The only sound in the room was the tick of a clock somewhere.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick.
Tock.
Hermione fearful eyes met Narcissa's.
She licked her lips, mouth dry, and croaked out the question that was half agonizing, half terrifying: "What- … what do we do now?"
Narcissa's lips had thinned into a white line, and she regarded Hermione for a moment. Even from the distance of a few feet away, Hermione saw the tremble in her hands and the quiver of Narcissa's lip.
She looked aghast.
She looked every bit as terrible as Hermione felt. The cool, icy veneer that Narcissa wore like bulletproof armour was studded with cracks. For a fragile few moments, Hermione could see her in strange dichotomies within: the frightened little girl, the youngest daughter of the House of Black — victim and villain all rolled into one, too timid to stand up to her older sister.
The armour clinked back into place.
"Stay here," she ordered. Her voice was strained and thin, a far cry from the usual sharp clarity that Hermione had come to associate with Narcissa. "I- I need to find something suitable for you to wear," she breathed, more to herself than Hermione.
She was the matriarch of the Malfoy family once more.
Narcissa turned on the spot and stole out of the room, leaving Hermione alone once more.
The second Narcissa was gone, Hermione sank down onto the thickly carpeted floors and took heaving, gulping breaths. Her head was pounding from adrenaline, the rush of it through her veins; the terrifying, dizzying reminder that she was still alive.
She gave a sob that bordered on mania.
Breathing was a privilege and a pleasure in this twisted household.
Hermione took several more gulping, gasping breaths. Breathing the air in deeply, savouring it so — as if it were the finest perfume crafted by Nefertum himself.
When her head had cleared some more and the dizzying, swaying room had stilled, Hermione pulled herself onto shaking feet and shuffled out from the corner. She glanced towards the window.
Night had fallen. The entire day had been stolen from her, ticking by rapidly as she lost herself in the past.
The door clicked open once more, startling Hermione. She jumped and turned immediately towards it again, preparing to back away in case Bellatrix had returned.
Narcissa stood there instead. Held in her arms were a number of long, thin boxes, piled atop one another. She walked briskly over to the bed and deposited the boxes on top and began rifling through them, without looking at Hermione.
Each box had its lid removed and tissue paper folded open neatly, to reveal a gown.
"Get over here, now," Narcissa hissed, snapping her head up to glare at Hermione.
Hermione stumbled over, more shocked than scared, to stand obediently next to Narcissa.
"If I had known Bella would've done this … the brazen audacity, she dares to- … but it's already done," Narcissa muttered to herself as she rifled through the boxes. "Completely appalling—," she pulled a gown out of its box, eyed it critically, and threw it back down. "This night needs to go according to plan for all of our sakes—," another gown was selected, then discarded, "— everything hinges on this. Weeks of planning, the future. Everything."
Narcissa's words came faster and faster. She worked through the boxes quickly and more haphazardly, seeming to grow desperate in her search. What she was looking for became apparent a few moments later, when she wrenched out a gown so forcefully that Hermione heard the tear of delicate silk.
"Oh for fuck's sake," Narcissa trilled. "This is just the cherry on top, isn't it?"
Her voice quavered dangerously. She seemed to notice it herself, for she took a deep, shaking breath, then turned to Hermione.
"Here."
A crumpled bundle of midnight blue silk, so deep and rich that it was nearly black, was shoved into Hermione's hands. She accepted it wordlessly and stared down at it.
"Get dressed in this. Do something about that- that mess of hair, for Merlin's fucking sake," Narcissa sniped. She gestured emphatically at Hermione's curls, face twisted in distaste, then shoved Hermione towards the bathroom connected to her bedroom. Her hands gripped Hermione's shoulders hard enough to hurt.
Hermione stumbled for a second but righted herself, then darted into the bathroom. She was too flustered and nervous to protest — Bellatrix's perfume lingered on her skin still, a ghostly warning.
