"Madame Greengrass, I'd like you to meet my daughter," her father said, taking Hermione by the hand and pulling her forward. "Hermione, say hello."
Hermione had the urge to tell him, I'm not a child, but instead she did as directed and said, "Hello," but that was all. Her father looked at her long enough for it to be considered a stare but turned back to Madame Greengrass.
"I'm sorry for my daughter's shortness," he said, dropping Hermione's hand for the woman's. "She must be tired. She did nearly single handedly put together this ball in one week, you know."
"An amazing feat, I'm sure," she said demurely, blinding smile still pasted to her face. "Hermione, let me introduce you to my daughters. Daphne is my oldest, then Astoria. You all look nearly the same age, don't they Daniel? I bet they'll be good friends in no time, maybe even as close as sisters."
Hermione's father nodded to every word he said. Daniel? Sisters? Hermione wondered bewilderedly. Harry was most absolutely wrong! This woman had a history. She had no title, but was very wealthy, thanks to two dead wealthy husbands. Her daughters belonged to the first husband who left his money to his wife and set up a Gringott's trust fund for the two girls once they turned 21. The second husband left half of his estate to his son's and the rest to the women, which was more than enough to keep them for life. What made her history so peculiar is how these men died. They were perfectly healthy, no signs or symptoms of sickness or cause of death otherwise. There was also no record at the ministry of a Killing Curse, or other deadly magic. They simply died. Now she was after her father, and she seemed to be succeeding.
Hermione was about to excuse herself-rudely-when the dinner bell rang. Instead she was forced to file into the formal dining hall with her father. Lord Granger stood at the head of the long table, Hermione to his right, the Duchess to the left. All the way down the table, guests sat in order of importance: the Heads of Houses next, then the dukes and duchesses, so on and so forth. Thankfully, that woman and her daughter were closer to the end, but that didn't stop the fond glances between Lord Granger and Madame Greengrass, all throughout the dinner.
Worst of all, Hermione knew those looks. He use to save them only for her mother, but now it seemed that they were no longer sacred, for he flung them down the table without a care as to who was looking. And people were looking-closely. Hermione saw all of the knowing glances passed between dinner parties and Head Pomfrey looked particularly merry at the drama she was watching unfold. Hermione felt sick, heartbroken and scared. She quickly excused herself from the table, complaining of a headache. Harry was most definitely wrong.
Once she left the dining hall, her walk advanced to a trot, until she found herself in the garden, in the middle of a grove of white magnolia trees. A breeze blew, making Hermione shiver and cross her arms in an attempt to stay warm. "He wouldn't marry a woman he just met," Hermione told herself. "Not after mother. And he said he'd talk to me. If I tell him no, then surely he won't go against my wishes right? We don't need anyone else, just us. The Duchess will more than be enough extra help. And that new tutor she hired. Merlin's saggy bollocks!" Hermione cursed, stomping her foot like a petulant child.
"Such foul language from a supposedly honorable young woman," someone drawled behind her. The voice made her shiver, not from the cold.
"Your Grace Malfoy," Hermione said softly, demurely as she turned around. "My apologies your Grace." She curtsied slowly, trying not to look clumsy.
"By all means, girl, continue on with your lunatic ramblings," he said, the trademark Malfoy smirk glued to his face. "I expect no different from a mudblood."
Hermione's blood ran hot. She hated that word, hated anyone that used it. Had it been any man other than this one, she would have given him a peace of her mind, damn the punishments. But this man however, this one made her as scared of the word as she was angry. His son was no better.
"I see your father has taken fancy to Madame Greengrass," he went on as if Hermione was not glaring daggers at him. "They will marry soon will they not? A splendid affair it will be no doubt." He plucked a magnolia bloom from the tree. "You know her record, don't you, Miss Granger? She's two for two now-maybe three for three in two years time."
"Excuse me, Your Grace, but seeing as the affairs of my family are none of your business, I'd appreciate if you would cease spreading rumors and sticking your nose where it is not wanted," Hermione told him, intending to walk back to the manor. Duke Malfoy's cane snapped her to a halt however, striking her shoulders softly. Hermione repressed her surprised jump as best she could, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was scared. She turned only her head to glare at him. "I'd also appreciate it if you would let me go. Your Grace," she added condescendingly.
"Obviously no one deems you worthy of etiquette lessons, or else you would-"
"The lessons that include a little book on how to act vapid? I've had them, excelled in them in fact, but I don't deem bullies worthy of the fruit they bear." There was venom in her voice, one that Hermione had never heard from herself before. Shut up, Hermione!
Duke Malfoy sneered and threw the blossom away. "No matter, little girl. When your father is dead and that whore Greengrass throws you to the wolves, your etiquette lessons will do you no good, anywhere. A mudblood is worth nothing, in this world, much less a female one. But I, my sweet fiery thing, have an offer for you-a way out of sorts."
"Your wrong if you think I would come crawling to you, you snake!" The duke let his cane fall and gripped her chin in his gloved hands roughly.
"Listen and listen well girl, because my offer will not stand long. Madame Greengrass will kill your father some way, somehow in order to get to that money. You will be left with nothing if she does. Though you are a disgusting worm of a girl, you are still a witch, a very powerful one-as well as pleasing to the eye." At this he let his gaze wander below her neck, making Hermione's stomach turn. "My son will be in need of a wife soon, and you a way out. Think on it."
Malfoy let go of her chin roughly, shoving her in the process. Hermione fell and watched the man stalk away, emerald green robes swirling, cane thumping. Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes before flowing over steadily, like a waterfall. She couldn't stop them, like all the times before. There was no one here to comfort her, nothing that she could tell herself that would make her feel better if only for a moment. Nothing will ever be alright again, Hermione despaired. She felt as if all she would be able to do is sit and watch as her life fell apart. She knew there was nothing that she could do.
The magnolia bloom Duke Malfoy discarded lay a few inches from her feet. She picked it up and stroked the soft petals, then threw it as hard as she could with a sharp shriek. Malfoy was right: she would be left with nothing.