A/N: A couple of guest commenters have asked me about the phrase "The Sport of Kings" and because I can't reply directly, I'm popping my reply up here.
Mostly I chose it because it sounds like a great title for a story and because of it's very old connection with the Season in Britain, which most of the story revolves around.
But, here are a couple of quickly googled facts about that particular phrase and it's specific connection to polo:
- Many different sports can be rightly considered the sport of kings. It's a proverbial phrase for hunting and (now, most usually) horse-racing, falconry, polo and tennis, as well as other hunting-related sports.
- Polo originated in Persia as both training for war for the Persian Empire's army cavalry and then as a sport sometime between 600 B.C. and 100 A.D. The war game is one of the oldest recorded sports in history and is called the Sport of Kings because it became the national sport of Persian nobility.
- Polo has since been called "the sport of kings", and has become a spectator sport for equestrians and high society in many countries, often supported by sponsorships. The most dominant nations in polo today are Argentina, USA and Britain, where the polo scene and industry are both thriving.
- Golf is sometimes known as the game of kings.
I hope this answers any questions you might have.
Enjoy
HBSJ
Chapter 26
Chestertons Polo in the Park was a proper ton event.
An event of the Season.
A day when all of the glitterati would descend on a small patch of grass in London, wearing the finest of couture outfits to show off their status and wealth to others.
However, there were levels of attendees.
Up to a certain point, you could buy yourself access to the ever-exclusive pavilions of the event through enough money, influence or both. This included the team owners and many of the so-called nouveau riche with plenty of money to spare but without the aristocratic titles of old.
They had access to a sumptuous pavilion with all of the luxury items from the sponsors readily available and all the Michelin chef prepared food you could eat accompanied by deliciously crisp champagne.
However…
The members of the royal family were not in that pavilion.
Which made the Royal Pavilion the place to be.
In this pavilion, King Regulus II and his Queen Cerellia had arrived to watch their sons play the Sport of Kings and, as whispered by the king with a hearty laugh to all who were near him, to trounce their opponents.
The Prince of Wales, Phineas Orion and his younger brother, Prince Regulus Arcturus were much sought after as they were both single, officially at least.
Draco watched his two cousins, they were swarmed by an outrageous number of ladies as they walked towards their ponies and they both took it completely in stride. They smiled, posed in pictures, and shook hands as they slowly moved towards the rest of their team.
Draco loathed the attention he got for being the heir to the dukedom and the swarms of ladies vying for his attention when he went anywhere and being here, with his cousins taking most of the attention, he felt free.
Free to enjoy the day and focus on the matches they were in for that day. And free to focus on what he wanted.
Three games would be played that day by four different teams. The first two games would have a winner and a loser. The third game would set the two winners head-to-head to determine the winner of the day. On Sunday, the winner from Saturday would then meet the winner from Friday in the finale.
The Argentinian team that had won the Friday games had been invited to join the Royal Pavilion and they were currently enjoying rubbing their elbows with the crème de la crème of British Aristocracy.
Draco was sipping champagne from a flute and was free to watch the goings on around him. In particular, he was watching Hermione.
She was giving him the cold shoulder entirely, choosing to focus her time with her brother, Astoria and Ginny.
All of his friends had tried to get him to snap out of it but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what the hell he'd done wrong!
According to Pansy it was simple because he could be an arse, so he'd probably been an arse.
According to Theo, he must've insulted her at some point. That was usual in his experience anyway. But also according to Theo, there was no need to apologize, women rarely took it well in his opinion.
According to Harry he just needed to apologize for whatever he'd done wrong and grovel a bit too. Because, in Harry's words, he'd never find anyone like Hermione again. He couldn't much argue with that.
According to Daphne he should face her head on. Find out what had happened and then fix it. Stop being a coward.
And finally, according to Blaise he should integrate himself with her brother. Perhaps the man might know something.
