Chapter 2: A Dance Before Death Returns
Hermione asked him to accompany her to the Yule Ball. With butterflies in her stomach, she thought he would do her this kindness seeing how none had asked her.
It wasn't until a big grin spread across Neville's face that she knew he would take her. Elated and with a promise that he would meet her at the portrait door shortly before the Ball began, Hermione planned to go dress shopping with Ginny in Hogsmeade. The youngest Weasley was disappointed she would not be attending seeing as no fourth years had asked her, but she gained what joy she could by helping Hermione find a dress.
It was silly, the notion that everything had to be perfect: the shoes, the dress, accessories and her hair. Ginny had convinced Hermione to pay a visit to a new hairdresser salon that had opened across from Honeydukes. The result was seventy-five galleons spent, new dress robes, new shoes and a sleek, curly up-do that took no less than three hours. Ginny lost on the accessories bit, as Hermione chose only to wear a pair of heart-shaped studs her mum sent and her charm bracelet.
Quickly, it was a few minutes to seven and time to meet Neville. She had butterflies in her stomach the moment the portrait entrance swung open to reveal Neville in his fancy robes. He looked quite dapper and the two teenagers smiled awkwardly at each other as they took sight of the other.
"Wow, Hermione. You look amazing!"
Part of her did not want to smile, lest she appeared like Lavender and the other girls felled by a single compliment, but she would be lying if she didn't acknowledge that it meant something coming from him.
She gave him a half-smile and lowered her eyes to the floor, overcome with a brief sense of insecurity that fled with the exclamation. "Thank you, Neville. You look quite dashing yourself," she replied sincerely.
He blushed at the compliment and offered his elbow. The ruffled fringes of her light blue dress robes flitted about like silk. Her skin felt hot despite the winter chill that seeped into the castle, and as they walked down each successive landing, disturbingly it began harder and harder to breathe.
Harry and the other Tri-Wizarding champions had already entered by time the young couple made their way to the entrance of the Great Hall. She kept reminding herself to breathe, she was the same girl that had been attending Hogwarts for four years. One night where they dressed in fancy robes shouldn't be any different. But still …
"Is that Hermione Granger?!"
She pulled Neville's elbow a bit closer to her person the moment she heard others whispering about the couple. Neville led them further into the Hall that had been decorated with snow, Yule trees, and tinsel. Her free hand tucked a curl behind her ear as she sought not to turn her head toward the students currently whispering and gawking about her.
Thankfully Neville distracted her with an invitation to dance.
"Thanks," she beamed breathlessly up at her friend. "I'd love to!"
Neville was an amazing date, he was kind, the perfect gentleman and stepped on her toes only once. She caught glimpses of Ron and his date, Lavender, on the floor and was pleasantly surprised to see Harry with her roommate, Pavarti. During breaks between the music, the girls simultaneously gushed over her dress and straightened hair while Ron and Harry paid compliments in their own unique way.
All in all, Hermione remained on a high all evening. She danced and ate, and danced some more among the charmed snowfall the Great Hall's ceiling produced for them.
A few hours later, Hermione found herself recovering at the table with the Beaubaxtons' champion, Fleur Delacour. The two exchanged awkward glances, before the French beauty suddenly spoke up. "You 'ave ze most alluring eyes," Fleur cooed at her at a lull between songs. The night was winding down and only a few couples remained on the dance floor. Others had retired for the evening or left for places couples usually do after such events.
"Oh…why thank you."
The French witch ran a light hand through the few curls that fell from Hermione's updo. "Tell me, do you have any relatives in France?"
Leaning away so that Fleur's hand no longer touched her hair, Hermione replied, "I don't think so." She wasn't exactly comfortable sharing her private history with the part-Veela, despite the witch's sincere expression.
The witch shrugged. "Zis puzzling zis all. You remind me of some of my family."
That perked Hermione's attention. "In France?" she clarified.
"Oui. Ze cheekbones and facial features, zey are remarkably si-me-lar," Fleur confirmed as she studied Hermione's face. "And you have the Delacour ability to stop a man in his tracks. That Delacour je ne sais quoi."
Hermione blushed until she was sure her entire face and neck flamed red. It was markedly different from Fleur's elegant laugh that exposed her long and graceful neck.
"It zis true. Every boy here tonight has been unable to keep zer eyes off of you. You 'ave hypnotized zem all, Hermione."
"Um… wow, thank you." Hermione bit her bottom lip, hesitant to agree with the champion's assertion, but even more so to share the fact that she was adopted. "But I'm afraid I'm not aware of any familial ties to France."
Fleur nodded, before being escorted back to the dance floor once more.
