The start of the Christmas Holidays began one week before Christmas. The Yule ball was to take place Christmas Eve. The Yule Celebration at the main Wiggentree estate was to take place on December 22nd, giving Hermione enough time to attend the first party, rest up a day, and then get back to Hogwarts for the Yule Ball to serve as Head Girl.
Weren't the holidays meant for resting?
Finding time during the brief trips to Hogsmede to purchase Christmas gifts for everyone on her list had been tricky. Her new family members did not exchange gifts, not wishing to risk a well intentioned bauble locking someone into a trance. Instead, they celebrated the season by simply being with one another, enjoying each others company. With the Grangers agreeing to attend this year, the entire family was buzzing with excitement. Of course, she still had to find something for her parents, Harry and Ron, small things for the rest of the Gryffindors in her year, gifts for the Weasleys and something for each of her teachers. Most of them were relatively easy to shop for, which left her plenty of time to think about what to get Professor Snape.
Her relationship with the Potions Master had become a strange one. In class he had become cool towards her, all but ignoring her and no longer belittling her. Outside of class, however, he had become mentor, task master and psychiatrist all in one. She was to write down all of her dreams, both those that were clearly visions and those that were not, in a journal. On Friday nights she made her way to the dungeons where he went over the journal entries with her, talking her through them as they picked them apart. Each word, each object was examined and re-examined. He had directed her towards several texts on dream interpretation so that she could better seek the signs that had gone unnoticed before. What she had learned was that many of her 'dreams' were actually visions twisted into a more surreal manner. All her life she had been getting glimpses of the past, usually that of her parents', and she had never known it.
The clear visions, however, were starting to calm down somewhat. She was getting fewer and fewer rape scenes playing in her mind. More often, however, she was getting visions of Helena on her own, quiet and nervous, as if plotting something. She had snuck into the library on numerous occasions, snuck off of the school grounds from time to time in search of items. There had been scenes of her in some dark room over an ancient cauldron Hermione had watched her pulling out of a forgotten storeroom. Somewhere within the school Helena Wiggentree had brewed a secret potion, but something told Hermione it had been a good deal more serious that the Polyjuice Potion she herself had made in her second year. She had been writing down the ingredients as she recognized them upon waking. The list was becoming quite long, and Snape had identified it sometime ago.
"I've been going over her academic record, and she was more than capable of brewing it, but she had to have been clever beyond anyone's reckoning to have done it within Hogwarts without being caught."
It was Katherine's Potion, named after the witch who had created it centuries ago. She had been a sorceress of great skill who had fallen in love with a Muggle nobleman during the times when witches were burned or hanged for their craft. When she had tearfully admitted to her husband what she was, he surprised her by saying that it didn't matter to him. Then he had told her that he would hide her from the Church, on the grounds that she provided him with a non-magical heir. All her other children could be witches and wizards, but she had to give him one non-magical child to take his place after his death. She had worked for years to perfect her brew, inadvertently poisoning more than one unborn babe in the process, until she had succeeded.
So that was how Helena had done it.
The potion, when taken daily for three solid weeks during the first trimester of pregnancy, bound the magical powers of the unborn child so tightly that no known magic could reverse it. However, it only worked on the child that was developing within the mother's womb at the time. Katherine's husband had been dead and buried for some time before he had become a grandfather, and was therefore spared the knowledge that all five children born to his heir were magical. Luckily, the son hadn't been nearly as unforgiving of this as the father had been.
Still, it had been risky. Many of the ingredients were toxic in the wrong amounts, and a few of them, such as the pennyroyal mint, could bring about miscarriage. Helena had been taking a great chance that she could even pull it off. A shiver ran down Hermione's spine whenever she thought of how easily it could have gone wrong and she would never have been born.
Cold winter sunlight glinting off of something in a shop window distracted her from her thoughts. She turned her head and found herself gazing at a gleaming set of scales in the apothecary window. A frown creased her forehead as she reminded herself that the professor had a set of scales that he adored, polishing them so that they gleamed, until something else caught her eye. There, behind the scales but still in the front window display, was a book. The surprising thing about this book was the name of it: Practical Uses of Chemistry. It was a Muggle book, in Hogsmede. It only took her a second to decide before she entered the shop and purchased one of the leather bound books. Something in her told her that her Potions Master would find it quite fascinating.
~***~
The main Wiggentree Estate was massive. As they drove up the long, winding drive, Hermione couldn't help but stare out the windows of her father's car at the great expanses of lawn blanketed in crisp, white snow. For a brief second she caught a flash of what they must look like during the summer, all green and perfectly manicured. It took her a moment to realize that she was experiencing a flash of memory. She smiled inwardly to herself, eager to make her own memories of this place and to no longer have to settle for her grandmother's.
Her father pulled the car up to the front of the great house, letting out a low, long whistle at the sight of it. "I don't even want to imagine what it must cost to keep the cleaning staff for this monster." He turned off the engine before looking to his wife, now busily rummaging through her purse. She pulled out two pairs of leather gloves, sealed in plastic.