The girl staring back at her in the mirror looked like another pale ghost that haunted the Malfoy Estate.
Desperately, Hermione flicked the tap on and waited for the water to become steaming hot, then scrubbed hard at her face. She pulled her hair back and smoothed it down as best she could, tying the curls into a low knot at the base of her neck.
When she resurfaced from washing her face, the girl staring back at her in the mirror had more colour in her cheeks.
Her heart pounded as she picked up the silk bundle with shaking hands, letting it unfold and fall naturally.
It had a draped cowl neckline, with asymmetric straps: one thin, the other wide and flowing. The gown was long and fell nearly to the floor, with a high slit on the side.
The thin strap seemed to have been partially ripped by Narcissa in her haste to pull the gown free from the box. Hermione gnawed on her lip as she eyed it, then reached out and carefully knotted it to hide the rip.
She took a steadying breath, then pulled her pajama top off over her head in one movement. Her pants were kicked off next, then the bralette she wore underneath. Standing fully naked (except for a pair of panties), Hermione quickly stepped into the gown and shimmied it up her body.
It fit her perfectly.
The straps pulled smoothly up over her shoulders. Her small chest, which had sometimes been a point of insecurity for her in school, complemented the cowl neckline and emphasized her long neck.
Hermione stared at her own reflection in the mirror, taken aback and suddenly bemused by the strange circumstances.
It was like the Yule Ball all over again: transformed into someone else for an evening.
She tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears and hurriedly stepped out of the bathroom, too nervous to keep Narcissa waiting.
Narcissa's gaze swept down Hermione's form from head to toe, then back again. Her eyes flickered as they lingered on Hermione's neck.
"What is that you're wearing around your neck?" she asked coldly.
Narcissa had evidently recovered from her earlier bout of fear and nerves.
Hermione's fingers jumped to clasp the necklace. She had worn it for so long that she had forgotten it was there.
"Draco gave it to me," she mumbled. "It alerts— … it alerted me, when he needed my services. During the war."
Her words were clumsy and did nothing to ingratiate herself with Narcissa, whose glittering gaze had become even colder if possible.
There was a long moment of silence, before Narcissa spoke again.
"Put the shoes on—," she jerked her head at a pair of matching midnight blue heels in a box upon the bed, "and follow me down."
Hermione hurried forward and sat down upon the bed. She unclasped the tiny buckles on the open-toed heels and began putting them on quickly. When she was done, she stood up and took a tentative step forward.
Her ankle nearly rolled.
"Fucking Merlin, do not embarrass yourself dancing in those," Narcissa hissed. She jerked her head to the door and swept out, waiting impatiently for Hermione to follow her. As they made their way down the marble halls, Hermione could hear the thrum of festive music and cheerful laughter growing louder.
"You will be seated at a table. Eat the food that's served, do not draw attention to yourself. If anyone asks what you're doing here, respond that you were invited to this dinner. Do not make conversation. Do not get up to dance. Do not leave until the party is over, I cannot chance Bellatrix coming looking for you again."
Narcissa kept up the string of rapid instructions the entire way down, voice growing lower and words becoming more hissed and discreet as they drew closer to the entry hall.
When they arrived at the entry hall, Hermione was stunned to see that it had been transformed in its entirety. A massive 20 foot tall Christmas tree sat cozily in one corner like a festive behemoth, piles and piles of presents stacked beneath it. Glittering swathes of silk and chiffon, twisted with glittering strings of fairy lights, swooped down from the ceiling and were strung up along the walls, giving the hall an intimate yet grand feeling. A long formal dining table had been set up on one end of the hall, while half a dozen round tables were situated on the other end. The space in the middle had been left intentionally clear; Hermione guessed by the general size and shape, and thousands of twinkling lights above, that it was to be used for dancing after dinner.
Her eyes skimmed the crowd.