And that actually wasn't a bad plan, he could definitely see its merits. The problem was however, that Hermione didn't seem to stray far from her brother. And he knew her well enough by now to know that she would not appreciate his subterfuge.
Damn.
Daphne, despite her luxurious upbringing, had never been invited to a Royal Pavilion before.
Her family lived in a massively old and massively large castle and they were rich but it was boring. Her parents weren't socialites. They preferred to keep to themselves and tend to their estate and tenants, which were all admirable but it had left her and Astoria rather isolated.
Pansy had burst into her life at school and she was a force of nature. Equally fierce, terrifying, protective and loving. And she had been her dearest friend since they were twelve.
And then she had tried to make a relationship with Theo work to no avail. They'd been sweethearts when they were younger and they were tumultuous together. On and off, hot and cold. It was frustrating and at the end of it, she wasn't sure if she actually wanted this type of stormy relationship at all. Her parents loved each other with quiet and steady devotion, and she wanted the same. She was sick and tired of all of the drama.
She had escaped the crush of people and the blistering heat in the pavilion for the cool shade behind the tents. No one were around and she could breathe.
It was early afternoon and the second game of the day had just finished but she hadn't paid much attention. She was too tired from the exhausting night before.
The fact that Harry was going to be an Earl seemed so odd. He was so… normal.
She'd been wondering if she should go for someone normal instead of someone like Theo. Someone she could be happy with, content and enjoy life. Someone without drama. She didn't want to go to these endless seasonal events where everyone sucked up to her because she was the daughter of a duke.
And was money really that important? Or aristocratic status? Perhaps it was stupid of her to think that way. Being privileged the way she was, she'd never known what it was like to struggle.
She eyed the other pavilion where those with money but without a specific invitation were gathered, where most of the Swarovski crystals bounced the light around. Some of those people had at some point in their lives struggled. And overcome their struggles presumably.
But in general, they seemed to be so focused on money. And sex.
And was it really that important?
She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't notice a couple of the polo players walking past her. The last one had his laces undone and just when he'd given her a generic hello, he took two steps and then fell flat on his face.
She whirled around and tried valiantly to hide her smile as she hurried over to help him up.
But he stayed on the ground laughing and she couldn't stop her own mirth from bubbling up too. Soon enough they were laughing together while she tried and failed to help him to his feet several times.
When he was finally upright again, she sobered when she realized how large he was. He absolutely dwarfed her.
"Sorry about that,-" He said as he tried to brush himself off. "-I can usually manage to stay on my own two feet." He chuckled.
She blinked, his tone of voice was a bit rough. She liked that. "Are you okay?"
He grinned. "Of course, I have a lovely maiden to help me out, don't !?" He winked.
She blushed. He was handsome. He had short dark brown hair that was slightly curly at the ends, bright blue eyes and a body built for the sport he played. And she found herself tongue-tied around him. Something she usually never was around men.
She stared into his eyes, they were beautiful.
He was the one to break the silence. "I'm Regulus by the way." He seemed wholesome in a rugged sort of way in his grass-stained white clothes.
She shook his hand. "Daphne Greengrass, nice to meet you." Her voice almost didn't shake.
Where was her usual confidence around men? With this man she was just stumped.
His smile was breathtaking. "So good to meet you too. I hope you were rooting for our team?"
She grinned. "Honestly? I wasn't paying much attention to the games." She would have noticed this man.
He donned a mock-affronted face. "I'm shocked! What do I have to do win your allegiance my lady?" He joked.
She couldn't seem to remove that dumb grin from her face. "Oh, I'm not that difficult to win over, really."
He stepped closer ever so slightly. "Are you just getting my hopes up?" His voice had deepened, turning their conversation in a very different direction.
She smirked. "Well, it depends on who's trying to convince me."
He looked at her properly. "And will you be staying for the final game Lady Daphne?"
Her stomach swooped a tiny bit. "How do you know who I am?"
He winked again. "I know just about everyone. The last name Greengrass and the access to this particular pavilion, you must be the eldest daughter of The Duke of Scarborough."