"Perhaps it's best you didn't grow up here, Dear. You'd likely have become lost." She handed him one of the sealed pairs of gloves, which he promptly opened and began to pull onto his arms. "Did you remember your gloves, Mia?"
"Oh, right." Pulling herself from her awestruck daze, Hermione fished around in her bag and found her own gloves. She pulled them on deftly before practically leaping from the car. Already a pair of house elves was hurrying down the steps of the front entrance to stand before the Grangers. They bowed low, welcoming them to the manor before offering to take up the luggage. Hermione had told her parents all about house elves, and like her they had some difficulty accepting the fact that the race was enslaved, but she had become accustomed to the fact that until there were more elves who thought like Dobby she was unlikely to be able to do anything about it. She left her parents by the car, her mother staring bemusedly at the tiny creatures and her father busy plying them with questions. The large double doors at the top of the stairs opened as she reached them, letting her great-aunt and uncle exit the house. Albert and Lucille smiled down at her from two steps up.
"Hermione, welcome to our family home." Lucille reached out and smoothed her curls with a gloved hand. "It's so good to have you here."
Albert was a bit more jovial. Not as hindered as his sister, he pulled Hermione into a firm hug, though his touch was still separated by cloth and leather. The spicy scent of his cologne tickled her nose, mixed with the faint smell of pipe tobacco and peppermints. He let her go after a minute and ruffled her hair as though she were only seven. "Welcome home, Hermione. Now, don't let us stand in your way. The whole of the manor is open to you. Go and have a look around." He stepped aside and urged her in. She wasn't thick. She knew the real reason Uncle Albert was hurrying her off. Though they had seen her parents more often than they had seen her, there was still much catching up to do. Hermione didn't remember much about her grandmother. Most of her memories involving Helena were of the scents of vanilla and cinnamon from the sweet biscuits her grandmother would always bake for her and the lovely afternoon teas they had shared. She had been at a private hospital with some childhood illness when her grandmother had passed away. She hadn't even been well enough to attend the funeral. Part of her had always regretted not being there.
She left Albert and Lucille to visit with her parents, content to let the adults discuss matters amongst themselves. Her mother, she knew, was fretful that her evening gown would not be grand enough for the coming gathering, although Hermione thought the designer sheath of sparkling blue framed her mother's delicate beauty quite well. She would outshine every witch there, even herself in her formal whites. Emma had even consented to wearing Helena's gorgeous sapphire and diamond choker for the occasion, at her husband's urging. John Granger had no such fears. Men had it easy, in Hermione's opinion. His new tuxedo with its black satin trim was the sort of thing that would be in style for decades to come, unlike clothing for women which seemed to go in and out of style on a daily basis. Uncle Albert had sent him a pair of antique cuff links which had belonged to his own father. That was a Wiggentree trait, to keep to that which was either pristine and new or to keep to that which was old and familiar to the family itself. Far less danger that way.
She was content to explore the house. The fact that this was the home of one family seemed staggering to her. Oh, she knew that people of noble and royal birth had lived in palaces and massive structures throughout recorded time, but to equate it with her own flesh and blood seemed ridiculous. There were paintings, both moving and stationary, depicting numerous faces of hundreds of family members. There were antique furnishing and artworks, all of them museum quality and lovingly preserved. The woodwork seemed to glow from recent polishing, giving it a feeling of warmth and tranquility. Light poured through massive windows, many of them stained glass so that the light was split into a rainbow of color, drenching everything in a type of magic all its own. She thought that she could almost hear the laughter and whispers of dozens of generations of Wiggentrees spanning through the ages. As she explored the hallways, looking at the various portraits and peeking into the many rooms, she felt a pang of sadness that Helena had felt forced to give this all up and a stab of anger at the monster who had put her in such a position.
"Hello."
The voice was breathy, and somewhat nervous in its intonation. Hermione jumped, startled by it, and turned around. She had been exploring a room filled with maps and star charts, apparently one of her ancestors had been an avid seaman, and had left the door standing open. Now there was a young man standing there, looking at her with the lamplight illuminating him from the hall. Her own breath caught in her throat.
She had known that Alexander existed, of course, had sent him a parcel with some of her old school things. But she hadn't thought that she would have the chance to meet him. Given that his 'gift' had been stuck in a sort of overdrive, she had expected that he would be isolated from strangers, even from her. Even though, she had never imagined him to be the young man standing in the doorway, but she couldn't think of who else would be in this house wearing long leather gloves that disappeared into his sleeves and about her age. Still, she had thought he would look more like her, with bushy brown hair and too-large teeth. She hadn't expected him to be tall and slender with a sort of golden honey complexion. She hadn't thought that his hair would be a golden blond and fall in artless curls that gave him a 'just woke up' look many young men tried in vain to capture, and was it legal for a blond to have such deep, velvety brown eyes? He was, she thought, one of the most beautiful boys she had ever seen; far more so than Draco Malfoy's icy looks or even Gilderoy Lockhart back when she had still thought him genuine.