She recognized certain faces from meetings held in the Insurgency's strategy room: wanted posters, of Azkaban prisoners that had escaped. The irony was not lost on her that Narcissa consorted with convicted felons but thought a Muggle-born girl beneath her.
Several pureblood families caught her eye too. Pansy Parkinson seated a few tables away, with a dark haired man and woman that could've only been her parents — the pug nose made that much obvious, Hermione thought with a snort. Crabbe and Goyle seated at another table like two boulders, sandwiched between their pebble families. The guests, much like the hall itself, were decked to the nines: flowing silks, rich crushed velvets, strings of heavy jewels glittered upon the necks of every woman and cuff-links of every man.
Hermione's arm was jerked roughly as Narcissa hooked her own arm around hers and steered her towards a table at the edge of the room, furthest away from the long dining table. A chair was pulled out magically and Hermione shoved into it, before Narcissa turned and swiftly departed. Her sleek white-blond head (hair pulled into an elegant up-do that glittered with magnificent diamonds) was easily visible amongst the tables and seated guests. Hermione watched as Narcissa weaved effortlessly towards the long formal table and sat down next to Lucius, dressed in black dress robes. Lucius tilted his head close to Narcissa and seemed to be asking her something, but she angled herself away from him and brushed him off.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Her eyes scanned the table quickly, suddenly desperate to see.
Off to Narcissa's other side was Bellatrix and whom Hermione could only assume was her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange. She seemed disinterested by the entire affair, yawning lazily and playing with her silverware like a child might. Rodolphus steadfastly ignored his wife; perhaps he was aware that her preferred wasn't him, but their Dark Lord.
An eerie glint of gold caught Hermione's eye as Bellatrix shifted to bring her elbow up upon the table, propping her head in her hand in an obviously bored pose. She squinted hard and then felt her blood chill.
The locket.
Bellatrix was wearing the horcrux. How Hermione hadn't noticed it earlier was beyond her; the detail had been lost in the scuffle, blurred into the background by the very real threat of asphyxiation. The thick, golden locket seemed to reflect light in a way that couldn't have been possible. The room was lit from overhead by thousands of glimmering candles, yet the locket seemed to refract shimmering light from a dozen different angles. If she focused hard, she could almost make out the emerald snake on the locket twisting and moving of its own accord.
A low chill went down Hermione's spine at the realization. Bellatrix wore the locket constantly, now. She could only imagine how demented and disturbed Bellatrix had become, being in such close contact with a Dark object at all times.
Her earlier behaviour made perfect sense now.
The horcrux was eroding what little remained of Bellatrix's sanity, already questionable after a decade in Azkaban. But that meant …
Another thrill shot through Hermione's core, causing her to shiver slightly with anticipation.
Bellatrix was more dangerous now than ever, yet more vulnerable in the same turn.
A dinner party where Bellatrix was suitably distracted, maybe even drunk. It could be the perfect opportunity. If only Hermione had her wand.
If she had anything at all.
She brushed the thoughts away, distracted by movement from the long dining table again. Someone shifted on Lucius's other side and Hermione found her gaze drawn magnetically towards them.
Draco.
Much like Lucius, he was dressed in impeccably crisp, black dress robes. While Lucius looked put-together, it was undeniable that his son was the sharper, younger, and more refined image of Malfoy royalty — a minimalist, pared down version. Draco's hair was slicked back neatly, his skin unblemished by the passage of time. His eyes were sharp as he glanced across the room, realizing that his mother had returned and searching for the cause of the disturbance.
His gaze locked upon Hermione's and she felt that familiar, electrifying thrill course instantly through her.
It had only been an instant, only a glance really, but his silver eyes were dark and intense as they gazed upon her.
Hermione jerked her eyes away. She could feel her face becoming unbearably warm suddenly, and hoped that it wasn't visible from so far away. The cowl neck of her gown, which had draped so loosely only a moment ago, now felt suffocating.
