The Duchess brushed invisible lint off one shoulder and shook the equally invisible creases out of her robes. Her lips pursed as she waited for the lift to take her to what she assumed must be the trenches of the Ministry. Honestly she hand no clue; the Ministry was first and foremost, an institution of labyrinths.
The line of her lips tightened impatiently as the lift shuddered to a stop and announced "Department of Industry and Commerce" instead of "Department of Children and Familial Affairs." No straighter line could be formed when she realized that Duke Lucius Malfoy would be joining her, but she made a valiant attempt.
While the Duchess looked as if she'd been sucking lemons, the Duke looked quite pleased. "Duchess McGonagall," he drawled in greeting. "How lovely to see you."
I can't imagine why you would think so, but "I'm glad to see you are in good health Duke Malfoy." Hoping he would leave the conversation at the niceties, the Duchess looked back at the doors of the lift, waiting.
"I haven't seen your little-what is she? Niece? God-daughter? I never did know. How is she holding up?" Her lips couldn't straighten anymore, so her eyes took on the task. Why are you interested in Hermione? she wondered. You've never treated her with anything more than disdain. "I can't imagine the death of both parents within months of each other is an easy strain to withstand."
"Most definitely not, but she is doing fine." His eyes nearly gleamed, making the Duchess uneasy. Whatever game you're playing at, I want no part of it, Malfoy. None at all.
"I'm sure she is. I never thought her one to quail in the face of hardships, but I can imagine she would like to get out every once in a while." Here he gave a small gasp as if an idea just struck him. "You know, the King is having a ball for the princes-surely you've heard my son is one of them." Why won't this lift move faster? I have no intentions of watching this peacock strut around. "I would like to invite her as my guest. I'm sure it would do her well to socialize outside of her step-sisters and mother." The words "step-sisters and mother" sounded as if they tasted bitter in his mouth. Apparently he had no respect for the three women either.
The Duchess's concern, however, was his invitation. "Why have you suddenly taken an interest in Miss Granger, Duke Malfoy. You never seemed to notice her before, but here you are inviting her as a guest. I mean no offense, but one must wonder." Politeness be damned.
He smirked at her and she resisted the urge to shiver; it felt cold and greasy. "I'm not interested in her, Duchess McGonagall, my son is. He expressed an interest in her at Miss Granger's father's wedding and now that he's been required to marry, his mind has returned to her. You're not averse to this are you, Your Grace? They danced together then, and seemed quiet taken with each other." The Duchess was surprised and a bit alarmed but the Duke barreled on as the lift doors opened and he stepped out. "Please hand this to her. The invitations would be owled out for a few days, and the announcement won't be out until tomorrow, but there can't be anything wrong in her knowing now can there? Thank you, Duchess, but I'm afraid I must leave you. Good day!"
The lift doors shut as the Duchess's mouth bobbed open and close. "Good Heavens!" she exclaimed looking down at the exquisitely detailed parchment, with Hermione's name written in filigree on the front. "To think Hermione would simply fall at the feet of the likes of Draco Malfoy! The arrogance! Oh!"
They didn't look 'taken with each other' at all that evening. Maybe I just didn't look hard enough?
The lift finally announced her destination. Troubled, she tucked the invitation into one of the many folds of her robes with the intentions of forgetting about it and went on to the Adoption office in the Department of Children and Familial Affairs."
Somewhere in the house, the henchwomen were squealing loudly, distracting Hermione from her letter. She could hear them running about excitedly calling for their mother, but Hermione knew they would not find her. The Widow was out of the house for hours at a time since she and Hermione had their spat. They ran by the parlor and Astoria had the guts to peek around the door clutching the Daily Prophet to her chest to timidly ask if Hermione had seen her mother. She told them that the Widow was not in the house and they rushed off again, chattering excitedly, though a bit quieter now.
After sending them off, Hermione ran her hands through her hair and re-read the note that Sirius sent back with Kreacher:
These types of pendants used to be given to children who were coming into their magic. You know that a child's incidental magic is often the result of emotional distress and continues to be so until they learn to control it. When learning wandless magic, accidental magic comes about in the same way in more powerful bouts. The pendant provides a controlled outlet. Without it, your little conniption fit could have strangled her instead of locking and silencing her.
I would warn you to watch yourself around her now, but you've probably already laid booby traps everywhere haven't you dear?
Your favorite uncle
P.S. Send her a stinging hex from me next time won't you?
The pendant was precautionary then, not of any real consequence, but it did save her from murder charges. Best to keep it on until I've completely mastered wandless magic. She did need to heed his warning though; the Widow's absence did worry her a bit, but she should probably take more of an interest in the woman's comings and goings. Who knew what she could be planning.
Breaking off a bit of the chocolate that Sirius sent with the letter, Hermione went back to her biggest plight. What the hell am I going to tell the Duke?