Her extended silence seemed to make him nervous. "I… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to bother you. I'll be going." He looked stricken and started to back out of the room.
"No!" She took a step forward, not wanting him to go. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be rude. I… you're just not what I was expecting you to be like." She blushed, realizing how lame that had sounded. Why was she so nervous? This was a cousin of hers, and a rather closely related one at that. She should be able to respond to him much as Ginny did towards her brothers, not turn into a stammering first year. "I'm Hermione." She extended one of her gloved hands.
He looked at the hand, something like regret in his eyes, then smiled and walked further into the room to take it into his own glove. "Alex Wiggentree. I've been wondering when you'd finally get here. I think I've driving my tutor quite mad with asking." He shook her hand and she found herself acutely aware of how warm his skin was through the glove before they parted.
"I thought the drive would never end. I've been looking forward to this ever since I found out we were coming. Well, maybe not looking forward to the party tonight, but definitely looking forward to being here."
He grinned, and she was suddenly struck by the thought that like looked like a dangerous mix between an arch angel and a mischievous pixie. "I like the party. I actually get to meet people I'm not related to." He blushed and looked down at the floor. "Although I will admit that I was more looking forward to meeting you. And your parents, of course." This last part sounded like an afterthought. "So… enjoying your explorations?"
"Very much so. This house is enormous. I'm almost afraid I'll get lost."
"That's why I'm here." He graced her with a smile that made her feel oddly weak in the knees. "I thought I could show you around."
"I'd like that." He held out a hand to her, and she let her gloved fingers be wrapped up in his own before he drew her from the room.
"Someplace more interesting than old great-great-great-uncle Mathew's map room, I think. He was a rather boring sort. Always planning his next excursion, mostly trying to track down rogue dark wizards. He finally snuffed it somewhere in Romania, trying to track down a warlock who had been attempting to strike a deal with a vampire."
"Killed by the vampire?"
"Nah, ate a bad bit of beef and didn't have any curative potions on him." He gave her another impish smile as he pulled her along behind him.
He took her everywhere, from the kitchens where they nicked a preview of the refreshments planned for that evening to the highest towers of the manor. She went into raptures at the sight of the library that had eventually grown so large it had been expanded upwards to four floors with ladders that rolled along well oiled tracks and was flattered that he even showed her his secret places where he hid from his tutor and relatives when he wanted privacy.
"Many things in the house have been constructed so that the Muggles in the family will be comfortable as well. Many of the Wiggentrees have married Muggles. My own step-mother is one, although I don't think you'll meet her while you're here. She hasn't come out of her room since Dad went missing. She really loves him." He looked away from her, looking out over the top of the chandelier in the ballroom. They where currently in one of his hiding places, a niche covered by a wooden screen that allowed fresh air to flow through the top of the ballroom and pull overheat air out. Hermione reached over and wrapped her gloved hand over his silk covered arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"I'm sure he'll be found, Alex. I've read all about our family. The Wiggentrees have produced some of the best Aurors in history."
He forced a brave smile and turned to look down at where her hand held his arm. The silence stretched between them for a long moment before he spoke again. "Hermione, I know that our family doesn't give present to one another at Christmas, but I was wondering… could I ask you for something?"
"Of course." She answered without hesitation, thinking that he would want another item from school or maybe something from her childhood. She'd even be willing to pinch something of her parents' if it would get her another one of those smiles of his.
"Could I… I'd like to touch you… without the gloves."
"What?" She blinked, not sure how exactly he meant that.
"I'd like to touch you. Your hand or your face or… or anything. Even your hair."
"Alex, I don't think you're allowed. Uncle Albert said…"
"I know what Grandfather says, and I know that I'm not allowed. I haven't been allowed for ages. I… Hermione, I was only six when I got my first vision. Within a year, everything and anything was likely to set it off. The smallest thing could lock me into a vision, and to protect me the family covered me up." He scowled down at his own gloves. "Everyone wore gloves when they were near me, even the house elves. I was kept covered from chin to toes, always."
"It was for your own safety, Alex."
"But that doesn't make it any better." He looked up again, his dark brown eyes shining with frustration. "I know I'm fighting a losing battle. Do you know that there're four private rooms at St. Mungos set aside for our family alone? For those of us who are eventually driven mad by the 'gift', those like me who start fighting it early on and whom it eventually consumes." He laced his fingers through her own. "I know I'll end up in one of those rooms one day, Hermione, and I'm afraid that I'll be sent there having never been touched again. I hate it that I'm facing that sort of future, all because I can't escape the past, and I don't want my last normal memory to be that of my mother spanking me because I broke a platter while trying to nick a biscuit from the kitchens."
Hermione felt torn. She could understand why he wanted this, why he was desperate to have it. The logical part of her kept pointing out that all the precautions that were taken were for his own good. "What if something goes wrong?"
