Hi lovelies. So I'm new to this, I don't write often and I'm (studying to be) an engineer so I'm (slightly) insecure about my skills...REVIEW!
That is all :D
The rest of the visit was short, goodbyes were clipped and Hermione and her father were exhausted. They stood together in the foyer, Lord Granger pinching his nose. Hermione fiddling with the lace on her sleeves. Why won't he look at me?
Though she was hoping and wishing for it, when he spoke her name, she jumped. "I'm sorry." His voice was hoarse. "I know I haven't been here for you, for anything and I'm sorry. I promise I won't leave you alone anymore, alright? We have to do this together, alright?" He sounded more as if he was trying to convince himself. He spread his arms wide and Hermione was enclosed by the soft leathery smell of her father. He kissed the top of her head. "My sweet little girl."
It seemed he was overcome with emotion, for he started to cry. Hermione followed him quickly, both of them dissolving into tears together in the foyer.
At dinner, Lord Granger explained what he and the Duchess had been arguing about.
"Are you going to do it?" Hermione asked quietly. She didn't want him to get married at all. It was like sullying the memory of her mother and then casting it away, especially so soon after her death.
He wiped his mouth and took a sip of wine before answering. "Yes and no. I'm going to do as she asks and have this ball-"
"What does the ball have to do with anything?"
"Don't interrupt me, Hermione. You know better." Hermione apologized and he continued. "The ball is an attempt to make me sort through hundreds of gold-digging air-headed woman looking for a potential second wife. Just because I have the ball however, does not mean I will choose a wife." Hermione was silent, picking at her plate. "Hermione look at me. Should I find a woman I like-if the stars align in some obscure, once-in-a-blue-moon formation-I will consult you before making a decision. Do you understand?"
Hermione nodded.
The week passed by in a flurry. Friday came and the Duchess was still shouting last minute directions at the tailor, the ball room was being polished to the infinite degree, the house elves were in the kitchen cooking and putting enough food under Stasis charms to feed entire wars. Guests from far-off provinces were arriving to stay the night, so between fittings and tastings, Hermione was getting good practice at being the perfect hostess. She did her best to keep the frightening scowl off her face, though it got harder towards the end of the day, and well into the night, when stragglers were dragging in. It didn't help that her new etiquette tutor-courtesy of the Duchess-was right by her side the entire time. She made the mistake of complaining once. The tutor rapped her on her knuckles and told her, "A charming hostess never worries for herself, but always for the guest." He could quote the rule book like a poem and it made Hermione want to take a very un-ladylike stance and punch him square in the jaw.
Needless to say, when Hermione was finally allowed to go to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, her patience had been tried, as well as her temper and stamina; she was drooling before her head touched the pillow and awake for a new day before the drool touched the sheets. Hermione was miserable, only getting quick bites in between her "lady-of-the-house" duties and a clipped hug from her father. He smiled apologetically at her when she was whisked off to make last minute decisions. Often-very often-she wished her mother were with her, to guide her and tell her what to do, which color napkins fit the décor of the evening, what the band should play, which desserts should be served. Her eyes pricked with tears every time. The best she could do was guess, and guess she did.
One last time, Hermione was whisked away, this time to her rooms, to prepare for the ball. A bath with citrus and vanilla scented oils was drawn and Hermione was allowed to relax for a while after her hair had been washed. She lounged as Eloise gently pulled a brush through her hair, brushing it until her chocolate curls shone and bounced with her every move. Hermione pulled on her shift and let Eloise braid her hair into a crown on her head, threading pearls through the braid and leaving soft curls around her forehead. A bit of color was added to her cheeks and lips. The dress, a lacy affair, was pale green, sleeves long and tight with beautifully embroidered white netting. Her slippers had the same embroidered pattern as the dress. When Hermione looked into the mirror, she couldn't help but gasp. She looked so different, yet so like herself. The coiffed hair, reddened lips, large doe-like golden brown eyes, fitted corset that made her breasts look pillowy and her hips a little more ample: it was as if her mother was the one looking in the mirror. Everything reminded her of her mother.
Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes again but quickly wiped them away, lest she ruin all the hard work Eloise put into making her look pretty. In a fit of emotion, Hermione turned to hug Eloise tightly. There was a knock at her door and the Duchesses voice rang out.
"Hermione! Are you ready? Quickly now, you have guests to greet!" Hermione opened the door and followed Duchess McGonagall down the stairs and into the ball room. About a hundred or so people were milling about, the number rising with the steady stream of eager party-goers. Everything look so pretty and bright, women dressed in every hue the dressmakers could think of. The men in their tights, tunics and cloaks were not to be outdone and included braiding and brocading done in ruby red, emerald green, royal blue, or sunshine yellow, signifying their houses. Everything swirled and shone with frivolity and enjoyment.
