Chapter One
Pulling the neatly folded letter from her clutch bag, Hermione studied the handwriting carefully. It was black ink, loopy script but unfamiliar to hr. She was an intelligent young woman of thirty-two who was usually unlikely to answer an anonymous call, but the letter had intrigued her. She had no idea as to whom the manor house belonged to, or who sent the letter, but she felt oddly obliged to attend the dinner party. So, dressed in a simple black cocktail dress and mid heels, she kissed her husband and children goodbye and left for the train station, the locomotive slicing its way through the countryside. It had struck her as odd, that her anonymous host should provide her with train tickets, but she wasn't too bothered.
Glancing around the packed carriage, she wondered if there was anybody else attending with whom she was acquainted. Unfolding the letter again, she looked down at it, a slight frown of confusion lining her face. Now she came to really think about it, she was a little confused as to why someone would want to invite her and only her to an event; she had no friends that weren't friendly with Ron.
'Dear Mrs Weasley,' it said in its black cursive script. 'I have the pleasure of inviting you for dinner and drinks on the first Saturday of the month, starting at seven thirty. Your train ticket is provided and you will be met by transport upon your arrival at the station. I eagerly await your arrival.' There was no signature.
Folding the letter, Hermione slipped it back into her bag and leant her head back, careful to ensure her bun would not be squashed. She slowly drifted off as the sky darkened and the train rushed her deeper and deeper into the countryside.
A carriage away, Ginny was nearly pulling out her hair. Why in the name of Merlin had she received an invitation for dinner that also included her idiot jokers of twin brothers? Currently they were making crude jokes with the man behind them, causing the stern-looking elderly woman across from them peer over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses in disgust. Ginny smiled apologetically at her, and wished the ground would swallow them up.
"So who do you reckon sent this invite then?" Fred broke away from the boobs joke his brother was telling to look inquisitively at his sister.
"How am I supposed to know?" Ginny snapped irritably, turning away as George finished his joke and the two men guffawed heartily.
Looking up from his Muggle newspaper with a look of annoyance at the loud laughter coming from the front of the carriage, Draco cleared his throat, as if the sound would carry forward and get them to shut it. Exchanging a glance with the woman sat opposite him, he couldn't help but detect a gleam of mirth in her eyes, and this increased his annoyance.
"Something funny Professor?"
His companion shook her head, drawing her tartan shawl about her shoulder a little tighter. "I must admit that since the departure of Misters Fred and George Weasley from Hogwarts, the school has been very quiet."
Draco snorted. "Is that who it is?" He rose in his seat and spotted the tell-tale red hair of three Weasleys. "Fantastic," he muttered to himself. "Just what I needed."
"So," Minerva said, leaning forward. "What brings you to this part of the country on a day like this without your wife and son? Business?"
"No," Draco replied, folding the newspaper and producing an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "I received an owl earlier this week, bearing this particular invitation. Apparently I have been invited to a dinner party by some anonymous host out here in the country." He slipped the envelope back into his jacket. "To be honest," he added in an undertone, "it's a relief to get away from the wife and child you know? He's in the tantrum stage."
Minerva smiled fondly. She had never liked the young Slytherin as a student, but since leaving Hogwarts he had grown into a respectable young man. Apparently he and Harry were even on Christmas card terms now.
"What about you, if you don't mind me asking, Professor."
"It's been over a decade since you left school, you may call me Minerva, Mr Malfoy. I too received an invitation to the very same dinner party. I must say," she extracted her invitation from her bag, "that the handwriting does seem a little familiar." The last comment was more to herself than to Draco, and there was a small confused frown upon her face as she studied the letter closely, a practice that seemed to be familiar. "I'll be intrigued to see who our host is."
Draco nodded, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Me too Prof- Minerva."
The train pulled into a small station at just gone seven. The twilit sky was moonless and the air was chilly, the crisp bite of winter in the air and the electricity of a thunderstorm detectable in the breeze. Hermione stepped from the carriage, glad she had chosen to wear her good coat, thick wool reaching to mid-calf and lined with warm fleece. She drew it about her and spotted a sign a little way a head, held up by a man who instantly looked like a butler, right down to the white gloves. 'Mrs H Weasley' the sign said. Hermione approached.
"Do you have your invitation?" asked the man in a posh, upper class accent. When Hermione showed it to him, he nodded and put the sign down, pointing to a bench. "Wait here." He then retrieved another sign from at his feet and held it up. 'Mr D Malfoy' it said.
Soon, after two more sign changes, the man was surrounded by six people, all of whom had received the anonymous dinner invitation. He led them to a large car where he helped the ladies in and got into the front passenger seat. The car lurched away from the pavement and drove down a small country road.
There was an uncomfortable silence in the back, as the guests slid around on the vast leather seats. There was a screen between them and the driver, and a small minibar to one side, like the interior of a small limousine. It was empty.