"I trust you, Hermione. I know you'll break the contact and get help if it's needed, and I'll make sure they understand it was my idea." And then he gave her another one of those smiles, and she again felt weak and trembling all over. "You don't have to decide right now. Think it over, and I'll talk to you after the party. Someone always spikes the eggnog, usually Grandfather, and you and I are likely to be the only truly sober ones left in the house. Other than the elves, of course."
She found herself returning the smile. "All right, I'll think about it." He rewarded her with an even bigger smile and a squeeze of the hand.
~***~
Everyone who was anyone turned out for the Christmas Party and the presentation of Hermione Wiggentree-Granger. It had been decided that, since he had always used the name of Granger, it would be silly for her father to change now. It would also save him the trouble having to explain again and again why his name changed if he simply kept it as it was. John and Emma stood by Albert and Lucille as they welcomed their guests. As each party arrived, Albert explained who they were and what importance they held in the Wizarding community. John felt much like a crown prince having details fed to him by a trusted advisor.
"The Diddles, and old family, but rather foolish. The men tend to act first and think later. The do, however have good taste in women and tend to marry girls far more intelligent than themselves. Watch out for Daedal us, however. The man's a known lecher. He'll likely try to get a good feel of Hermione if he dances with her and he will make a pass at your wife."
"Sounds like a charming fellow. Would it be in bad form for me to knock his teeth down his throat for it? As a dentist, I can repair the damage."
"Very bad form. This is a civilized gathering, for the most part. The next pair is Mr. and Mrs. O'Connell. Mr. O'Connell is a researcher with St. Mungo's, and we fund a good deal of his work. Mrs. O'Connell is a Muggle, which is why most pureblood families refuse to fund her husband's work. Since, as a family, we strongly support medical advances as well as have a good number of marriages to Muggles ourselves, we steadfastly support them as a couple."
John smiled warmly at the O'Connells and welcomed them to the gathering. After his encounter with Wizard prejudice against Muggles and Muggleborns so long ago, he found his relatives' approach to Wizard-Muggle relations comforting. As he was recalling his run in with a certain tall, pale wizard, he felt his wife tense up at his side.
"What is he doing here?"
John looked up to see the source of her ire. The very same wizard who had so blatantly sneered at their very existence and alluded that their daughter was less than worthy because of her parentage was approaching them.
"I see you're acquainted with the Malfoys. Unavoidable, I'm afraid. They're simply too well rooted in Society to be snubbed." Albert's voice was disapproving, and he clearly didn't like the Malfoy's any more than John or Emma did. "Damn, they brought their son."
"Something wrong with the son?"
"Every well born family hoping to make a connection with our family will have already worked out just how promising a witch Hermione is. They will have brought their unmarried sons in hopes that Hermione's head will be turned by them. If Lucius Malfoy has brought that brat of his, it means he hopes to see a romantic connection between the two of them."
"Not bloody likely." John forced a polite smile and silently coached himself to be the gracious host.
"Albert, so good to see you. I'm honored that you remembered my family in your gathering." Lucius Malfoy gave a thin smile and extended a hand clad in a supple, black leather glove. Albert shook it, but kept it no longer than he had to without appearing rude.
"So glad you could come, Mr. Malfoy. I trust all it well at Malfoy Manor."
"Quite well." He seemed to ignore the 'Mr. Malfoy' completely. "Allow me to introduce my wife, Narcissa, and my son, Draco."
John kept his polite smile in place as he examined the would-be suitor. Draco was a handsome boy, if a bit anemic in appearance. Still, there was something unwholesome about him, something unclean. The whole family had that 'wrongness' about them that made your skin crawl when you go too near.
"Charmed, Mrs. Malfoy. Allow me to introduce my nephew, Dr. John Marcus Granger, and his wife, Dr. Emma Granger."
Lucius gave a wider smile, which did appear genuine as far as 'kiss up' smiles went. "A pleasure. There was been a great deal written up about the both of you in the Daily Prophet of late. What exactly is a dentist?"
"Think of it as a mediwizard, but one who only deals with teeth and diseases of the mouth."
Malfoy blinked, apparently surprised. "Really? Do most Muggles in the medical profession deal with only a specific part of the body?"
"The specialists do."
"Fascinating." The concept appeared to be a foreign one to Lucius Malfoy, but he and his family had to move on so that the other guests could be greeted. The line seemed to go on forever, and John was glad to see that some of Hermione's school friends were able to make it, including the boys she spoke about so often, Harry and Ron. There were also some students from her school house as well as some from other houses she had befriended. He noted that the students from the Ravenclaw house, such as young Terry Boot, seemed far more compatible with his brilliant child than those of her own house, but who was he to question the decisions of an ancient hat?
When the last of the guests was greeted, he noticed that Lucille summoned one of the house elves and sent her upstairs. After a few moments had passed, the lamplights dimmed to signal that it was time for Hermione to make her appearance. His young cousin, Alexander, broke free from his tutor's watchful eye and went to stand at the foot of the stairs, resplendent in his immaculate dress robes of deepest indigo. A circle of light appeared at the top of the stairs and a shadow moved towards it. As his daughter moved into the light, he heard the gathered throng gasp.