The Duchess and Hermione made rounds around the ball room, greeting newcomers and important guests. Lesser lords and ladies brought their unmarried children, searching for a possible wealthy match. Two Heads of Houses had come to see the festivities: rounded glowing Poppy Pomfrey of Hufflepuff and tall, stately very, very old Rowena Ravenclaw. Head Ravenclaw was kind and polite, but she was aloof and distant as well, making Hermione feel more out of place than normal. Head Pomfrey was a ruthless gossiper and that was all that needed to be known about her.
"Learn to socialize, Hermione, dear," the Duchess told her. "Learn to look good doing it as well. Chin up, smile, shoulders back, soft movements, like a lady. Don't look the men in the eye and none of that smart tongue either. To anyone. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Duchess," Hermione said softly. "I understand." Pretty and insipid.
"She understands perfectly, Duchess," a man's voice said, somewhere behind her.
"Yes, please allow her to practice with us," another said on her right. He grabbed her arm and quickly pulled her away from the Duchesses undignified screeches. The trio found a quiet, secluded corner shielded by a heavy tapestry to catch their breath and began laughing
"Harry! Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, truly happy for the first time in a long time. They all embraced excitedly, still laughing.
"Well then Hermione," Ron said, shaking his bright red locks out of his face. "It seems you've turned into a proper lady on us."
"Does it mean these clandestine meetings are over?" Harry asked, still chortling behind his words. "Are we to be forever separated into the worlds of men and women and royalty now?"
"Absolutely not!" Hermione gasped. "Never ever should the two of you leave me by myself with The Duchess! But you two can't talk either. The two of you get to tramp around Leeds, learning all manner of sorcery, no doubt acting like fools in your lessons and making even bigger fools of all the unsuspecting women there. Here I am left to learn house-keeping charms and beauty spells, with an insufferably over bearing Duchess and not even my mother here to make it a little easier, to make anything a little better."
Hermione's voice cracked and she fell silent. The joyful mood turned somber in a matter of moments. Hermione bowed her head and looked at her hands, trying not to let tears fall, though a few got past her defenses. Harry put his arms around her and hugged her, like he used to when Ron made fun of her ruthlessly as children. Ron simply put his hands on her shoulder, clueless as to what else he should do.
"I'm sorry, Mione," Harry whispered. "I lost my mum too when I was little, remember? It'll be alright, Mione. I promise, everything will come to rights."
"Don't call me that, Potter," Hermione sniffed. "You know I hate it when you call me that." Ron chuckled and Hermione smiled. "How's your sister, Ron?" she asked, trying to change the subject. He took the bait eagerly and retold with great gusto all the shenanigans the only female child of the Weasley family had been getting into.
The conversation continued on lightly with giggles and exclamations until Hermione's father stuck his head around the tapestry, mock glaring. "I hope you're not doing anything untoward to my daughter, boys. I would loathe to have to kill you."
"Papa!" Hermione groaned, then laughed.
"Please don't hurt me, sir!" Ron exclaimed, truly frightened. "I swear I only hugged her! Harry did too!"
Lord Granger struggled to hold back a laugh. Hermione giggled. Harry snorted. It was the first time he'd smiled in a long time. It made Hermione's heart soar to see it. Maybe Harry's right. "Come, Hermione. The Duchess is raising Merlin from his grave looking for you. Besides, there is someone I want you to meet."
Something nibbled at Hermione's mind at that phrase. Someone I want you to meet. Hermione glanced back at her friends and smiled brightly, though she'd begun to worry inside. She followed her father through the crowd. He had an uncharacteristic bounce to his step. Maybe Harry's right.
She followed him to one of the confection tables lining the walls. An older woman was standing there, about the same age as her father. She was short, very slight, hair black as night pulled into a large, unadorned, braided bun. She had a beautiful smile, bright white surrounded by pink lips. Her skin was pale and unblemished, her velvet dress deep emerald green with silvery lace draped over it. Her eyes were a clear green, not dark like Harry's though. Two girls stood beside her, both a bit taller than her, one with long curly hair, the other straight. Both let it hang down their back in waterfalls. Both had her eyes. One was slight like their mother, the other thicker, with slightly wider hips and heavier bosom. Both smiled just as brightly as their mother. In short the trio was beautiful, striking alluring.
Hermione didn't like them.
The mother turned her bright smile on Lord Granger, who in turn grinned like a love sick teen. Harry is wrong.