Ron joined her at the table then. His red hair whipped around his face and he turned, searching for someone. He sank into the chair next to Hermione and then slid slower as if he were hiding from someone.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, amused by his antics.
"Quiet! I'm hoping she doesn't spot me with you. Damn it!" He swore while sinking comically further into his seat. "There she is. No – don't look!" he implored.
"Who – your date? Ronald, are you hiding from Lavender?"
"Yeah, is that so hard to imagine?" he asked from his slumped position.
Hermione thought back to her roommate's prior conversation about the Yule Ball and future marriages. She chuckled at Ron's obvious ignorance. "No, it's just funny I'd suppose."
"Yeah, well at least I was the one to ask her to the Ball," he sulked glumly.
Hermione turned towards Ron, incensed. "And what is that supposed to mean!?"
"Guys, keep it down? Others are starting to notice," Harry interrupted the impending argument as he sauntered up behind his two friends.
"Neville told us you were the one to ask him," Ron replied from nearly beneath the table. "The bloke's supposed to ask the girl, Hermione," he stated as if she were a first year.
"We're friends. What's wrong with me asking him?" She crossed her arms defiantly, daring Ron to answer her question incorrectly.
"You've embarrassed him, is all. He's too nice to tell you, but blimey, Hermione, you got it all backwards."
"There's nothing wrong with asking my friend to the dance! Your entire way of thinking is wrong! Enjoy your date, Ronald!" And the life said date probably was planning from this moment forward, she thought to herself.
Hermione stood then and the attention of those nearby, including Lavender, once more fell on her. Moving around the table, she headed quickly for the exit and was about to leave when Neville intercepted her. "Hermione, are you going somewhere?"
"Have I embarrassed you, Neville?" she rounded on him, catching her friend off guard.
"What?"
She gestured for him to follow her into the noticeably quiet area just outside the doors and away from the party-goers. Taking a deep breath to calm her racing thoughts from Ron's earlier accusation, she repeated her question. "By asking you to the Ball? Some seem to imply that I've might have caused you embarrassment by asking you to the Ball?" she left the question open.
Neville blushed as he scuffed the toe of his shiny black shoes against the stone floor. "I'm honored you asked me, Hermione. Truly, I am..."
Hermione finished for him, "But I'm not who you wanted to go with initially…"she finished with a dejected slump of her shoulders. "Oh Neville, I'm so sorry. You must think me so silly."
"Well, yes. But no! No. Nothing like that. I don't think you're silly at all. You're one of my best friends and I've had a great time tonight. But I meant about who I really wanted to go to the dance with… because … You see, I don't think-he-would've-said-yes," he rushed all in one breath.
Hermione looked up with tears in her eyes at her first friend as she struggled to comprehend what he had just implied to her. "He?"
Neville looked at his shoes, an endearing red gracing his entire face. Hermione smiled as one tear spilled from her eye from the onslaught of emotions: fear she had upset some traditional, wizarding order; anger at Ron's failure to understand modern feminism; and joy and honor that her friend would feel safe enough to confide in her his true feelings.
"Neville!" she cried as she threw her arms around him. "You never told me you held a crush on someone." She was sure not make mention of gender lest someone was eavesdropping. She would protect her friend until he was comfortable enough to share his feelings first.
"Well I wasn't completely sure at first."
She gave him a dazzling smile. "I understand. And here I was acting silly over some slight I thought I'd caused."
"Yeah, pretty silly way to end the night."
"Well it certainly doesn't have to be the end of the night for you."
"But I thought you were leaving?"
"Please don't leave on my account. Stay," she implored him. "Have fun and see if you can get a conversation in with said 'crush.' But I want a full update come New Years, Neville." She smiled at him.
"But why aren't you staying?"
"I think if I see Ronald Weasley once more this evening, I very well may thrash him. And besides, my feet are killing me in these god-forsaken shoes."
"Thank you, Hermione." Neville leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "You truly are brilliant."
Hermione watched as her friend made his way back inside before she removed her heels, which had grown from uncomfortable to the point of pain, and slowly made her way down the corridor past suits of armor and paintings.
"Oi! You up there," a slightly slurred voice called from behind her.
Hermione hesitated on whether she should keep walking forward or willingly turn and face the incoming punishment. "What do you want, Malfoy? I have no time for your sophomoric jokes."
"Granger, is that you?" Malfoy chuckled as he came into view. He looked dashing in his perfectly tailored robes, Hermione couldn't deny him that. "Color me surprised. I didn't recognize you without that mangled wire you called hair." Her eyes narrowed; there went any further positive thought she may have attributed to the Malfoy heir. "I thought you'd be somewhere with your date. Don't tell me Longbottom's dumped you? Pathetic that you can't even hold the attention of a wanker like Longbottom, even all dolled as you were."