What had they done with his little girl? The woman standing at the top of the stairs couldn't possibly be his daughter. Her hair was tamed into countless ringlets and caught up at the nape so that they all cascaded down the back of her head and over her back, a few arranged so that they fell over her shoulders. A tiara of diamonds and pearls gave her a regal appearance. The robes she wore were of a gleaming, golden-white material and were decorated with pearls and crystals, which glistened in the dimmed lighting. Every step she took caused an effect like a thousand twinkling lights on fresh snowfall at dawn. The confident, exquisite creature who was gliding down the staircase towards her cousin waiting at the bottom to escort her was the embodiment of everything that a young woman should be; beautiful, poised and brilliant. Sadness stabbed through John's heart as he realized that soon he would have to let her go, that soon she would no longer need her father and would forge her own way through the world as an independent woman.
Hermione smiled to Alexander as he took her white gloved hand into his own black one and began walking over with her towards her parents. John heard Emma's breath catch in her throat and didn't dare look at his wife, knowing that if he saw the tears doubtlessly glistening in her eyes, he would be hard pressed not to cry as well. Instead he let all of his pride and love for his daughter filter into his smile as she stopped before him and gave a deep, graceful curtsey. When she came back up, Alex offered her hand to John, and he took it gladly before leading his little girl out to the dance floor for the opening waltz.
"You look perfect, Mia."
"I'm glad, because I feel like I'm going to be sick. My stomach is full of butterflies." Her smile was brittle and he could see a nervous panic in her eyes. The sadness inside him relaxed, comforted by the knowledge that she wasn't ready to fly the coop just yet. "I was certain I would trip on the hem of my robes halfway down the stairs."
"But you didn't. I would have thought you had long since forgotten all those balance techniques you learned in ballet. You only kept with it for a year."
"I only took it because mother asked me to. You know I hated ballet." The waltz, however, she must have been practicing ever since she learned she would have to dance tonight. Her steps were perfect and measured, and she gave up control completely to her father.
"Yes, but you withstood it bravely like a good and loving daughter while I convinced your mother she would be better served by purchasing a chemistry set for you." He grinned. "You did very well with that. If I remember correctly it was an entire month before you actually set fire to anything."
"Another crack like that and I'll trod on your toes, father or not." She gave him her best, mutinous expression, something she often did when she was pretending to be angry with him, and was rewarded with one of his warm chuckles.
"All right, truce." He could tell the dance was about to end and that he would have to hand his child over to someone else. "Be careful tonight, Beetle Bug. I don't fully trust some of our guests."
Hermione's eyes brushed over the crowd and he watched her square her shoulders. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll be careful."
~***~
She had danced with Mr. Weasley before dancing with Bill, Fred and Ron, in that order. Apparently you danced with the father, and then with any unmarried sons in the order of their birth, although in the case of the Weasley family neither they nor Hermione actually believed a match would ever come from any of it. Professor Dumbledore stood in proxy for Harry's late father, another one that was more of an excuse to dance with an old friend rather than an actual would-be suitor, and she was pleasantly surprised to find that the Headmaster was a superb dancer himself. Mr. Zabini was a pleasant surprise as well, with exquisite manners and a likeable air about him. Although, as their dance was finished and he was walking her over to hand her off to his son, he quietly warned her that Blaise was a wastrel and by no means good enough for her, and told his son to keep his hands in their proper places.
Although the ballroom was cooled with magic and she did occasionally get to take a break and sit down, she starting to feel warm and her feet were beginning to ache from all the dancing. She was taking one of her breaks when the Headmaster came over with Professor Snape in tow an 'introduced' them properly. She surrendered her half-drunk glass of punch and rose to accept her teacher's hand as he led her out onto the floor yet again.
"How are you holding up?" he asked of her as he placed one long fingered hand at her waist, the other grasping the fingers of her other hand gently.
"It's exhausting, but as I don't know when I'll have a night like this again I'm trying to make the most of it." She gave him a tired smile, but she did feel content. "I can't decide if I'm supposed to feel like a fairy princess or a brood mare put up for auction."
"Well, although the brood mare is the more accurate reference, I would recommend that you stick with the fairy princess idea. It will make the night more bearable."
"Did you just make a joke?"
"Contrary to popular belief, Miss Granger, I do have a sense of humor. I just choose not to waste it on students."
"I'm a student."
"You're a special case." He gave her one of those one-sided smirks of his as he twirled her along the edge of the dance floor. "What do you think of your selection of potential in-laws so far?"
"I hadn't realized there were so many, and such a span of ages. The Diggles don't have any sons under the age of thirty, although they were gentlemen. That father of theirs was all over the place." She still felt a little scandalized about being goosed by a man old enough to be her grandfather.
"Daedelus Diggle is infamous for being a lecher. My sister classified him as an 'International Male'."
"How so?"
