actions more clearly than I did at the time." She drew a deep breath. "And, if you wish to damn me for them, I will accept your verdict. I thought at the time I was free, but I escaped the law in Portugal only to find myself a prisoner of my conscience here."

"I don't know if I would be much good at that," Harry said. "I made many mistakes during the war and saw several good men die for them, so I doubt I'm well-equipped to judge anyone." He nearly added that she had impressed him so much that to damn her would be to damn his own judgement, but he thought that might be inappropriate so early in their acquaintance.

Merlin! Was he already so interested in seeing more of her? Well, yes, quite a bit more, but leaving aside more physical activities, he imagined sitting by the fire and reading up on the day's Quidditch matches while she perused the Daily Prophet and harangued him about the inaccuracies therein. It seemed shockingly mundane, the sort of ordinariness that had thus far escaped his reach.

She shifted in the chair and leaned forward on her elbows. The gesture would have seemed coquettish from another woman, an invitation to view more of her décolletage. However, from her it was both an offer of all of her attention and, in the way her hazel eyes locked onto his as she did so, a demand of all of his. He met her eyes with his own and acceded to her.

"The Portuguese," she began, "have a different attitude about muggle-born vs. Pureblood magicals. They're much more interested in the age and 'quality' of your family than they are in how many of them had magical blood. My family of relatively 'new money' Englishmen did poorly by that metric, too, and I found few friends in the local magical community. The incidents were relatively harmless hexes at first, but I learnt quickly to defend myself. Sadly, neither girls' education at Hogwarts nor the books I was allowed to purchase in Portugal taught much in the way of combat spells, so I was forced to improvise."

She looked down at the floor. "I practised my Cutting Charms until I could cut through a tree six inches thick. I learnt to conjure a four-stone ball of water over a target's head and freeze it. I even learnt fine enough control of my intent to use the Liquid Cleaning Charm to syphon the water from the surface of a target's eyeballs." She shuddered. "And I tested that on squirrels before killing them."

"I'm sorry you were driven to that," Harry said. "I wish more people could defend themselves, not fewer."

"Most men do not feel that way about women," she said, meeting Harry's eyes again. "Unfortunately, I had first-hand experience of why. One of the local magical lord's younger sons and a wealthy friend of his came across me while I was practising my spellwork in an isolated valley. Both decided that I needed to be taught my place…and that it was directly beneath them. They attempted to hit me with Full Body-Bind Curses, but thankfully were less subtle about it than you were."

"I am so sorry," Harry said. "I had no idea that curse held such memories for you."

"You had no way of knowing," she replied. "I was able to dodge those curses and responded with a Cutting Curse. They shielded, but the fools shielded themselves only."

"You targeted a horse?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "I took the front two legs off of one and hit its rider with an Impediment Jinx as he fell. The other rider spurred his horse on and charged me. Perhaps he thought getting closer would help his aim, but being on a charging horse certainly didn't. I dodged his next two curses and fired an Impediment Jinx at his horse to slow it down. He shielded that and, as a result, missed my follow-up Tergeo spell. It's an easy one to hide, you know, because there's no light and the wand movement is merely pointing the wand at the target. He fell screaming from his horse, which let me get in a Cutting Charm that severed the top half of his skull from the bottom."

"I threw up when his brains spilt out upon the ground," she said, "and it saved my life. I had only just doubled over when the flash of a Stunning Spell flew over my head, so I threw myself to the now-vomit-covered ground and cast another Cutting Charm that took the other boy's wand arm off. He died of blood loss a few moments later while I continued to vomit. Afterward, I cleaned myself up as best I could, and hid the bodies in trees I cut down with the charm. I hurried home afterward, Confundus'd my parents again into returning immediately to England, and we left the next day."

She locked her eyes on Harry. "Thank you," she said. "You're the first person I've told…the first person I've met who could possibly understand. If you condemn me, I'll submit myself to justice. I…I just want the nightmares to stop."

"How could I condemn you?" Harry leapt from his chair and paced up and down the aisle of bookshelves. "You met horrible men and protected yourself from them with the only tools you had. Had our stupid, backwards society trained you properly, you wouldn't have even had to kill them! It didn't, though, so you did the best you could. In a just world, you'd be given a medal for preventing that scum from hurting someone else, but instead you find yourself on the run. Damn that, damn them, and damn anyone who says otherwise!"

His pacing had brought him near to the chair where she sat frozen by his harangue at this point, and he took the opportunity to kneel in front of her and take her silk-gloved hands in his. "I beg you," he added more quietly, "do not allow your nightmares to inform your self-regard. On most nights, I awaken at least once from a truly monstrous nightmare mocking me for the dead I failed during the war. I…I could not live with myself were I to take those phantasms to heart, and truly I can barely live with myself even so. Please don't let them worm their way into your mind like my nightmares have into mine. You've done nothing wrong and I would never wish such sleep as I have on one as blameless as yourself."

"Oh, sir," she said, and pulled him by his hands into an embrace. "You've fought so hard for us and your reward is to live trapped in your own personal hell. Is there anything I can offer you besides my sympathy?"

"Your embrace is far more than I deserve," he whispered to her. "Thank you."

She held him in silence for a solid minute before a knock on the door interrupted them.

"Harry? Are you in there?" called out the voice of a familiar redhead. "Professor McGonagall has had me looking all over for you and Miss Lovegood said she saw a light in here." The doorknob shook, but the door held. "Alohomora."