She raised her brows. "Very impressive. Do you sleep with your Debrett's?"
He laughed. "I practically had to for a while there. How about you?"
She shrugged. "Of course. But there aren't any pictures in Debrett's."
Now it was his turn to raise his brows. "So, you don't know who I am?"
"Should I?" She didn't, but he did seem familiar.
A man was walking towards them. "Reg, are you coming?" He looked very much like Regulus, but she knew who this man was. He was the fucking Prince of Wales. The heir to the throne.
Looking between them, Regulus, no Prince Regulus, the younger brother to the Prince of Wales, saw the exact moment she realized who he was.
She blinked.
Her heart started hammering like crazy.
The first real interaction she'd had with a man besides Theo for years and he's a bloody prince. A man so deep in drama and attention that it was almost laughable.
Just her damn luck.
She wanted to roll her eyes at herself. Of course there was something wrong with this man too. Couldn't he just be normal?
The two men spoke briefly while she was just standing there staring at them like a crazy person.
She wanted to run but her legs refused to cooperate.
The Prince of Wales left them alone again and the younger prince's expression was unreadable.
She didn't know what to say. "Am I supposed to curtsy to you?" She blurted out but it felt like a genuine question.
He shook his head. "No, well… technically yes, but instead you could give me your number?"
She sighed. "I could. But I'm not going to."
A small frown marred his beautiful face. "Why not?"
"You're a prince. I'm nowhere near perfect and I really don't want to be dragged through the mud by the press." It was the most rational explanation she could come up with. But she might endure it for this man.
He searched her face for something and looked a bit smug when he seemed to find it. "What if I could find your number anyway?"
That made her heart skip a beat and she quirked a small smile. "Perhaps I'll consider speaking with you then."
He smirked, looking more handsome than ever. "In that case, it was especially lovely speaking with you Lady Daphne. I hope to see you again soon." He took her hand and kissed it swiftly before striding away without a backwards look.
It might've been her imagination, but a shock of something zinged through her when his lips touched her skin.
Oh my.
Cho Chang, very important woman of the world, was watching the privileged few ooze and schmooze in the area where even she couldn't get a ticket.
It didn't matter who she knew or how much damned money she threw at them, she would never get inside those fucking red velvet ropes keeping the rich riff-raff away from the aristocrats of Britain.
She'd been looked down upon when she had ventured to the entrance by a snooty waitress, who had informed her haughtily that that particular area was "invites only".
She had been turned away.
At any event, money and influence could get her to exactly where she needed to be.
Condé Nast was extremely well-known and just a hint of where she worked and what she did was enough pretty much anywhere. Front row seats at fashion shows, a table at the Met Ball, invites to the Vanity Fair Oscars after party, tables at the most sought-after restaurants, even attendance at tea with the King and Queen.
But this fucking event had their own fucking rules and she narrowed her eyes at that pale blond hair she would recognize anywhere.
By her orders, Rita had begun her work early in the day, befriending some of the waiters working inside those infuriating ropes.
She glared at them all in there, hoping it would set their fuzzy little heads on fucking fire.
Someone bumped into her and she scowled.
"I do apologize,-" A handsome man with a soft cultured voice said. "-I did not see you there."
She was startled to realize that she knew who he was. Tom Riddle, entrepreneur and husband to Lady Bellatrix Black, now Riddle, who was practically a part of the royal family.
Cho immediately softened her sharp reaction to the handsome man before her.
He was tall, dark-haired and his dark eyes were sharp, as if he saw everything and appraised it for its value to his personal purposes.
She shivered, she could recognize a kindred spirit when she saw one.
"It is quite alright sir."
He smirked deliciously. "I'm afraid I have the disadvantage of not knowing your name, beautiful stranger."
She almost blushed at his practised flirtation but instead she held out her hand daintily. "Cho Chang, Chief Content Officer of Condé Nast International, pleased to make your acquaintance." It was common for her to use her title in introductions. It was a way to both impress and warn new acquaintances of her power.