"She always said he had Roman hands and Russian fingers." It took a second for her to get the pun, but once she did she couldn't hold back the peal of laughter that escaped her. "Of course, I must point out that you're only half way through the evening. I have noticed that the Wiggentrees have been quite adept at keeping certain elements away from you, but you will eventually have to dance with the Malfoys."
That stopped her good mood in a heart beat. "Did you have to bring them up?"
"Ignoring them will not make them go away. Believe me, I've tried."
"Can't I just beg out early, say my feet are sore?"
"Unfortunately, no. That would be considered the height of ill mannered behavior and cause your family a great embarrassment."
"But my feet really do hurt."
"You can always allow Young Malfoy to escort you out to the gardens to sit down for a rest. I'm certain he'd only try to steal one or two kisses."
Hermione wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Ugh. No thanks."
The corners of Snape's mouth twitched upwards. "That's my girl. Just remember, they can't force you to do anything against your will while you're here within the bosom of your family. The smart thing to do is stay with the party, where manners will dictate that they behave themselves. As long as you stay with the party there are hundreds of fully trained witches and wizards to contend with if they try anything." His eyes drifted over the top of her head towards something behind her. "Now, Lucius is making his way over, no doubt in order to get me to give you the proper introductions. Be graceful and gracious, and remember what the last Slytherin who took an interest in a Wiggentree did to her. Never forget that you are worth one hundred Draco Malfoys. He is beneath you."
She took a deep breath and swallowed hard as the music came to an end. As though playing a part in a script, she turned away from Snape so that she was walking forward as he led her from the floor, his hand still holding her own. As promised, Lucius Malfoy was waiting for them, a dashing figure in inky black. A memory of something her mother's sister had once told her whispered in the back of her mind. A woman should never trust a man who is better looking than she is, Mia Dear. At worst, fidelity will be an impossibility for him. At best, he'll be forever stealing your makeup for himself.
"Severus, old friend, how delightful to see you again."
Snape inclined his head slightly. "Lucius." He turned his attention to Hermione, giving her fingers a slight, barely perceptible squeeze. "Allow me to introduce Miss Hermione Wiggentree-Granger." He surrendered the hand he was holding to Mr. Malfoy, who bent low over it, brushing his lips lightly over the soft, white leather of her glove.
"An honor, Miss Wiggentree. My thanks to you and your family for the invitation to your home."
Hermione knew that her smile did not reach her eyes. She wasn't that good of an actress. "The holidays are meant to be shared by all, Mr. Malfoy. This is a celebration."
Lucius straightened up, his smile cold. He was a handsome man, but Hermione couldn't help but compare his cold looks to Alexander's warm honeyed traits. When the comparison was made, the Malfoys simply didn't measure up. "Might I have this dance?"
Oh how she wanted to tell him to sod off and move on to the next family. She must have hesitated a second too long, because Snape cleared his throat next to her, jogging her back to the present. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. I would be honored." The lie twisted her stomach, but she kept her false smile firmly in place as he led her onto the floor.
It was a private triumph for Hermione when she realized that, when it came to dancing, both Albus Dumbledore and Professor Snape were better than Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy, although his technique was near to flawless, was cold and controlling. Unless a woman enjoyed being intimidated by her partner, you couldn't enjoy dancing with him. Albus Dumbledore danced for the love of dancing and the conversation that came with it. She had truly enjoyed her time on the floor with him because it had been fun. Professor Snape, well, she wasn't sure how to describe his dancing. It was smooth and more like a sort of partnership, and it had given her a curious, tingling feeling deep in her insides. Even the bent of their conversation hadn't been able to dampen her enjoyment of it. When compared to Snape, Malfoy left her with an icy feeling deep inside.
"How are you adapting to your new status in life, Miss Wiggentree?"
"Please, it's Granger, and I feel that I am adapting quite well. The Wiggentrees have made ever effort to make my parents and I feel welcomed."
"Helena's disappearance was a shock to the entire wizarding world. The discovery of a nephew and great-niece would be no small amount of comfort to them. Finding you will finally give them a sense of closure regarding the whole affair." They turned at the corner of the floor, and Hermione caught sight of Draco as he watched them closely, waiting for his turn. "I can't understand how I missed it before."
"Miss what, Mr. Malfoy?"
"That you were of wizarding blood, Miss Wig… Miss Granger. My son had told me that you were a Muggleborn, but I've always had trouble reconciling your ease when it came to mastering magic. Since you obviously knew both of your parents and claimed no link to any wizarding relations, it never occurred to me that there may have been an event that cut you off from a different heritage. Now that all has been made clear, it is obvious that you come from one of the most noble of bloodlines. In truth, given the physical similarities between you and the rest of your clan, I can't believe I never saw it before."
"As I seem to recall, Mr. Malfoy, you were too busy looking down your nose at me because of my apparent lack of wizarding bloodlines to consider the possibility that there may have been another reason." His fingers tightened sharply around her own and she felt the hand at her waist convulse. The smile on his face faltered a bit, but he quickly resumed his gentle expression.