She fanned herself with a trembling hand and gazed wildly around her own table for a distraction.
A few unfamiliar witches and wizards were seated around her, all of them eating and chatting. Hermione could feel their curious gazes upon her and ignored them, instead fumbling with the silverware in front of her.
It seemed that Bellatrix had left before dinner started, and that Narcissa and Hermione had returned once the meal was fully underway. A formal French meal (she supposed the Malfoys never missed an opportunity to show off their heritage) should've included several appetizers, a soup, and fish before the main course, but the slice of filet mignon before her was clearly the main course.
Hermione stared down into the plate, feeling the bittersweet melancholy of nostalgia. She could remember the first meal she shared with Draco in this very home — the rag-tag assortment of snacks and charcuterie.
She reached for her knife and fork, and ate in silence as the room swelled with conversation around her. Through the clink of silver upon porcelain, she caught bits of discussion from the guests at her table.
"I hadn't expected this at all, had you? I mean, I thought she'd died or something, or surely she'd been sent to Azkaban like that sister of hers," a witch laughed quietly from nearby. Her friend gave a gasp of mock outrage. "Careful now, wouldn't want to upset the first family now, would we?"
A derisive snort issued from the first.
"Of course they're clawing their way back up, trying to save face by sucking ass. They're desperate to repair their reputation," she muttered darkly. There was a few moments silence as the woman chewed her food savagely, then swallowed.
"I'm surprised, frankly. I didn't think the son had it in him. Not with that embarrassment for a father," she mused. The friend hummed interestedly and Hermione watched as she strained her neck to peer up at the long formal table.
"I imagine … it must come from his mother," the other woman said thoughtfully. "Talent and insanity, hand-in-hand and such. Rumours about the young one swirled for years; everyone knows about the older sister, of course, but Narcissa … well there's a psychotic bitch if I've ever seen one."
They laughed scornfully and clinked their glasses together.
"But the son … very eligible," the first witch purred. "I'm curious to see what she has planned for tonight."
Hermione's ears pricked.
"Well I thought it must've been the Parkinson girl but her family's seated far away and with the low-hanging fruit … doubtful of that," another witch whispered back. The two women laughed disparagingly at their vicious joke.
Hermione chewed slowly on a bite of steak, waiting to hear more.
"It is a shame, you know. He's good looking enough—," she let out a little giggle, "and made such a name for himself, at such a young age."
The witch sighed for a moment, then eyed her companion slyly.
"Would be a bit of a thrill, wouldn't it? I mean, can you imagine his hands wrapped around your neck — he's killed people with those bare hands, you know."
"Merida! What is wrong with you — not at dinner, you tart," the other witch hissed back in scandalous tones.
A bit of steak fell into her airway and Hermione sputtered for a moment, trying to cough and clear the choking hazard inconspicuously.
The two women stopped immediately and looked sharply at Hermione, suddenly aware that they were not alone. She reached out for the closest liquid available to her, and immediately gulped down a mouthful of drink to ease her coughing.
It was champagne.
The bubbles hit the back of Hermione's throat and made their way up into her nose, stinging as it went.
"Oh my god," one of the witches muttered. "Can you believe this? Classless."
Oh the irony.
"Aren't you that girl? The Mudblood?" the other one called out loudly in Hermione's direction.
Hermione flushed, setting down her champagne flute to meet their eyes.
"I'm a guest of Narcissa's," she responded evenly. It came out in a croak — she hadn't quite recovered from the coughing fit.
One of the witches, a middle-aged blonde, raised her eyebrow. A smirk was evident on her face as she regarded Hermione.
"Mm. Right," she laughed dismissively, ducking in to whisper to her brunette friend. Hermione couldn't make out what was said, but they regarded her with looks of equal parts pity, equal parts derision. The two continued their whispered conversation after; the topic had seemed to stray back to the other guests of the party, as they nudged and jerked their heads at different tables throughout the room.