His smirk widened slightly as he kissed and held her hand slightly longer than necessary. "The pleasure is all mine miss Chang. I am Tom Riddle, owner of the Riddle Polo Team playing in the second match today."
She raised her brows, she had not known that. "So exciting to meet you mr. Riddle."
"Oh please, call me Tom." He said genially but she could detect an undercurrent of something there.
"Then you must call me Cho, Tom." She simpered.
He smiled tightly and turned fully towards her. "I feel like I know you from somewhere. Are you famous perhaps?" His question sounded innocent, but she had a feeling he was asking her something else too.
She decided to keep her flirty façade and smiled coquettishly. "Well, I'm not sure about famous, but I have been known to sit in the front row at runway shows and perhaps even grace the magazines now and then." Of course she was, any designer who slighted her in even the most insignificant of ways would be ruined, and any of their own magazines that didn't mention her at all, would soon find themselves with new management. It was a testament to the power she wielded and she was certainly not afraid to use it.
They spent the next part of ten minutes speaking before he was called away.
But this man was intriguing. And she appreciated the air of power that seemed to swirl around him.
And where was his wife?
There was a commotion across the lawn as an immaculately dressed gentleman with a silver encrusted cane made his way calmly towards the Royal Pavilion. His long silvery white hair shone in the sunlight and he carried himself like a king.
He looked entirely unruffled by all of the attention and held his head high above the crowd.
The most illustrious Duke of Dartmoor, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy had deigned to arrive at the prestigious event. Late, but that also meant that he was making and entrance.
Every person in the Royal Pavilion moved out of the way from the Duke's advance towards the King and Queen, who were perched on elaborate chairs placed on a slightly raised platform.
The king himself rose to greet the man jovially. An honour he had only bestowed to one other attending the polo match, the son of the very Duke who had just arrived, the Marquess of Bantham, Lord Draco Malfoy.
He slowly made his way around the pavilion, smiling tightly and making platitudes and small talk here and there. It felt easier to watch the elder Malfoy than his son.
When he had spoken to practically the entirety of the pavilion, he came to where Hermione was standing, he inclined his head slightly and smiled. At least, it looked like a smile. It could be a grimace but she was uncertain.
"Miss Granger, a word if you please?" His drawling voice broke into her reverie. He didn't sound angry but it was hard to tell with the Malfoys.
She nodded. "Of course Your Grace."
"It's Lucius, please." He waved off her attempt at formality. "I fear there may have been a misunderstanding and I would like to clear that up swiftly and efficiently."
She nodded again, still not understanding what he actually wanted from her.
"You see, my son is quite atrocious at communication, as I can be at times according to my duchess." He gave a very small self-depreciating smile. "However, I am determined to stomp on these fanciful threats that have been made and I was hoping for your assistance. You are, after all, family through young Lord Potter, are you not?" His eyes twinkled with some unspoken words.
Family?
Was that not exactly what he had dismissed her as not being that day in his study? As her being expendable?
Was he setting her up?
She looked at him, really looked.
He was so formidable that she hadn't really let her gaze linger on the man before today.
And he looked… delighted to be there speaking with her. As if her answer had some deeper meaning to him than to her.
What did he know?
"I'm not really family. We are not related." She finally said.
"A bond does not have to be forged from blood alone miss Granger." He sounded wiser than his years. "That makes you my family too." He seemed entirely sincere.
She was frozen, wondering if she was seeing and hearing things. But he was obviously expecting and answer from her.
"Thank you, sir." It was all she could come up with.
She would have to ponder this later.
"And so, we come to my point."
She nodded, feeling a bit like a deer caught in headlights. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Draco speaking intensely with Will and Astoria while watching her speak with his father.
"I may or may not have heard of your-" He hesitated. "-experience with a mr. Tom Riddle."
Her eyes widened. "You did?" Her voice had gotten pitchy.
