9.
So, I finally update. This chapter is what I hope can set a different tone than the sort of comedic one I have written with so far. Here, Hermione and Draco get serious in more ways than one. Enjoy.
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Hermione pulled her hood up so that only her chin was showing. Draco mimicked her, and she grimaced a little when she realized that it made him look like a dementor. As the carriage shuddered to a stop in front of the castle, a liveryman opened the door. He held out his hand to help her down, and when Hermione turned to thank him, she had to compose herself before she curtseyed back at his bow. The liveryman, dressed in black breeches and vest with an 18th century wig had no eyes, only black holes where they should have been. He was a Living Cadaver, a dead body brought back to life with no soul or thought. Draco stepped down behind her. He tucked her arm under his, and held her uncomfortably close as they walked into the entrance of the foyer and walked up a flight of stairs to the ballroom. She could smell the cologne he was wearing, an intoxicating medley of sandalwood and some familiar flower she couldn't identify....
She took in a deep breath of his scent, and tried to compose her mind for the task ahead.
Once inside the doorway, Hermione glanced up through her hood and was grudgingly impressed at the large chandelier and the candles in the sconces of the wall. The Cadaver had followed them and tapped Draco on the shoulder.
"Sir Draco Malfoy and Lady Helena Troy." He said pompously. The Cadaver-liveryman bowed, and walked toward the announcer, who tapped his cane three times and announced the names in a loud sonorous voice. There were a few eyes that turned interestedly toward this mysterious "Helena Troy", then just as disinterestedly turned away. (She would have to speak to Draco about finding more convincing aliases, or at least one that was inspired from a less tragic event.)
Draco released her arm almost giving her an opposite push as he walked toward a group of men talking in low voices. She slowly walked toward the table where a few flutes of red colored punch were arranged along with a plate of some gray spread on squares of wheat toast, and pieces of pomegranate were arranged in spirals. She hesitatingly pulled down her hood and picked up a flute. Just as she was about to take a sip, felt a tap on her shoulder. Suppressing the urge to spill her drink in surprise, she whipped around.
She was once again facing her former schoolmate Pansy Parkinson. Standing next to her were two other women. One stood a full head taller with a face like a parrot, her yellow hair piled on top of her head. The other one was wearing her black hair in an elaborately woven bun, and wore a tiny black fabric star on her cheek like the dandies of the 18th century. Both had imperiously bored looks on their faces, though they subtly appraised her with their eyes.
"Miss Troy is it? I'd like you to meet my friends Clarissa Kople and Sophie L'ennui. I must confess that we are rather curious about you. We're delighted that you're joining us of course. Simply because our leader has passed on, does not mean that we should not carry on is legacy. Come, join us in the ladies chamber."
Alarm bells went off in her head, remembering Pansy from her days at Hogwarts. As her memory served her, Pansy was not wont to invite someone she barely knew if there wasn't a motive behind it. Still, her mission was to gather information, and this was the perfect opportunity.
"Why yes, I would be delighted Mrs....?" she said sweetly her new higher pitched voice making her sound like a coquettish pixie.
"It's Miss. Parkinson, Miss. Troy." Pansy snapped, a little blush appearing in her pale cheeks her smooth demeanor dropped slightly. Good lord, why did all the Dark Arts people look as the sun was their enemy?
"Well, do come. There are some delightful drinks, Baxter will fix you something." She said in a more calm voice, plucking the flute out of 'Helena's' hand, and Clarissa folded her arm in hers.
"Miss. Troy, your hair is a most deee-lightful shade of brown and purple. Pray, who is your Cosmo-Witch?" said Sophie walking behind them.
"Err...I believe it is auburn. And it is my natural shade." Hermione said in a lofty voice as possible in the situation. In this particular situation, she felt like bursting out laughing. These women were vapid beyond belief. How they came to become some of the most ruthless women of the wizarding world, she would never know.
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Some twenty minutes later, she knew why. Hermione held a goblet of some strange green liquid that a greasy looking man who was known as Baxter behind a counter had mixed up for her. He had handed it to her, not accidentally feeling her hand, declaring it to be "Ivy Ambrosia."
As Hermione sat on the velveteen settee, she discreetly poured the entire contents of the steaming drink into a vase of roses next to her on a table, which promptly wilted. She placed the goblet on the floor next to her, and turned her attention back to the conversation at hand. There were at least seven other women, all around the same age as her, and all looking as though they had stepped out of a Victorian portrait. They were all seated in a shadowed balcony looking down on the ballroom floor, where an orchestra was playing some haunting music as a few couples spun in time to the waltzes. Hermione was startled to realize that they had just started on Vivaldi's Four Seasons. It was ironic she was hearing her most comforting music in a most uncomfortable place...