Hermione turned her eyes back to her food, no longer hungry.
The steak disappeared shortly after and was replaced by a salad, and then a cheese plate. She picked half-heartedly at the food, before giving it up entirely and leaving the dessert fully untouched. As she waited for the meal to dwindle to a close, Hermione couldn't help but let her gaze wander back to the long formal table.
It fell upon Draco once more. She was drawn to him, couldn't seem to keep her eyes off him — he was magnetic.
Hermione watched his beautiful face, aristocratic features twisted in frustration. Draco spoke lowly and forcefully to Lucius, who seemed to be rebuffing him. No words could be discerned through the din of the crowd, but Draco's lips were soon pulled back into a snarl of frustration.
Hermione observed a singular word, clearly mouthed: fuck.
She gnawed her lip nervously before pulling her gaze down the table towards Draco's other side. Two girls that Hermione recognized vaguely from Hogwarts were seated near him, along with their respective parents. She could just make out the girls whispering together, shooting furtive looks at Draco; one of the girls, blonde and slim, seemed to be deeply unhappy. The other, taller and brunette, seemed to be trying to persuade her of something.
Draco ignored them both in favour of trying to speak to Lucius, but his father turned away and pointedly ignored him.
Further down the table were a few more people, that Hermione could only assume were especially prestigious or especially heinous. She didn't care much either way; she simply prayed for the evening to be over quickly.
When the last of the food had disappeared, leaving the plates sparkling and empty, the lights began to dim and gentle music filled the air. Hermione watched with immense relief as guests began to get up and meander towards the dance floor. The gossiping witches left immediately, while the others at her table slowly flocked off, and Hermione found herself alone.
She breathed a quiet sigh of relief and slowly stood up, testing her balance anxiously. The heels gave a slight wobble but her ankles remained steady, and Hermione began to make her way slowly through the edge of the crowd.
The guests were dancing and chatting away merrily. Bits of conversation floated across to Hermione, here and there. She tried hard to listen without being too conspicuous but the music washed away all context like waves lapping at footprints.
Eventually, Hermione gave it up as a bad job and scooped up a flute of champagne and made her way to the back of the room. The dancing was well underway at this point, and she estimated that the evening would wrap up within the next hour or two. Humming tunelessly to herself, Hermione took a small sip of champagne.
"Enjoying yourself, Mudblood?"
Hermione would've screamed in fright if not for the hand that had clamped itself tightly across her mouth. She jumped, however, and the champagne sloshed over the entire front of her dress.
Bellatrix gave a girlish squeal of delight and yanked Hermione close, pressing her front fully into Hermione's back.
"My, my. You sloppy, disgusting filth," Bellatrix whispered in Hermione's ear, breath hot with alcohol. Hermione squirmed as champagne dribbled further down her chest, carving out a rivulet down to her belly button.
"You do look quite fetching, I hope you don't muck up my darling sister's dress with your fetid blood."
Bellatrix reached out a hand and stroked Hermione lovingly across the shoulder, across the nape of her neck, before her hand froze on the strap.
"Oh, you naughty little Mudblood — it appears you already have," she murmured, plucking at the strap which Hermione had hastily knotted in the bathroom. Sometime during the evening, it had become undone — the cloth of the dress sagged slightly, exposing Hermione's shoulder.
She trembled in fear under Bellatrix's touch, nauseous and head spinning. She wanted to bolt; she wanted to flee.
Bile rose in her throat at the feel of Bellatrix's nails, scraping across her skin.
She wanted to puke.
"Go clean yourself up, you little slut," Bellatrix whispered cruelly. "And then … you better come back, because you don't want to miss the fun — do you?"
She gave a final bark of mad laughter before tottering away, swaying slightly to a tune that only she could hear.
Hermione stood there, still for a single moment, before stepping back sharply and fleeing from the room.