"I have." He said and briskly continued. "There is however, a little something I believe that we can do about it. If you would indulge me in a little bit of a charade this afternoon."
Hermione nodded. Of course she would help him to take down Riddle.
She might not know him well, but she knew his son and his expression was entirely genuine. As far as she knew anyway. And also, despite having been almost driven to violence towards his son just the evening prior, she would do what she could to help him and help them all of them if she could.
"As you may know, mr. Riddle owns a polo team that will be competing today."
She nodded, she knew that and she had cringed when she found out that he would be here today.
"Therefore he will be at the pavilion over there." He pointed to the pavilion with all of the rich people without invitation to the Royal Pavilion oozed and schmoozed.
"I have this small microphone I would like you to plant on him, if at all possible. Preferebly in a pocket of some sort. It will dissolve in the wash. I have five and will be recruiting others for the same task, so if you are not successful, do not worry."
He held out his hand in covert gesture and took hers. Therein he placed two of the microphones. "The other microphone could be placed on either miss Rita Skeeter or miss Cho Chang. They are not family, if you understand me." Again he was trying to convey something vital.
He continued. "I believe this is a perfectly accepted excuse for you to converse with mr. Riddle." He gave her the extravagant tennis bracelet she had received what felt like months ago, but in reality it was only weeks. She thought she'd lost it after dropping it on the floor of the stables at Dartmoor.
She took it and nodded. "I'll see what I can do."
"That is all I ask miss Granger." He nodded.
She smiled. "Hermione, please."
He squeezed her hand. "Of course, Hermione. And I should say that the duchess sends her regards."
What was she supposed to say to that? "Thank you."
He nodded again and then strode off as imperiously as he had arrived leaving her a bit shell shocked and holding a bracelet worth thousands of pounds that she didn't really want.
Hermione was stressed to the point of hysteria.
She had been given a task by the Duke of Dartmoor and it sounded rather important.
She was fiddling with the tennis bracelet in her pocket because of course her dress had pockets. She'd actually heard once that pockets were removed from womens pockets because they would use pockets to hide witchery. Witchcraft would have been helpful.
Draco was watching her like a hawk and in a desperate attempt to stay sane, she had glued herself to Will and Astoria's side to ensure that he didn't approach her.
She didn't know what to think.
He had said one thing to her, yet another to his father.
And his father had been so… familiar with her. Almost bordering on happy to speak with her.
And still, she was being approached at random intervals by people who either knew her dad or Will and they all wanted to speak with her too. A couple even mentioned that her mum had informed them that she was still single.
She ground her teeth.
She loved her mum, she really did. But she also felt like hurling something at her at times.
Deep in her too erratic thoughts, it took her a moment to notice that her phone was ringing.
She frowned when she saw who it was, but she picked up anyway. "Hi."
"Hermione! So happy to hear your voice. What are you doing?" It was Ron, being his overenthusiastic yet surly self.
"I'm at a polo event, what about you?" She didn't really want to get into it all with him.
"I know, I can see you." He sounded smug.
"What?" She looked up and sure enough, he was standing over by the railing in the other pavilion waving at her.
Next to her, Will saw what she was looking at. "What's Ron doing here?"
She shrugged, genuine baffled. Ron hated these kinds of events as much as she did. "No idea."
Ron grinned from across the space between them. "A friend invited me, said I should give you a ring."
This stumped her. All of the people they both knew was their mutual childhood friends and his and her family. "Who's you friend?" She was suspicious already.
"Come on over, you can meet her." He said jovially.
Hermione and the rest of their party had been given a wristband to make sure that they could move freely between the pavilions so of course she'd go and say hi.
And this gave her the perfect opportunity for her other reason to go to this pavilion in particular.
Ron was practically bouncing on the spot as she was walking towards him, and she wanted to roll her eyes but he was so touchy that he'd probably take offence.
He hugged her tightly, tighter than he would normally but she didn't react, he'd surprised her.