"...So I told my Herbert that if he in-sis-ted on bringing in some muggle servants, they could only work in the yard. Honestly, sometimes I wonder why he's second in command for our next mission. He was about let those filthy mudbloods into my home? I do not care if they are Cadavers and Mind Wiped. They are simply disgusting!" said a rather unctuous voice belonging to a red head that was reclining on a sofa.
Hermione withheld her own shudder of disgust at the cavalier cruelties of the women. She also filed the information into her brain. "Herbert Melgrove. Second in command." She thought to herself. These women may have been some of the most ruthless women around, but they were too prideful to check their tongues. She already had a wealth of information in little less than half an hour.
"But Miss. Troy, I am sorry for ignoring you..." said Pansy turning to face her. The alarm bells went off afresh in Hermione's head. "Please tell us, where are you from? My dragon told me you have recently come out a Magical Finishing school? You must be truly intelligent to have pursued your studies so..." she said, taking a swig of a frothy pink drink.
"Ah yes, I did indeed. I attended Mr. Lupus' School for the Lunar Shift..." she said quickly pulling an obscure name for herself.
"Reaa-ly? How charming."Said the redheaded Mrs. Melgrove from her seat on the couch. "Pray, tell me, do you not find our group the crème of the crop?" she said, her slimy voice seeming to ooze through the air.
"Oh yes," Hermione stalled, her voice breathily sighing as though in contentment. "I was simply not happy with what I was seeing after my studies were completed. Muggles were everywhere. And I simply cannot stand those mudbloods who claim they are truly magical. Blood will always out."she said in what she hoped was a convincingly furious and lofty voice.
She turned, startled, when she heard a lone person slowly clapping behind her. The whiff of sandalwood hit her nose, and she was almost relieved to see Draco standing behind her, his robes draped over his arm and his gray gloves in one hand.
"Bravo Miss. Troy. You will fit in here quite well..." he said, his schoolboy smirk fixed in a crooked angle on his clean-shaven face."Oh Dra-co." said Pansy, her voice suddenly more girlish. "Whatever are you doing in the women's quarters?"
"I, Miss. Parkinson, have been instructed to call all of you young ladies down for the dancing and dinner." Draco said in a stony voice, sweeping his arm towards the stairs as he bowed deeply.
The women all got up, and unwrapped their robes, exposing their dresses and skirts, all in black of course. Hermione hesitatingly did the same. As the women milled ahead of her, she pulled out the small Aid Crystal, and pocketed it in her skirt. Her wand got the same treatment.
"You're doing well Granger. Talk to some more men if you can now. I'll keep an eye out." He said, throwing his belongings in the arms of a Cadaver servant as they slowly went down the stairs. As they reached the bottom, he gave her a gently push toward a chair at the long table where dinner was being served. She sat down in the chair, and a Cadaver butler whipped a napkin into her lap. Her whispered "Thank You." went unheeded.
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Hermione felt like screaming in frustration. Her other missions that she had performed before had never required her to interact with the Death Eater type for so long. She went in, she conquered, and she left, usually with whatever information Dumbledore needed. But here she was, two hours later, pretending to be interested in her cherry torte as those around her ate, and milled around dancing.
"You'll pick that to death you know." Said an amused voice. Hermione nearly dropped her fork in surprise, but recovered quickly. She turned to her left, where the brown haired man who had sat next to her all through dinner finally spoke.
He was heartbreakingly handsome, his face square with a well proportioned nose with a dimple in his chin, and beautiful blue eyes. His brown hair was slicked back like all the other men, but Hermione though that if he let it be, he would look like Heracles.
"I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you yet. I'm Zachary Montero ...Miss..?" he inquired, holding out a large white gloved hand. She gingerly shook it.
"Troy. Helena Troy." She said breathily, for once not a byproduct of her new voice. He turned her hand over, and kissed the back of it.
"Charmed." He said smiling to reveal brilliant teeth. "A beautiful name for one of the world's most beautiful women."
Though Hermione knew this was the enemy flirting with her (flirting with her! She couldn't recall the last time someone did that, except for Fred and George...), she was nonetheless enchanted with him.
"I see you know your Greek ..." she said smiling.
"And I can see you are quite a belle of this ball. Will you please grace me with a dance?" he said getting out of his seat to bow deeply to her. Hermione thought quickly. She wasn't sure if she wanted to attract too much attention, but...Draco had said to consort with the men as much as possible. And besides. She loved dancing.
