Anti-litigation charm; JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter Universe, to her we bow. Warner Brothers and Various Publishers also have their own rights. We are just playing in their backyard and we promise to clean up when we have finished.
This is in response to the REGENCY CHALLENGE on WIKTT.
This is DEFINITELY AU and Non HBP compliant.
Now on with the story:
Chapter Twelve: Invitations.
The tone of utter incredulity set Miss Granger's teeth on edge; how dare the pompous peer sound so shocked that a young pink of the ton could be Harold T Goodson? Did it upset his sensibilities that the new light in potions wasn't some used up, old, second or third son? Her assumed demeanour of a servile young man fell away as she felt her temper rising. Her hands began to involuntarily clenching at her sides with the desire to plant him a facer rather strongly ruling her, and if weren't for the fact that her reach would have fallen well short of the mark, she might have tried. Good manners bred into since her nursery days prevented such abominable behaviour; rather, she said in tones that would freeze mercury, "And what if I am, Sir? I do not remember having given you leave to play free with my name."
The lord standing beside her wisely took a step back, fearing momentarily for his cravat; he'd seen that look of righteous anger on many a young pup standing up at Filch's for the first time, generally just before someone's claret began to flow. "Forgive me, young sir," he said in a conciliatory tone, a major concession given the difference in rank of the two people in conversation, "it is just that those who study potions tend to be elder men."
The fact that he put more emphasis on the word man than truly necessary escaped Miss Granger's notice entirely. She was flushed with mortification: she had just snapped and snarled at a peer of the realm, something that not so long ago would have had her dragged off the tower without so much as a by you leave. "No Sir, forgive me," Miss Granger said bowing her head in supplication "my temper has always been chancy."
"Then let us not concern ourselves with such things any further, but rather with the disposition of that rather large collection of tomes you have at your feet," the Lord said with genial politeness as he nodded to the rather impressive pile in Miss Granger's vicinity.
Looking down, Miss Granger realised the size of her current dilemma. If it had been only one or two books she could have carried them with her, but the sheer number precluded that option and to make matters worse she was currently in company of a man to whom her address at Conduit Street was known.
"I have my curricle outside," the Lord was saying as she surveyed the pile ruefully. "I would be happy to be of assistance in transporting those," here he waved his elegant hand at the books, "to your place of residence."
To her place of residence, there was no way she could allow the Earl to escort her, and her books, back to Conduit Street! Apart from the sheer scale of the scandal that would result if such action was followed through, there was the horror of subjecting the poor man to the Dursley's company; a thing she now considered so abhorrent she would not even consider inflicting them on her worst enemy, let alone the Lord of Potions.
Luckily, her father kept the townhouse open; his men of business using it constantly. She just had to hope that Rubeus Hagrid, the keeper of the House, would not be too scandalised when she appeared clad as she was, with a Lord in tow.
Payment was duly organised for the books she wished to purchase. 'There goes this quarter day's allowance', she thought as she pressed galleons and knuts into the hand of Mr Blotts. She was mildly disturbed to note the look of askance the storekeeper shot in her direction when she asked him to tally her purchases; she was even more shocked when her companion, who had obviously noted the look as well, leaned down and conveyed to her the fact that Mr Blotts was probably shocked since very few men of the ton, pinks or otherwise, settled their bills with any alacrity.
The Dowager Duchess was shown into the parlour by an obsequious Baron Dursely. The Duchess, though her general good manners precluded such considerations, was privately wondering if a snake could actually slide under the man's belly, the man's fawning and scrapping was beyond the pale. The Duchess was ready to believe that Dursley took the term toad-eating to a whole new level, until she met his wife.
Mrs Dursley tried to give off an air of genteel respectability, she failed. She was in transports that the Duchess would grace their humble home; she was in alt at the honour granted them; In fact, the Dowager reflected sourly, she was becoming a right boor.