Pushed beyond her emotional limit, Hermione whipped out her wand from of the pocket she'd magically sewn onto the dress and pointed it at the boy's throat. Her eyes glistened with tears and anger at the awful end to her evening. It had all started out so promising. "Remember what I did to you without a wand at the end of third year, Malfoy? Do you really want to try me with one in hand?" She hissed as the tip of her wand pushed into the underside of his jaw.
Backed into a wall, the boy visibly swallowed, fear palpable across his features as he eyed her wand and the seriousness of her stance. The threat properly conveyed, Hermione started to pull back her wand, when a hand halted her from further movement. With one hand, Malfoy held her forearm tight in his grasp. She gasped at the sudden contact.
"Malfoy, let me go!" she hissed as she struggled against him. Without her shoes on, the Slytherin towered over her. Despite his lean frame, there was a strength there she hadn't known. He struck an imposing figure over her.
But he did not advance; he was mesmerized by something. Their breaths co-mingling, Hermione followed his gaze the charm bracelet sat just above her wrist. Hermione watched as he dragged his line of sight from her eyes back to her bracelet in quick succession. As if just noticing he was still holding onto her arm, he abruptly let her go. Hermione staggered back, a pink imprint of where his hand had been bloomed onto her skin.
"Where did you get that?" Malfoy questioned sharply, his eyes pointed and suspicious.
Hermione scoffed as she tightened her grip about her vine wood wand, "My wand? If you mean go on some tirade about how I stole my magic, please spare me…"
"The bracelet, you daft bint. Did you steal it?" He approached her personal space as if he had all the right to in the world. Placing her hands on his expensive robes, she pushed against his chest.
Shaking her head in indignation, she clipped angrily, "It's none of your business!" Gathering her dress skirts, she picked up her shoes and swiftly headed for Gryffindor Tower, the night now completely ruined.
The day after Christmas, Hermione spent the day in library thankful for its peaceful solitude. A light snowfall begun late in the night and had ramped up now that the sun broke over the Scottish landscape. She really wished for a cup of coffee as she opened a rather large tome, but Madame Pince would have her head if she caught her with a beverage of any sort near such valuable works.
Leafing through the yellowed pages, Hermione yawned as she read about magical detection charms. Sleep did not come to her last night when she retired after such a tumultuous evening. Ron had ruined what could have been a pleasant evening, Neville's revelation, Draco had been a pushy git, and something about Fleur's words sent shivers done her spine. All in all, it made for a rather restless evening and at first light, while her roommates slumbered on, she slipped into a pullover and jeans and left for the library.
Closing the first book, Hermione opened a new one. Leafing through the French selection of magical families, she sniggered at the history of the Malfoy family, as well as true meaning behind the Malfoy family name, before she landed on the very French Delacour family. Briefly, the book listed their marked traits of blonde hair, Veela ancestry, and famous Delacours throughout history. Most seemingly settled in Wizarding parts of France, but some had emigrated to Africa or the Americas. Apparently their house words were 'Grace a la lumiere et de l'amour' and their family's insignia was a rose in bloom.
Turning her wrist about, Hermione studied the jagged bolt of pure gold. There was a tiny jewel in the crux of the bolt, possibly a small diamond. There definitely was not a hidden rose anywhere on the charm. Feeling a bit dashed as the small bloom of hope in her gut began to fade, Hermione closed the cover of A Selection of Magical Families, Moste Important.
"Morning, Hermione," a voice interrupted her thoughts.
Hermione lifted her head at the new voice that had joined her. "Oh, morning Fay," she greeted her fellow Gryffindor, Fay Dunbar.
"What're looking at?"
"Just some light reading on the history of French wizarding families. I'm surprised to see you here after such a late night– did you enjoy your time with …?" Hermione trailed off, forgetting the name of the Drumstrang boy Fay attended the Yule Ball with.
"Well, he certainly enjoyed last night if you get my drift," the witch remarked with a wry grin.
Hermione inwardly cringed at the crude innuendo, but outwardly sighed in understanding. She shared in Fay's disappointment. "It should've been a wonderful evening for all of us, shame it had to be ruined like that."
"I saw you with your date, Neville. He seems like a nice bloke – did something happen?"
"Oh no, he was a perfect gentleman. He even gave me a kiss goodnight on the cheek," Hermione blushed as she remembered their parting words. "It all went sort of downhill from there."
"Ah, I see." Fay noticed the books spread before them on the table. "Say, why are studying magical families anyway? I don't remember that topic on any upcoming exams."