She got up and curtseyed. "Of course Mr. Montero. I would be delighted."
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"Your waltz is divine." Zachary said to her as they pranced around the room.
"Oh, I would say it is mediocre at best Mr. Montero."
"Please, please, Zachary. I hope you find our group most pleasing. After all, our cause is great. With our next mission in destroying the cursed Order of the Phoenix, we will finally be able to fix this mess. The Dark Lord will not be forgotten." He said, still in his suave and charming manner. Hermione suddenly felt a wave of nausea wash over her.
"My dear, whatever is the matter?" Zachary said in a concerned voice. "You look quite put out."
"Oh it's nothing." She said quickly, her hand on her forehead. "I think it's just rather ...hot."
"Of course, allow me to get you a drink." He said leading her over to a pouf on the side of the room. She sat down, and though to herself. She had realized with his patriotic declaration that he was no different than any of the others in the room. He was nothing like Viktor. And certainly nothing like-
"Here darling. Drink this. It will make you feel better." Zachary interrupted her thoughts with a champagne flute of the same fizzy pink liquid Pansy had been drinking earlier. She took a light sip and was surprised at the taste. It was like grapefruit juice with cherries, and oh....
She finished the flute, and got up to dance with Zachary once again.
"Now where we?" she said, smiling.
"Ah yes. I hope I can show you around our facilities soon?"
"Of course. That would be a great help." She said, once again preparing her brain to store information. She suddenly felt a pounding in her head.
"Oh dear, I think I drank that too quickly." She said quietly with a giggle.
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Half an hour later, Hermione was swirling the pink drink in her flute on her pouf, as Zachary sipped a goblet of brandy next to her in the curtained room that was next to the ballroom floor. It was her third drink.
"So...as I was saying, you must come to my Riviera boat. You will love it I know you will..." he said with a slight slur.
Hermione placed her hand on her head. She felt rather....queer. Like her mind was traveling through a smog. And a damn good smog, her body felt...so good. She smiled and took another sip. She didn't know why she had thrown out that drink earlier...Baxter was obviously a genius.
The orchestra broke into Spring, and suddenly she felt melancholy. It was her favorite music. She listened to it whenever she felt bad. Like when that git Draco had ruined her life.
"My perfectly peaceful life." She whispered out loud. She felt a hand on her shoulder.
She turned to see Draco standing behind her, and despite a stressed set to his mouth, his face was all charm as he held the curtain back.
"Montero. I hope I can steal one dance from Miss. Troy here? You have simply been hogging the beauty all for yourself." He said suavely, pulling on his gray gloves.
"Sure Draco. Take her. Just don't use her up too much before you give her back." He said laughing rather loudly, forcing Hermione to cover her ears.
"Come Miss. Troy. We need to dance now." Draco said pulling her up. He suddenly frowned as he spotted her champagne flute.
"Helena." He said in a tight voice. "How many of these have you had? Who has been giving them to you?"
"Oh only three so far. Got to finish the fourth though..." she said giggling. "Or Baxter'll be mad. Zachary said they would make me feel better. And he was right..." she sighed, and sat back down on the pouf.
"Merde." He whispered. "This is one of Parkinson's type." He delicately sniffed glass, and grimaced. "Fuck. Fuck. Anise and Glittermoss extract. You're drugged. Merde." he hissed.
"What was that?" said Zachary, crooking his hand behind his ear. "I hope you weren't insulting that. It always gets the girls all happy. Really Malfoy, you're a sour fellow. You should have some yourself."
Draco pulled Hermione up to her feet, and she felt the shocked feeling register on her face, as Draco drew back his arm and punched Zachary Montero in the face. She watched with hazy fascination as he grabbed his jaw, and blood trickled down his chin. Draco turned swirling his robes and dragging a stumbling Hermione behind him.
As they walked through the curtains, out of the ballroom, down the stairs and into the foyer, Hermione felt like she had something important to say.
But it never came out of her mouth. As Draco slipped her robe on he shoulders, she sighed and closed her eyes.
Draco looked bemusedly at the figure of Hermione as she breathed lightly, asleep, and leaning into his shoulder.
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A.N- that was a totally different tone for the ending. As per requested, it is starting to heat up. I have to warn you though; it will be a slow, bittersweet, but fruitful.... .
Teaser: Hermione recovers and is rather embarrassed when she does wake up....how will she deal with the new emotions that are starting to crop up...Harry suffers a horrible defeat...and why is Draco so frightened?