Finally losing what little of her temper remained after the tortuous journey that travelling down Conduit Street had been, what with mushrooms popping out of every house and corner, the Duchess snapped at the pretentious woman. "I'm not here to grace your home, raise toy social stature, or to engage in a nice little coze in the corner, Madam."
"You're not?" Mrs Dursley blurted out thoroughly offended at the Dowager's tone.
"I am here on the behalf of my nephew," the Dowager started to say. Whatever else she had intended to impart was forestalled by Miss Dursley, who on entering the parlour just in time to hear the Duchess' pronouncement, fainted away in a graceful swoon, landing not on the floor, but the chaise lounge that had appeared, strategically placed, moments before the girl's entry . Later, the Dowager would relate to Lord Snape how she suspected the girl had been waiting on the wings just so she could make a suitably dramatic entrance.
"When will his solicitor be calling?" Mr Dursley asked, as his wife went to fetch smelling salts and a vinegrette to rouse his stricken child.
"Solicitor?" The Dowager's quizzling glass was in hand and raised to her eye. "Why on earth would Snape's solicitor be calling?" she finished in tones that would have sent Silence Trelawney scurrying.
"The marriage settlements," Dursley said gamely, "that is why you are here, is it not? To ask whether we would entertain Lord Snape's suit."
The gall of the man; the Dowager very nearly needed a vinegrette herself after such a bald pronouncement. Did these lower class mushrooms actually believe that the Snape name could be tied to theirs? Admittedly the girl was decorative enough, but with parents like hers she would be better suited aiming a little lower.
"I am here to deliver a set of invitations, Sir," the Dowager finally answering his query. "I am holding a ball in two weeks and my nephew desires that Miss Granger attend."
"Miss Granger? What on earth would he want with that unfashionable thing?" Miss Dursley had apparently awoken, "she is terribly blue and her manners are appalling." the girl continued. "Why she even had the unmitigated gall to importune a ride with Lord Snape by actually breaking his nose."
"It is my understanding, Miss, that it was Lord Snape who struck Miss Granger." A quelling glance accompanied this statement and even Miss Dursley was not fool enough to directly contradict someone of the Dowager's rank. "As Miss Granger was not able to accompany him on the planned outing, it has been decided that we would like to host her at Lord Patil's comeout ball for his daughters. Both you," the Dowager nodded her head at Miss Dursley, "and Miss Granger is invited. I am here to ensure that your family understand the conditions under which you are invited; that is, if Miss Granger does not come, you are not welcome. I hope I am understood."
Lord Snape tooled his curricle along with practiced ease; his consummate skill with the reins apparent in the effortless way that he controlled the two matched bays whilst simultaneously engaging in a heated debate with his passenger; the current topic was 'Who was A Potions Maker'. The peerless Lord had managed to get a brief look inside the flysheet of the book that even now rested firmly clutched in the hands of Mr Goodson. The book had been dedicated to My Good Son, H. You can achieve anything if you put your mind to it.
Snape had bent his mind to the task of deciphering the obviously encoded message and had come to the conclusion that the writer was Viscount Granger. Now how to make a compelling argument that he believed his companions' father wrote the book when he was supposedly unaware that his companion was Miss Granger. The Good Son, H obviously became Goodson, H and most likely referred to the fact that his daughter was following in his trade like any good son; and finally that any attempt to link the two facts that he was in possession of meant that he would forthwith have to marry the girl, given he was driving her about London, unchaperoned, unintroduced, and unbelievably unaware of the fact that he had managed to make the relatively short trip from Flourish & Blotts Bookstore on Carnaby Street to last over an hour. Instead he put forward the argument that A Potions Maker was a scholar, possibly a second son sent up to Cambridge who never came back.