"Just curious is all," Hermione replied, somewhat defensively. "Interestingly, I learned some of the older families have insignias and house words they carry to this day. For example, the Delacour family is a rose in bloom with the words 'Through love and light'. It reminds me of the noble houses from medieval times."
"Yea, these purebloods love their traditions. I guess it makes them feel more important than us Half-Bloods and Muggle-borns with our common names, you know?"
Hermione made a non-committal noise. "Do you know how many of these families had words and insignias? The French selection only listed a few, slightly less than twenty, if I recall."
"Hmm, I don't know too much about the French or other countries. But here, there's twenty-eight of 'em. They call themselves," she made air-quotes as she named them, "the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight'."
"How exclusive," Hermione harrumphed sarcastically.
"They fancy themselves the last of the truly pure-blood lineage, but I've heard they've all intermingled with common magical folk from time to time. Although they would have you believing otherwise."
"Oh, I'm sure. How positively scandalous," Hermione agreed with a smirk as she imagined Malfoy dallying with a Muggle-born. The steam pouring from his father's ears would be worse than consuming a Pepper-Up potion.
"Well, I'd better get that book I came here for before I forget. Don't stay here too long, Hermione," Fay teased though it would be in vain.
Hermione watched her roommate leave. Well, she had identified France's wizarding families and insignias. She could start on Britain's Sacred Twenty-Eight. Rolling the parchment detailing her notes on French families, she set out for a book on the Sacred Twenty-Eight with every intention to pour through them after the New Year. She would hunt down every lead if she had to, no matter how small.
Between her schoolwork and Harry's tasks, Hermione deduced that her charm bracelet was indeed magical. She'd found a detection spell just before Harry's second task and was elated that the spell had reported traces of magic about the golden chain. Ecstatic at this new find, she pondered the ramifications of such a discovery. Shortly before her adoption at one year-old, someone had placed this magical charm around her wrist. They must've been someone important, possibly a parent or loved one. The question was, did the person who secured the bracelet know the charm was magical, or just some odd trinket? Were they themselves magical? If they were, Hermione could very well be a half-blood or possibly more. All of these possibilities floated about her and quickly, she ran into a dead end. She simply needed additional leads.
She wished she could leave Hogwarts for a moment to do some research at the facility she was adopted from. She was almost certain that additional clues lay hidden within her files, but as it was, she was bound at Hogwarts until the end of the year and promised to see Harry through the conclusion of the Tournament.
Additionally, her research into Britain's magical families continued as well. After the New Year, she had read her way through the Abbot and Black families. She'd covered Lestrange and Longbottom by April and just before the final and third task, she had started on Selwyn.
"Merlin, I need a break," she said as she pushed back from her desk, rubbing sore eyes. Night was just starting to fall outside her dorm's window. Eyeing the jar that sat on her desk, she quickly opened the lid and dropped a few leaves in to satisfy the seemingly quiet beetle within. The beetle didn't move much but Hermione knew it was carefully listening to every word she saying. "Is this how you feel when you're writing to ruin other people's lives?"
The beetle stood stock still on the tiny branch.
Of course there were be no response, but it didn't matter because it was time for Harry's third and final task. Her roommates bade her to come on or she would miss the opening and honestly, she was thankful that the whole mess of a tournament would be over after tonight.
Making her way to the stands with the rest of Gryffindor, she would have the unfortunate luck to run into Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins. They walked just behind she and Ginny; their "Potter Stinks" buttons fashioned brightly to their robes.
Parkinson and Crabbe teased Harry's performance, and openly wished for his death, sneered about how he had cheated the entire way through before predictably teasing Ginny and she just a few paces before them. After they had their fill, Malfoy lead Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle around her group before Ginny could turn around and hex them.
Hermione followed the blond's head as his group parted ways with hers for their seats amongst the stands. How odd, not once did Malfoy say anything. In fact, he hadn't spoken to her at all it since their encounter after the Yule Ball. But before she could think on it, Dumbledore amplified his voice to announce the start of the third and final task.
An aristocratic voice interrupted the deep concentration Kingsley Shacklebolt had been immersed in for the past two hours. "It's a beautiful afternoon and yet here you sit, buried beneath piles of bureaucratic processes and memos."
Kingsley lifted his head to see that Lucius Malfoy had entered his office. Acknowledging the wizard with a lifted brow, Kingsley returned back to his work. He often found that when he was on a productive roll, time more often than not would slip away from him. He had been known to miss a meal or two in favor of solving an important case.
Lucius continued in absence of a response, "The entire Department has left for the evening, Kingsley. Why are you still here?"