Her shoes clicked against the marble floors as she hurtled from the hall, stopping only when she was certain she had gained some distance between her and Bellatrix. Only then did she allow herself to sag bonelessly against the wall, shaking in fear.
Her hands scrabbled at the torn spaghetti strap of her dress and she moaned in frustration. Her fingers shook too much to do anything for it — her nerves were on fire still.
She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on calming the pounding in her head, the wildly bucking rabbit that was her heart.
Hermione didn't know how long she stood there for but eventually, a set of quiet footsteps echoed through the hall. She screwed her eyes up even tighter and pressed against the wall, willing herself to disappear.
"Hermione?"
Her eyes flew open.
Draco stood in front of her, eyes narrowed. His silver gaze took in the damp front of her dress and the torn strap, before landing on her face. Something akin to terror must have shown through, for he grasped her arm to steady her. He reached for his wand, holstered on his forearm beneath the dress robes, and began to mumble incantations immediately.
Hermione could feel the dress dry, straighten and refresh itself. Her shoulder strap was mended shortly after, and her wet hair and face were gently cleaned.
"What happened? What are you doing here, Hermione?" Draco asked urgently, brow furrowed in concern. "You can't be here," he muttered as an afterthought, eyes narrowed.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died on her tongue when she thought of Bellatrix.
But a Gryffindor ferocity burned deep down.
She pivoted and immediately tried again, bringing up both hands to grip the lapels of Draco's dress robes. She yanked him down and he obediently stooped slightly.
"She's wearing the horcrux. She's absolutely fucking plastered, Draco. This is our chance. This is- this is my chance. Please, please get me my wand," Hermione whispered urgently.
Her words were uttered with the fever of hate and determination. Her face felt warm and flushed already, as she stood back to gaze eagerly into Draco's eyes.
His expression was frozen.
"We could- … I don't know, duel her. Overwhelm her. She's incapacitated, Draco. We could do it," Hermione continued on, gesturing wildly with her hands. "It's perfect, it's the perfect time for it-"
"We can't do anything," Draco cut her off swiftly.
It was Hermione's turn to freeze.
"There's a hundred guests here. Nearly every Death Eater in the Dark Lord's army. Dozens of people, trained in combat."
His voice was ice cold as he regarded her. "And even if I did duel her and destroy the horcrux, what then? What about me? What about my family? Her death would not go unnoticed, Granger, and-"
Draco took a shuddering breath, looking away. He ran a tired, frustrated hand through his hair and pushed it back.
"This isn't a good time, Hermione. Go back to your room. Please."
It stung.
Hermione bit her lip to swallow back the hurt that had suddenly stabbed into her.
"I- I can't go back to my room," she retorted stubbornly. "Bellatrix- she won't leave me alone. She wants me there at the party."
Draco whirled around, face pale.
"What does she want with you?" he asked. "What does-"
He broke off suddenly.
They both heard it.
"Draco! Draco, darling, where are youuu?"
Bellatrix's shrieking, dog-whistle of a call from further down the hall. It seemed to be getting louder; coming closer.
Instantly, Draco grabbed Hermione by the arm and shoved her behind him. Within seconds, Bellatrix had meandered down the hall, swaying and laughing shrilly.
"Draco! There you are, dear. Narcissa needs you back at the party and- oh my. Oh my, Draco. What is this?" Bellatrix squealed, trying to dart around Draco to tug Hermione out.
"She wasn't feeling well. She came out for air, I came with her to make sure she wasn't going to attempt an escape," Draco lied cooly, nudging Hermione further back behind him. Hermione squeaked in surprise as she found herself nearly crushed against the wall by his broad back.
"Oh the poor thing … maybe we should put her out of her misery then, hmm?" Bellatrix crooned. Her wand was whipped out instantly. Hermione could only watch helplessly as it danced in her vision, inches from her face.
"That won't be necessary, Aunt Bella," Draco drawled. "The Dark Lord is quite keen on keeping her alive. I'm sure he has uses for her, plans and such."