Absolutely nothing happened.

"Damn. That's definitely Harry in there, so Luna continues her streak of being entirely right or entirely wrong with no middle ground. Listen, mate, I've got to go tell McGonagall where you are or she'll have my hide. She's not far, so you've only got a few minutes before she'll be here. I don't know what you're doing, but now's a good time to put your trousers back on if necessary."

Steps pounded away down the hall as Harry turned to the now-frozen lady in his arms. "Miss…are you unwell?"

"You…you're the Duke Peverell," she said.

"I am," Harry replied.

"But…how could you not tell me?" Her voice shook as she spoke. "I attacked you in your own home! I even cursed at you about that light! Why didn't you put me in my place?"

He shrugged. "Because you were right about both of those incidents, as I said."

"You could have at least told me your name!"

"I know." Harry looked down at the ground between them, finding only the silver sheen of her shoes visible in the near-darkness along the ground. "It's just…the people on this damn fool island tend to oscillate between violent extremes of affection and disdain for me. At the moment, I find myself quite popular, but I've no doubt I will one day find myself universally despised again. Tonight, just for a moment, I got to have a normal conversation with someone who didn't know me and treated me like a normal human being. It was most satisfying and, if you are not too cross with me for my lie of omission, I would love to call upon you again to continue our conversation."

Harry hazarded a look up and found her still turned away. "Sir," she said tightly, "jests do not become you."

"I know, which is why I rarely attempt them," he said. "That was not one."

She put her hands down and turned back so she could stare at him in shock. "Again, I attempted to curse you, I spoke to you with gross disregard for your social station, and admitted to you that I killed two men. How is that a normal conversation?"

He ran his hand through his wild hair and tried to think of a reasonable response. He couldn't come up with one, so he settled on the truth. "After my life, miss, I fear I have very low standards for 'normal.'"

She stared at him for a moment before a smile grew across her lips, turned into giggles, and finally into such full-blown laughter that she had to lean on him for support. "Thank you," she finally said. "Just…thank you."

"Think nothing–"

"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall's voice roared from out in the hall. "Come out this instant! Ye've missed every dance since ye opened the ball with Ginevra and Luna, and I shan't allow ye to shirk your responsibility as a host by missing the closing dances."

Harry took the lady's hands in his own and rose to his feet. "Do you trust me, Miss…?"

"Hermione Granger," she said, "and yes, I somehow find myself trusting you more than anyone I have ever met."

He smiled and gently guided her to her feet. "Then please call me 'Harry' and do me the honour of being my partner for the remainder of the evening."

She blushed prettily. "But…people will leap to conclusions."

"And for the only time in their lives," Harry whispered, "they will be right. Allowing them that satisfaction is a small price for me to pay for your company."

Hermione's mouth opened silently in the shape of a small 'o' just as McGonagall said, "Alohomora!"

The door to the library flew open to reveal an irate Scot in a floor-length crimson dress and a gorgeous necklace of ruby and jet gems set in white gold. "Mr. Potter, what are ye doing?" she demanded.

"Securing a dance partner for the remainder of the evening," he said, "just as you requested. I can only hope I don't step on her toes so often that she refuses to accompany me to subsequent balls."

McGonagall blinked. "Mr. Potter, I dinnae know what you're playing at here, but if you've ruined this lassie then–"

"I'll do the honourable thing immediately," Harry said, drawing a gasp from his recently chosen partner. "Otherwise, I'm content to take things more slowly."

"Morgana's Shade, lad, you're somehow worse than your father. I didnae think that was e'en possible!" The older woman shook her head. "Just get ye both back to the ballroom before someone sees you and before my headache gets any worse."

"Of course, Professor." Harry held his arm out to Hermione, who stood next to him frozen in shock. "Will you still accompany me?"

"How," Hermione said, "could you possibly think me worthy of that honour?"

"Hermione, if you'll pardon my familiarity, you are clearly a brilliant, powerful, driven, and beautiful witch," Harry said, taking her hands in his as he spoke. "In a just world, you would be as far above me as my inherited blood and wealth puts me above you in our own world. So please ignore the idiocy surrounding us both for a moment and answer my question from your heart. If you do not wish to see me again, I'll Disillusion you right now and abide by your wishes."

"Oh, Harry," she said, and something about the way his name rolled off her lips claimed his heart forever. "Of course I'll accompany you."

"Thank you," he said, mentally cursing at how mere words could never convey the depths of his gratitude to her. He took her arm and turned back to face Professor McGonagall only to find the old Scot with tears running down her face.

"Mr. Potter," she said as she stepped closer to him and put her hands on his shoulders, "if your mother could see ye now, she would be incredibly proud o' ye. She would probably also be annoyed that ye somehow inherited your father's approach to wooing, but she'd still be proud o' ye. Now get out there, lad. They're awaiting ye."

He nodded and McGonagall stepped aside so they could pass. As they did so, Hermione whispered, "What did she mean about your parents?"

"It's a long story," Harry said. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Presumptuous, aren't you, thinking I'll want to see you tomorrow?" Hermione asked, her tone light and teasing for the first time that night.

"Of course," Harry said. "You owe me at least one luncheon for trying to curse me."

"Wait, what?" McGonagall asked, but neither Harry nor Hermione could hear her because they were laughing too hard.