The landscape outside was getting more and more wild by the minute. The car sped down narrow and twisty country lanes, taking them further and further away from civilisation until eventually an imposing sight met their eyes, silhouetted in the flashes from the lightening that was now forking from the sky.
The car had driven through a pair of wrought iron gates – if they had been paying attention, they would have been both aware and alarmed at how they were firmly shut and locked behind them – and was now advancing up a gravel driveway to one of the largest manor houses many of them had ever seen. It had wings and turrets and towers and was almost as impressive as Hogwarts Castle. Two flaming torches lit the front porch, although inside it was clear the place was powered by electricity. Dark velvet drapes were hung at the windows and candlelight flickered through the window of what Hermione suspected to be the dining room.
There was nobody greeting them at the front porch, not any sign of another car.
The car drew to a halt and the six occupants clambered out of the back, standing nervously on the gravel, shivering in the cold and trying to stay under the umbrellas that various people had opened. They hurried as a group to the front porch, where the man who had met them at the station had opened the front door. Behind them, the driver started the engine and slowly drove the car off, the sound of its engine fading as thunder boomed overhead.
They all stepped into a handsomely decorated hall. The parquet floor was highly polished and there was a pair of large griffins carved into the acps atop the large newel posts at the base of the wide wooden staircase. There was a fireplace between two closed doors, the grate roaring. Only one door stood open; this led to a comfortable looking library.
The man, now definitely identifiable as the butler dressed in tails, took their coats and showed them through to the library, where a domestic in a long French Maid dress was pouring champagne from a large bottle. For some strange reason, Hermione was briefly reminded of Magenta, the domestic in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, but dismissed that thought: she was pretty certain that whilst this young domestic had frizzy hair – brown, not red – she was not, under any circumstances an alien.
"May I introduce Salome, our domestic, and my name is Hodgeson. I will be your butler for this evening." The butler clasped his hands behind his back, standing in the doorway. "Dinner will be ready shortly.
"Will our host not be joining us for drinks?" Minerva asked, sipping her champagne.
Hodgeson smiled. "No, but he will be along at dinner." He swept from the room, Salome following with the champagne bottle.
Draco was the first to speak. "So, who do you suppose our host is?"
"Has to be rich," George said, inspecting the shelves of books. "I mean look at this place."
Fighting the urge to give some snide remark that would poke fun at the Weasleys lack of money – in fact, Fred and George were now incredibly successful businessmen and when he had read in the paper that Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was voted number one joke shop in the Wizarding World he nearly choked on his tea – Draco chose instead to grimace, trying to keep up his nasty-guy persona that everyone was so used to.
Hermione, predictably, had stuck her nose in a book. She recoiled suddenly, as if burned, and nearly knocked her champagne flute over. "Whoever it is, is either playing a sick joke, or is really into the Dark Arts."
Fred bent down to retrieve the book she had dropped. "She's right," he said, his face crumpling in disgust. "This book could well be some sort of instruction manual on how to be a Death Eater." The book was snatched from his hand by his twin, who in turn lost it to his sister. Minerva grabbed it off her and threw it onto the desk, looking wary.
"None of us should be reading that," she stated. "The end of the War brought an end to all this Dark Arts rubbish and we shouldn't delve into it. Just because our host has these books doesn't mean that he, or she, is a Death Eater." Despite no longer being their teacher at Hogwarts, she still had the authoritativeness over them and it was clear that her word was final.
Just then a gong sounded and Hodgeson reappeared. "This way," he said pleasantly, leading the way to a door opposite the library; Hermione's thought was right, it was indeed the dining room. The large table was dressed for seven, name cards stating who would sit where. There were cut glass wine glasses, silver cutlery and an impressive table decoration, which seemed to be some sort of cake, decorated with springs of wild flowers and six figurines in a miniature of the table setting.
Ginny shivered.
Once they were seated and had wine served to them from a crystal decanter, Salome reappeared with bowls of lobster bisque, which she daintily placed before them. When all seven plates had been set, the two servants stood back.
"Fred! It's rude to start before the host has arrived!" Ginny wrenched the spoon from her brother's hand, ignoring his scandalised look, and placed it back on the table. "Have the courtesy to wait." Turning to Hodgeson, she smiled. "Will our host be joining us now?" she asked.
Just then there was the sound of approaching feet from above them, then the clunk of men's low Cuban heels on wood as somebody, presumably, their host, descended the stair case. Fred grinned, thrust his napkin into his lap and sat with his hand over his spoon, ready to start the minute their host had sat down. The footsteps reached the base of the staircase and started to cross the parquet towards the dining room.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I apologise for my tardiness."
Fred was suddenly not hungry anymore. Minerva's eyes widened and Draco wheeled around in his seat to see what the fuss was about, his pale face blanching as he recognised the man standing before them, black dress robes swirling around him.
There was no mistaking the greasy tones or greasy hair of Severus Snape, as he made his way to the head of the table and sat, lip curling as he took in the shocked faces of his guests.
"Thank you for waiting," he said nonchalantly, smirking at them all and whipping his napkin into his lap. "Do begin."