"A gross bit of misconduct on my part. Please try and understand that I am quite protective of my son, and quite proud of him. When you were able to so thoroughly trounce him in every exam again and again, it sparked a protective streak in me." He gave a short laugh. "Of course, Draco is quite capable of fighting his own battles, as he has proven by becoming Head Boy. He was quite excited by the prospect of working so closely with you once he learned you would be serving as Head Girl. I believe that he may have always had a warm place in his heart for you."
A shudder ran down her spine at the thought of Draco carrying a torch for her, but she managed to mask it. "As I recall, he found his joy in tormenting me over the past six years."
"As to that, I fear I am to blame for his actions. I will admit that I am known to be a bit, shall we say 'narrow minded', when it comes to Muggleborns. My family has been of only pure wizard blood for more generations than we can count, and I have always made my preferences known to my son. He was cruel to you in an effort to please me. In that, I was wrong. A witch as talented as you, as powerful as you have proven yourself to be, transcends such petty concerns as blood lines."
"How very adult of you. I count myself fortunate, however, that the Wiggentrees have always cared little for pureblood. My own mother is a Muggle, through and through, and yet they embrace her as much as they do my father and I. It's somewhat of a family tradition."
"And what of the rest of your family, Miss Granger?" The icy feeling along her spine grew even colder. The flash in Lucius' pale eyes made her certain that he had been longing to bring the topic around. "After all, your father didn't spring from your grandmother's forehead, fully grown. It takes two to make a child."
"This is not Greek Mythology, Mr. Malfoy. As for my unknown grandfather, I confess that I have thought little about him. It's obvious to me that, whoever he was, he forced a young woman to make her own way in the world during a time when the stigma of being a single mother could have destroyed her life. He was obviously too much of a coward to face up to his responsibilities."
The grip on her hand tightened again, this time to the point where it was close to hurting. "Or perhaps, Miss Granger, Helena played her lover false, and abandoned him, leaving him with no way to find her and no way to claim his son. Just because your grandmother was a Wiggentree does not mean that she was all that was noble and pure. If her intentions were so grand, why did she not seek the protection of her family rather than run from them? The great and mighty Wiggentree clan would not have thrown out their cherished daughter all for the lack of a husband."
"Or perhaps, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione countered, her teeth gritted against the discomfort of the bones grinding together in her hand, "her lover was nothing more than a monster who took her by force. Perhaps she sought to escape the nightmare of a life he promised her."
Suddenly, the pressure in her hand released and a look of cold triumph lit Malfoy's eyes. It was too late to take the words back, but she refused to look sorry that she had said them. She kept her chin up, her expression challenging. "You know." His smile broadened a bit. "You know, and I can assure you that your grandfather is very interested in you, Miss Granger. You're becoming something of an obsession with him, really." His gloved fingers caressed her hand, as if to sooth the aching his own grip had caused. "He's most impressed by the fact that you actually managed to earn more O.W.L.S. than he did at school, and that you're breaking every one of his academic records. You should hear him, crowing like the proud grandfather that he is." The last few bars of the waltz were playing as Lucius twirled her towards the edge of the floor. "I must confess I find that news quite promising as well."
"No Wiggentree would ever bind themselves to a Malfoy." Her voice was very soft, meant only for the two of them to hear.
"No Wiggentree, of course, Miss Granger. But what of a Riddle?" He nodded with his head to indicate to Draco that he should come forward, and then spoke with a more elevated voice that his whispered words had been uttered with. "I believe you are already acquainted with my son, Draco. I'm sure he has been quite eager to demonstrate his skill on the dance floor." He passed her still throbbing hand into Draco's, the black leather of his gloves matching perfectly. "Take good care of her, son. Remember that a lady should be treated like the most delicate of flowers."
"Yes, Father." Draco bent over her hand, brushing his lips over the white leather, and then led her back onto the floor. Thankfully, the next dance was not a waltz, so she was not required to be held as closely as she had been by Lucius Malfoy. The greater distance allowed the air of the ballroom to cool her fevered skin. "You look radiant tonight, Hermione, even more so than at the last ball we attended."
"Thank you, Malfoy."
"Please, it's Draco. Call my father 'Malfoy' all you want, but call me Draco. Otherwise things will become confusing." She was acutely aware of how his thumb ran gently over the knuckles of her hand where he held it, moving much like a caress. "Do you feel overwhelmed by all of this yet?"
"All of what?"
"Being passed around like some prize everyone hopes to win. Mother actually laments that she doesn't have a daughter to do this for, but I can't see why any girl would submit to it. Other than the robes and the jewelry, what is there to recommend it?" She looked suspiciously at him and was surprised to note a genuine, playful light in his eyes.
"Not much, actually. I'd rather the tradition be one where everyone brings the young lady a new book."
"Now there's an idea. Perhaps you can start such a tradition with your own daughters. They're doubtlessly going to be every bit as clever as their mother."