They chatted for a bit and then…
"Oh! Here she is now." He grinned and gestured behind her.
She turned and saw who it was.
…the other shoe dropped.
Rita Skeeter.
Mistakes-be-damned-journalist-extraordinaire.
She sauntered up to them, looking exceedingly pleased with herself and Hermione was instantly wary. With everything she knew about her, Hermione got a distinctly bad feeling.
What the hell was she up to? And why had she and Ron become friends?
But… this also made her task much easier.
Rita was dressed in an overlarge pink confection of a cocktail dress with pockets on both sides at the front and at the back with her doll-like ringlet hair looking like it had been set with at least two cans of hairspray. On its own, the dress was lovely but the way she wore it, she looked like someone who was trying way too hard to fit in with the ton.
It was almost too easy.
Rita simpered and complimented Hermione in her snide and rather rude signature style and Hermione thanked her graciously. All Hermione had to do, was compliment her style of dress, touch the top of one pocket to feel the fabric and, as she did so, slide the tiny button-sized microphone in there.
The pockets weren't there for practicality, they were there to make some sort of fashion statement. What they were saying however, was entirely lost on Hermione.
And Ron was entirely oblivious as to how tense she was. As usual.
He seemed to be all too happy to attend such a prestigious and fancy event as Chestertons Polo in the Park and was incessantly tweeting about it, taking pictures for Instagram and making videos for TikTok. He even tried to include her in some of it, but she quickly ducked out of the way.
Hermione felt very happy in that moment that she wasn't especially attached to her phone.
Rita tried to wheedle several pieces of information out of her about her time at Dartmoor, her brother and especially Draco, but Hermione was no longer new at this. She answered without answering and turned the questions back to Rita without even breaking a sweat.
She was feeling entirely vindicated from their last 'conversation' at Epsom Derby when Rita had caught her completely out because this time, she held her own.
With her head held high and thrilled that she had completed one of her tasks for the duke, she walked around the pavilion in search of Riddle.
When the crowd was moving towards the pitch to watch the next game, she spotted Tom Riddle gesturing angrily to a couple of polo players dressed in white pants and dark green tops with black and silver details.
She squared her shoulders and walked towards him.
He spotted her when she was about thirty feet from him, and his gaze took her in with a predatorial glint that almost made her gag.
"Hermione Granger, such beauty, such elegance. To what do I owe this immaculate pleasure?" He kissed both of her cheeks just a smidgen too long and held on to her waist just a bit too tight.
Now that she knew about him, thanks to Harry, she noticed all of those little creepy tells that she had been oblivious to before.
"Mr. Riddle,-" she said formally. "I've come to return your generous gift. I thank you, but I cannot take this." She dropped it in his hand.
He frowned and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "May I ask why?"
She blinked. She had not expected him to question this. "Because you are a married man! Is that not reason enough?"
"I could divorce. My wife has turned out rather boring." He said callously.
She shook her head. "Again, thank you but I am uninterested."
He huffed out a breath, sounding much more angry than the blank mask that now covered his face. "Can I at least have a hug then?"
It was an outrageous request in front of the entirety of the ton and even though most were occupied with the game, which she actually wanted to see too, some of them were watching their interaction curiously. Especially Rita Skeeter.
She shook her head. "No."
"A handshake then?"
She considered it briefly. She really didn't want to touch him at all but she had been taught to not be as abominably rude as he had been towards her.
She held out her hand and, before she even realized what had happened, he had pulled her forcefully into a too-tight hug.
She squirmed to get away from him but she kept her head and in the struggle, she actually managed to sneak the microphone into his back pocket just before her knee connected with his groin.
He groaned gutturally while hands yanked her away from Riddle and a familiar voice asked, "Are you okay?"
She knew that voice. "Neville?"
Another man, someone she faintly recognized, was currently berating Riddle for his inappropriate and uncouth behaviour.
"Yeah, I'm here with Mark today. We thought it was weird that you were talking to that man for so long and came closer. Good thing we did though. He's a right creep."
