Developments and Complications.
Ron had arrived to his destination without much trouble, where he was greeted by the housekeeper, in the absence of the mistress of the house; he soon discovered that his pupil was of good disposition, if not exceptionally talented, and he did his best to guide the young wizard in his learning.
One day, as the improvised teacher was wandering alone in the countryside, (we shall not delve into why on earth he was wandering in the countryside during school hours) he caught a glimpse of a woman of a broom. She was tall, wore a large black coat… and, just as she was about to pass him, the broom tilted to the side on its own volition and she fell downwards.
Ron rushed to the rescue, but arrived too late – she was already on the ground. What arrived after that, I scarcely need to describe; if you don't know the ending of this peculiar plot twist, then you should guess that the mysterious tall figure fell in love with the reflective, quiet redhead; that the feeling grew to become mutual, and that arson, failed attempts at marriage, hidden bigamy and desperate escapes did not suffice to prevent their sharing the quiet joys of hymen from the end of the story onwards.
Back in the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had not remained idle. Nice Mr. Malfoy, as she liked to call him, had returned the initial visit; he obviously been charmed by the grace and youth of her daughter, to the extend that he had decided to organise a ball in Ottery. Everything was indeed going for the best, and the only thing that bothered Mrs. Weasley – if you can call it bothering, it was more of a slight annoyance – was the continued presence of Mr. Snape. This man, despite his unpleasantness, seemed to be a close friend of Mr. Malfoy's; the latter had invited him to stay at Wildmane Hall for as long as he chose. He was arrogant, and pretentious; lacked every form of social grace, and never missed an occasion to tell the busy matron exactly how little he thought of her and hers; and she really wouldn't want anything to do with him at all were he not a friend of dear, nice Mr. Malfoy. But, as matters stood, she had to stay polite to him, and endure his sarcastic barbs without responding.
The day of the ball arrived before the different members of the Weasley household had time to realise how much time had elapsed – to a mere reader, the occurrence would indeed come within a simple paragraph of its being announced. This story is after all not meant for the faint of heart, nor for those who cannot take quick action changes.
It was, for all those concerned, a success. Mr. Malfoy invited young Ginevra to no less than two dances; nothing and no one could stop Mrs. Weasley from gloating over that, especially as Auror Malfoy had also condescended to dance with her daughter, albeit only once, which certainly could be taken as a sure sign that her daughter's future son-in-law would appreciate counting her as a member of his family.
As for her, Auror Granger had approached the ball with the keen interest of a witch who has no mother to guide her in the finer recesses of the wizarding world – the discerning reader will translate that to her needing to find herself a husband by her own means.
Her resources were not scarce. She had more wits than all the rest of Hogwarts put together, and no one had ever complained about her looks. She knew how to combine those attributes, and to make herself both charming and useful to whomever she deemed worthy of becoming prey to her viles. The method – a ruthless mixture of small favours, gentle chatter and timely remarks – might be thought be thought unsubtle by some, but we pray our reader remember she had not been brought up in the ways of the wizarding world, and had been launched in their world ignoring their customs. She was learning, thought – she had soon dismissed Harry as none too useful to her goals, and had succeeded in securing the younger Malfoy's graces.
This evening brought another idea to her resourceful mind. Draco was handsome enough, and young, dashing, with very nice legs, which was not to be disregarded; but his very youth was a source of worries to her. He did not have any money other than their Auror's pay; no fix home out of the barracks they both dwelled in. His prospects were bright, that much stood fest; but, should she marry him, how long would she have to wait before she had free reign over the Malfoy estates and income? Last but not least, the young wizard's charms, abundant as they were, remained limited, for his hair was made beautiful by the artificial addictions of gel alone, and his mane was therefore nothing more than an illusion, the reality being, in contrast, sticky and brisk. In short, he was not the sort of wizard a girl of such rational disposition as Hermione could wish as a life-long partner.
She was therefore keeping her eyes wide open for a manly specimen of a prospective husband, such as balls are reputed to offer scores of. As it happens, she didn't need to stay on the look-out for very long before she spotted the wizard of her choice.
A witch's tastes, you see, are set early in life. Some like Hufflepuffs for their loyalty; others, Ravenclaw for their intellect and corresponding high salaries. But our Hermione had known for a long time that she would not have anyone but a Slytherin : their cunning and general air of malignant haughtiness had a certain something that appealed to her. It was after all very gratifying to play with their little snake. And, among the Slytherin, whom should she choose but a Malfoy – they were rich, and proud, and so very manipulate it was a positive delight to outmanoeuvre them – it kept one's intellect awake.
She had therefore set her cap on Draco, and thought herself quite fortunate – not all Malfoys had those long curvy eyebrows, after all.
Until she saw his father.
Lucius she knew to be as keenly manipulative as his son, if not more; he had, it is true, the slight drawback of having been a Death Eater, and was therefore banned from public employment; but his bank account in Gringotts alone, let alone what he may or may not have in offshore Goblin banks, did more than make up for that little inconvenience. And, last but not least, his long hair hung loose on his shoulders, free of anything resembling gel, a few rare grey streaks enhancing the golden stream of light that framed the supple eyebrows Draco had inherited.
She had been right about needing a Malfoy. She had only got the wrong Malfoy.
But even that could be mended. She patiently waited until he finished his second dance with the Weasley chit, then she sharply directed Draco to the redhead – and she walked up to Lucius herself. She smiled; he bowed – she held out her hand, and he clasped it. They talked, and talked some more, as neither lacked the ability to make subtle inquiries in the other's character, while maintaining a façade of polite conversation. What they found out pleased them both, certainly, for they did not part all evening long – they danced once and then retired to a small corner for some more conversation. This discreet aparté might have lasted longer had a dishevelled Draco not joined them shortly before midnight, his hair glistening more than ever from the several layers of gel, his face less composed than usual. He beckoned Hermione to follow him outside, to come back to their barracks; and she felt like accepting to follow him. After all, she really shouldn't spend too long with Lucius on their very first date, it was never good to sound too pushy when one was after a man's wallet.
And thus, dear reader, does this act come to an end. Ron was at the moment still lovesick, dreaming of his mysterious Rosmerta; Harry, not having found a partner for the ball, had stared at his own reflection in the large mirror all night long, pleased by the sight it offered; and Hermione had disappeared in the shadows, whispering animatedly to a young, blond wizard. Only Lucius remained behind, a smile on his lips, as he absent-mindedly listened to Mrs. Weasley's detailed thanks.