"Thank you, Draco." His niceness, his earnest behavior was throwing her off balance. Why wasn't he being pompous and arrogant as always, making lewd comments and behaving as though he was certain his Dark Lord would hand her over to him on a silver platter? Draco Malfoy wasn't supposed to be nice. She was so off balance by his behavior, in fact, that she didn't notice that he had led her to the edge of the floor next to one of the doorways until he was pulling her from the group. "What?"
"You've been on your feet all night. You deserve a break. Besides, I want to talk to you." He took advantage of her confusion to pull her out of the light of the lamps and into a side room. It was Uncle Albert's study, but she only knew this from her earlier explorations.
"What do you want to talk about?"
"The Yule Ball at Hogwarts. We'll be expected to dance together, you and me. And I was hoping, if no one's asked you yet, that you would go as my date."
She blinked, not believing what she was hearing. "Leaving it a bit late, aren't you?"
Draco swallowed, and smiled. "Well, as to that, you're not the easiest person to get alone, are you? If you're not barricaded in the library, you're surrounded by your friends, none of whom would let a Slytherin just waltz into their conversations." He led her over to a comfortable sofa and urged her to sit down. "Come on, rest your feet a bit." Instead of joining her, he pulled an ottoman sitting before a chair close by over in front of her and sat down. She stared at him, unsure of what to say when he picked up one of her feet and placed it in his lap, removing the embroidered slipper and setting it aside before he began to massage her aching foot. "These all night balls are hard on the body. My mother told me that, when she was our age, it was the fashion not to enchant your slippers and try to dance so much that you wore holes through the soles from overuse. Rather silly thing to do."
She was about to say something, but he applied pressure to the bottom of her foot in such a way that she moaned from the pleasure of it, her head falling back. "Where did you learn how to do that?"
"Mum, actually. She insists on wearing these ridiculously high heels to her charity committee meetings. By the time she gets home, her feet are killing her. Dad's always too busy, so I help her when I'm at home. She says that missing her foot massage is the worst part of my going to school." Hermione chuckled, she couldn't help it. "See? You're feeling better all ready."
"We shouldn't be in here, you know. They're bound to miss us."
"Let them. You've been playing the perfect debutante all evening. It's time someone did something for you." He worked the massage up around her ankle and partway up her calf, not going so high as to make her overly nervous, before moving it back down the ankle, over the heel and middle of her foot, and finally giving a gentle wringing motion to each toe before he placed her slipper back onto her foot and put it down onto the floor. He claimed the other foot, removed the beautiful slipper, and started the process all over again.
"Too bad I can't get this after every Potions lesson."
"You can if you want." Draco dared a smile when he saw her eyes open in the muted light. "All you have to do is ask."
"Oh, that would go over well. The Prince of Slytherin kneeling down to give old Beaver Face Granger a foot rub after class." There was humor in her voice as she reclined, completely relaxed, against the leather of the sofa. Draco smiled at the sight of her, like some glistening kitten, boneless and content.
"Just let them try to call you Beaver Face. I'll knock every tooth out of the heads."
"As I recall, you're the one who came up with that particular nickname." Her brow arched in challenge.
"Well, let anyone but me call you that, then." He grinned; though his eyes flicked down to watch how the swell of her cleavage danced with her chuckle. He licked his lips briefly as he imagined what it would last like to kiss the swell of her breasts, how it would feel to peel the layers of fine silk from her figure. Did they go so far as to place her in delicate undergarments as well? "I'd like to have the chance to take care of you, Hermione." He could hear the thickness that had come into his voice. "I want to give you the world. Don't you know that I'd give you anything?"
Hermione sat up with a gasp, her foot yanked from his grasp. Her eyes had gone wide and he wondered if she had seen something behind them. Draco turned around, only to see the empty doorway. The movement of Hermione reclaiming her slipper to shove it back onto her foot brought his focus back to her. "What? What did I say? Hermione, I didn't mean to offend you." He reached for her, but she jerked away from him.
"No! Don't touch me." She scrambled up from the sofa and backed away from him, keeping him under close watch even as she warded him away with her hands.
"Hermione, what is it? What did I do? What did I say?"
"Don't come near me. Don't you ever come near me." There was a wild, distant look in her eyes now. Draco felt a twinge of fear mix with his concern. He knew that the Wiggentrees were different, that their 'gift' often crippled them with snatches of memories that were rarely their own. Was Hermione caught up in a memory now? Had he somehow triggered some nightmare? Not for the first time did he wonder just what had prompted the discovery of her and her family, and he feared that maybe the memories Hermione snatched from her Grandmother's past might be far more terrifying than even someone as strong as she could manage.
She fled from him, back to the 'safety' of the ballroom. If she had any inkling just how many Death Eaters were among her family's guests, she would have run from the house screaming. Draco knew his father still wasn't telling him everything, and he knew that there was something about Hermione and her grandmother that interested that Death Eaters greatly. He only hoped that his father was sincere in his permission to pursue the object of his desire. He hoped that, when the dust had settled, he would still have the girl.