She nodded and smiled as the other man walked up. He had a grim expression. "Apologies my lady, we did not mean to startle you."
He bent over her hand elegantly. "Lord Mark Bulstrode, at your service."
She giggled, actually giggled. "Thank you my lords, for rescuing me so gallantly."
They both grinned and Lord Bulstrode said in a deep voice, "Call me Mark, please."
Neville was a friend of hers and Harry. His grandmother was a formidable woman and she got along with Hermione's mother like a house on fire. Whenever they visited, they had always stayed at least a couple of days and it had turned into a small house party when Sirius and Harry joined them too.
They walked towards the Royal Pavilion together and Ginny was running towards them. "Hermione, what happened? I saw some of it but…" and then silence.
She was looking at Mark as if he was an angel sent from the heavens and he looked at her just the same. Hermione watched agape. No one had ever made Ginny turn mute before.
She looked briefly at Mark. He was a rugged sort, built a bit like a brick, but handsome none the less.
He silently held out his arm to Ginny and she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. They gazed mesmerized into each other's eyes and Hermione almost felt like she was intruding on something. They walked together to the Royal Pavilion across the stretch of grass and entirely ignored both Hermione and Neville.
Neville grinned and loudly tsk'ed at them and smiled at Hermione when he held out his arm to her too. She took it and behind the two of them, they made their way to the entrance of the pavilion.
Neville and Mark however, didn't have the right wristbands to get in. The hostess was kind but firm in her rejection.
Draco had spotted them from far away and was waiting for them at the entrance. He shook his head at the waitress and excused himself for a moment.
She shrugged and chatted a bit more with Neville, talking about the fascinating apprenticeship he was doing at a fashionable and very modern tailor in Saville Row, Ollivander's it was called. She laughed at his tales of the old owner who refused to retire, despite his advanced years.
Ginny, who had now regained the ability to speak, was talking a mile a minute at Mark, who was watching her in wonder.
It didn't take long, but suddenly all doors were open for Neville and Mark and they were escorted into pavilion by the hostess, who led them directly to the King and Queen. Hermione and Ginny followed the procession and hung back but were both intrigued by the interaction and Hermione noticed Draco standing just a few steps away from the King.
The King jovially greeted them both and made a joke that if he wasn't so lucky to have his darling wife, he would've snatched up Neville's grandmother just because she was such a formidable woman. Neville laughed awkwardly with the King.
The Queen however, took an interest in Mark. Lady Millicent Bulstrode had been presented to the Queen and court, but Lord Mark Bulstrode had not.
Ginny reacted in a way that Hermione reckoned was entirely out of her character. She didn't explode, she didn't yell, she didn't react at all except to listen to the conversation.
Draco watched her intensely and she squirmed under his gaze.
He subtly jerked his head towards the back of the pavilion and she nodded as subtly as possible.
When she met him there, he seemed oddly tense. "Are you alright?
She was puzzled. Was that all he wanted? "Yes, why wouldn't I be?"
He frowned, looking almost angry. "You were literally just assaulted by a predator, Hermione."
"Oh, right! Well I did managed to knee his bits, so it is quite possible he won't be doing that again."
His relief was palpable. "Oh thank the lord."
She stepped closer to him, and his eyes widened a fraction. "Were you worried about me Draco?"
"Of course! Hermione, I am worried whenever you aren't near me for fucks sake!" He whisper-shouted at her to avoid attracting attention.
Her heart stuttered a bit. How much she wanted him to want her.
It was so irrational but he was everything.
They stared at each other in a sort of wonder. Neither of them spoke.
And it could have been hours as they just stood there looking at each other.
"You're both here? Excellent." They were interrupted by the Duke himself, Lucius Malfoy.
They turned to look at the man and none of them answered his question.
The Duke rolled his eyes at them. "Right. Follow me, you two." And he led them out the back of the pavilion.
A/N: Please don't forget to follow, fave and review!
HBSJ