Kingsley sighed and laid down his quill, finally addressing the man as he sat opposite his desk. "Why are you here? Have you a crime to report, Lucius?"
Lucius stared at the Auror for the space of a few heartbeats before replying, "It is has been too long, my friend. If I didn't know any better I'd suspect you've been ignoring my owls on purpose."
Kingsley frowned and offered a sincere apology. "Please give my regrets to Narcissa. My schedule has been quite busy." He stared pointedly at the Malfoy Lord as more seconds passed between them. "There have been increased activity ever since the Dark Mark was spotted over the World Cup in August. Have you any credible leads as to who were behind these attacks?" He fixed Lucius with a pointed stare.
Lucius shrugged, as he laid his cane across his knee. "I'm sure the Ministry knows more than I do, whispers of names," he flippantly waved a hand. "The usual suspects, I'm sure."
Kingsley shook his head at Lucius' non-committal response. "It feels as it does before, Lucius. I'm sure you know that." Lucius gave a scarce nod before Kingsley continued, "If you have anything to tell me, anything at all, you know you can. Because you must know, I will not be there to bail you out again," he said with a quiet finality. "The Minister's enacted a zero-tolerance policy for anyone in connection with events stemming from the World Cup. I can assist you and your family should you choose to share anything with me now, but know that this chance will not present itself again should something else happen once you leave this room."
Lucius gave a small smirk. "There is nothing to tell."
Kingsley sat back in his chair, suddenly world-weary and disappointed at where their once similar paths had led them. "You know, this isn't where I envisioned we'd be today."
There was a measure of a small smile as Lucius sat back in his seat, mimicking Kingsley's posture. "What did you envision then? The two of us playing for Puddlemere United side-by-side as we did for Slytherin all those years ago?"
Kingsley rested his elbow on the arm of his chair as he regarded his old friend. "I wouldn't imagine we be in so poor of shape, for one."
"I'm in the best shape of my life," Lucius smartly disagreed, though a hint of a smile peeked through.
Kingsley scoffed in reply, "You drink too much and it shows."
Lucius studied the assortment of objects Kingsley had collected from prior missions on the shelf beside his desk. "We all have our demons to hide."
Kingsley paused, reflective. "Yes, I suppose we do." He looked down at his hands before inquiring, "How is Draco?"
Lucius was a proud man and knew it was impolite to boast in public, but he covered it well. "He is doing well. He should be further ahead in class standings than where he currently is, but he complains that a Muggle-born girl outranks him."
"Complains just like his father, you mean?" Kingsley replied with a hearty chuckle.
"With Dumbledore's obvious favoritism towards Muggles and the like, it's no wonder my son is second to her."
Kingsley was thoroughly impressed. "I must meet this girl who has bested the Malfoy heir. But I do not think you have room to talk about complaints. You opened an investigation into Hogwarts' governance over a hippogriff!"
"A trifle little thing, I assure you." Lucius thought back to the time he met Harry Potter's Mudblood right before the start of second year and dismissed the girl with a wave. "And I've always maintained it's time the Governors installed a new Headmaster, lest others like my son fall victim to Dumbledore's incompetence. And I still stand by that assertion."
"I can file a formal complaint, if you'd like," Kingsley chuckled dryly.
"No need. I see the DMLE is keeping you quite busy." Lucius stood, their brief meeting coming to an end. "And I daresay more work will inevitably find its way to your desk."
Kingsley narrowed his eyes at Lucius as the man made to leave. "What do you mean 'more work'?" Kingsley, ever the Slytherin, knew that Lucius hinted at something. The Malfoy Lord knew how to mince words with the best of them.
"Nothing untoward, I assure you," Lucius replied with the briefest of smile as he picked up his cane and made for the door. "Do try to enjoy the summer evening, Kingsley." Lucius departed from the Auror's office, the Mark beneath his robes wrenching with pain. He bit his bottom lip in effort to mask it and did all he could to compose himself as he walked briskly through the halls of the Ministry.
The pain reached an unbearable level by time he reached the Floo network on the main level and he slipped his hand inside his cloak pocket, finding the smooth but familiar mask he had not worn for over a decade. He hesitated in his steps as he thought of Kingsley; the Auror office would no doubt be in a flurry of activity tonight and honestly, he wagered it might be the last time he saw the man face-to-face. They were such a long way from when they were as youngsters flying for the green and silver.
Lucius shifted the mask stealthily from one hand to the other as easily as he shifted thoughts; he would be wearing it once more as he left the Ministry for the nearest apparition point: his destination, Little Hangleton. The Dark Lord called to his Death Eaters once more.