Bellatrix pouted and sighed dramatically, blinking up at Draco from under her lashes.
"Well, if you say so," she murmured in obvious disappointment. The wand was sheathed once more; Hermione watched it disappear down the front of Bellatrix's low-cut dress, between her breasts.
"Back to the party then, Draco. Your mother is waiting for you," Bellatrix said in a suddenly hard voice. Her hand reached out and yanked Hermione's arm hard, applying enough force for Hermione to give a scream of pain.
"I want to make sure this one comes back with us," Bellatrix whispered sweetly, turning and dragging Hermione along.
All Hermione could do was give Draco one last worried, pleading look, before she was dragged away bodily by Bellatrix.
His face was white as he stared.
Bellatrix yanked Hermione back into the hall and steered her into her seat once more. A few startled guests shot quizzical looks at them, but for the most part, their re-entry was quiet.
"Now, you stay right here for the rest of the evening, right where I can see you, Mudblood," Bellatrix whispered as she stood, hands massaging Hermione's neck sensually. "I don't want you going anywhere — capiche?"
She gave a hard, bruising squeeze of Hermione's neck for emphasis. Hermione choked and nodded quickly, trying to pry Bellatrix's fingers off.
"Good, good," Bellatrix crooned.
She gave Hermione's cheek a single stroke before slinking back into the dancing crowd, leaving Hermione alone.
Hermione sat still for the rest of the evening, too terrified to move. Occasionally, she saw Bellatrix darting in and out of the dance floor. All she could do from her vantage spot was to nervously observe the guests.
She watched as Narcissa and Lucius danced a few times; stiffly and quickly, out of pure obligation. There was little emotion or tenderness on Narcissa's face. Lucius, however, seemed pained — his jaw hard, his movements sharp.
Slowly, the evening began to wind down. Hermione watched as the guests slowed and scattered back to their tables to rest and sip water. The music grew quieter and faded, and then Narcissa stood up from her position at the long formal table.
The lights in the entire room dimmed, and a spotlight seemed to shine on Narcissa. Under the bright, shimmering lights, Hermione could suddenly see a Narcissa of twenty years ago.
Gone was the stress, the weariness, the fear.
Narcissa looked beautiful in her icy-blue gown. A few stray curls had fallen out of her up-do, but rather than make her look sloppy, they seemed to emphasize her careless beauty.
"I would like to thank everyone so much for joining us tonight on this wonderful, blessed Yuletide. I am so grateful, so appreciative — from my family to yours. Lucius, myself, and our son Draco; we thank you from the bottom of our hearts."
The crowd clapped politely and Narcissa smiled graciously, indicating her husband and her son. The previous tension that rolled off Draco and Lucius in waves had evaporated under the intense focus of the spotlight; they smiled their cold, detached, aristocratic smiles and waved carelessly to the crowd, as if there was nothing wrong in their world.
The perfect, picturesque pureblood family.
Narcissa turned back to the crowd, hands clasped in front of her, and waited for their clapping to stop. Once it did, she began to speak again. Her voice carried, crystal clear and musical, throughout the entire room. She did not need a magical microphone.
She commanded the room.
"I would also like to announce the most thrilling, exciting news to you all tonight, and I hope you will join me in celebration: the Malfoy and Greengrass families are to be formally joined, through the union of our children. My son, Draco Malfoy, is engaged to be wed to Daphne Greengrass."
Narcissa smiled graciously around at the crowd as the clapping started once more, much louder this time. Lucius clapped lazily along with them.
The slim blonde girl seated next to Draco smiled elegantly at the crowd, showing a set of beautiful, perfectly straight teeth. Then, she turned and closed her eyes, dipping in close to Draco.
He turned obediently, expression blank, and pressed a chaste kiss to Daphne's lips.
The room exploded in applause and cheers.
Hermione felt the visceral explosion of agony as her heart tore in two.