Miss Granger, for her part, was actually very well aware that the route they were taking to her father's town house was somewhat circuitous, but the opportunity to sharpen her wits on the stone that was Lord Snape was not a chance to be lightly thrown away. She also considered that bringing the fact to her companion's attention that they had been around Hyde Park twice now would only speed up the inevitable arrival at her father's town house. She rather hoped that Hagrid wouldn't give her away when they delivered her books for safe keeping. Instead of allowing worry to overtake her, she concentrated instead on her arguments that A Potion's Maker was mostly likely a retired gentleman. After all, it was no longer déclassé to be an educated gentleman. Her companion, in point of fact, was the perfect example of the educated gentleman, and that A Potion's Maker finally felt comfortable in displaying his knowledge; after all it was no longer a sin for a gentleman to be a bluestocking.
Lord Snape, whilst enjoying the encounter, had to admit to himself that twice around the park was enough. Any longer and his behaviour could be called into question regardless of whether his companion was male or female. Rather than risk censure, he deftly guided the bays towards the Cumberland Gate, it being the closest gate to Green Street where Mr Goodson had indicated that the Viscount maintained a town house.
Miss Granger, glad that her escort remained with his cattle, fairly raced up the stairs of her father's townhouse; raced being an operative term given she was laden down with two large wrapped parcels of books. The knocker was not on display, but she expected that, after all her father was not in town at the moment, so she was forced to bang rather loudly on the stained glass windows that looked out over the street below. After the fourth blow she heard a rumbling voice deep within the house, "Alright, alright, I'm coming. No need to break the blasted door down." Hagrid was home.
"Now what's all the fuss…" the giant of a man who opened the door said as he looked down at the diminutive gent that stood on the threshold.
"Hagrid," Miss Granger said as she loosened the glamour about her face, "it's me."
"Oh Lord sake, and what are you doing in that get up, Miss?" Hagrid said, clearly shocked. "Come inside immediately. Your father would tie me up by my inexpressibles if he knew you were getting about dressed like that, Miss!" With that, the giant man stepped back and almost dragged her across the doorstep.
"But I had to, Hagrid! The Dursley's haven't let me out all week," she complained, "and the book I'd been waiting on had finally been delivered."
"That's as may be, Miss, but it don't explain your being here and dressed like that," the admonishment clear in his tone. "And who pray tell is that?" he indicated to the curricle parked in the street.
"Lord Snape, the Master of Potions," Miss Granger said in awed tones. "He was at Flourish and Blotts. He was after a copy of How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredients, by 'A Potion's Maker' as well. Mr Blotts let him know that I was collecting a copy and he came and spoke to me about it."
"That doesn't explain what you are doing in his company."
"He offered to run me and my collection of purchases home," Miss Granger indicated the two parcels still outside. "I couldn't very well refuse and I couldn't let him drop me at Baron Dursley's."
"Alright then young Miss, you best be sending him on his way, though."
Miss Granger agreed wholeheartedly. The sooner the Lord was on his way, the sooner she could return to the Dursley's and relax; the charade rather wearing her down.
"Thanks, Hagrid." She smiled up at the old retainer, happy that he wasn't going to make too much of a fuss; that was, until she remembered Snape's comment about White's. What if he wanted to continue to associate with Mr Goodson? "Hagrid?" Miss Granger asked with a very tentative tone.
"Yes, Miss?"
"Lord Snape might want to talk with Mr Goodson again," she said indicating with a nod of her head that she was Mr Goodson. "I told him I was an agent of father's."
"And you want me to cover for you if he does?" Hagrid said with a wry smile, Miss Granger had been wrapping him around her fingers since the day she was born, it appeared the trend would not end soon. "I'll send a message to you if he calls."
"Thanks Hagrid, you are the very best of men."
"Now, now Miss, that is doing it a bit too brown."
Relieved on one front, she recast the glamour before heading back out the front to send the elegant Lord on his way; the elegant Lord who was calmly talking to his cattle whilst perusing her copy of How the Wormwood turned and other tales of rare ingredients, By A Potion's Maker. "Where do you need to deliver this?" Snape asked as she approached.
To Be Continued…..
JustJeanette (if you liked please review, authors need feeding too…..)