Three days of thinking passed and she hadn't gotten any closer to a clear decision. Even if she wasn't hell bent on finding out what the Widow did to her father, his son was a prince; he had the pick of any girl he wanted and he could take what he wanted with no consequence. Although, she thought, he didn't seem to show any real interest in me at the wedding. He only seemed to be interested in complying with his conniving father. What if Malfoy Jr. finds someone else? Someone he's more attracted to and fulfills his father's requirements? Surely I can't be held to the agreement if Draco doesn't make a claim on me in the first place!
Hermione felt a small glimmer of hope at the idea of not being accountable. But it couldn't be more than a glimmer. Even if he did find someone more suitable, Draco may still bow to his father's wishes. She remembered his vehement rant at the wedding. Maybe not. She sighed. I don't know. I really have no clue.
I could just forget about it all, she thought. Leave father's memory in peace. Move in with McGonagall once the adoption process is over. I'll be of age soon enough, not required to bow to anyone's wishes but my own. I wouldn't have to bother with any of them ever again. She ran her hand through her hair and glanced at the spot where she left her stepmother fettered to the bright oak floor. Just leave this nightmare behind.
The door to the parlor opened and in stepped the Duchess. A smile began to spread on Hermione's face, but stopped when she saw the look on her mentor's face. The Duchess' lips were pinched together so tightly they formed a thin white line, eyebrows drawn up into a worried arch, eyes almost glossy. Hermione looked away as she realized another of her choices was being taken away at someone else's whim. Just like dominoes.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione," she whispered. "So, very sorry." Her head dropped as if to hide tears. Hermione's heart hurt for the woman across the room. She'd seen the Duchess show strong scorn, heated anger and intense disgust, she'd seen grief before as well, but never sadness. Now the sadness felt tangible.
"You-" Hermione stopped and cleared her throat. Her voice was a choked whisper. "You tried, right? I could never ask you for more, Duchess and you've done just that."
The Duchess didn't say anything for a long moment, made no noise but one sharp sob and a few deep breaths. Hermione covered her face with her hands, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palm, as if to erase the image of a distressed Duchess. When the Duchess did open her mouth again, her words made Hermione's blood run hot.
"She's marrying the man that was to resolve our case." Hermione's hands felt hot again, like they did three days before. Is that where she's been all this time? Three days fits perfectly. "It only took her three days to get a proposal out of him, you know. I'm sure she's set a personal record for herself." Why is it so hot? "I expect you'll be meeting him in a day or two. Not the way I wanted you to meet him but of course he won't be alive for long now that he's served his purpose. He has no fortune to speak- Hermione! The chair!"
Hermione looked down at the chair she sat on. The arms were charring in her hands. When did I even move my hands? She looked at her hands, tracing the darkened lines in her palms and knuckles, unburned. If I kill, would there be blood on them?
"So much power constrained in one child," the Duchess whispered. "Hermione," she paused to take a deep breath as if to calm her nerves. "Hermione, Duke Lucius Malfoy-"
"No." Hermione stood abruptly. "Absoutely not." She paced toward the Duchess and back again to the chair she burned, half sat and then stood straight again. Stupid, sneaking, evil bastard!
"You haven't even heard-" Her voice was commanding and sharp again, normal.
"I don't care! Anything to do with that bastard, I want nothing to do with!" she shouted, bringing the Duchess to her feet.
"Hermione Jean Granger! Stop this petulance at once! Will you start flinging your feces at me like an ape?"
Hermione stuttered over the hundreds of indignant phrases that immediately built up behind her lips. None of them ended up making it out before the Duchess was speaking again.
"Because that is exactly what you're acting like Hermione, an angry ape, all because you aren't getting your way!" She breathed out forcefully through her nose and began again, more softly. "I understand your anger, Hermione. I'm quite angry and frustrated and many other things as well. I want to pitch a fit as much as you do, but neither of us have been children for quite a while now. It would behoove neither of us to throw a temper tantrum while the world keeps moving around us."
Even though it stung to do it, Hermione had to agree with the older woman. They had to keep up with everything around them or else get left behind, left in this cesspit. She sat down again in the chair with burnt arms, whispering a Reparo. As the chair arms restored themselves, the Duchess took a great breath and started from the beginning, recounting her encounter with the Duke Lucius Malfoy.
Hermione felt as if she were backed into a corner, surrounded on either side by the Duchess and the Widow with the death of her father hanging above her head. Duke Malfoy was playing this game to win; she couldn't really expect any less of him. His real life pawns were doing a heck of a job fencing her in.
"Can I see the invitation?" Hermione asked. The Duchess searched her robes for it and handed it to her.
As the guest of Prince Draco Malfoy, you are cordially invited to the Prince's Ball at 9 o'clock on the eighteenth of September.
Something about 18 struck Hermione as funny. The eighteenth is four days from now,she thought. The day before my birthday. A week after his visit. Sneaky bastard. She bit her lip and ran one hand through her thoroughly frazzled hair. "Was the announcement in the Prophet?"
"It was. This morning. Rather short notice for an event so large, but there it is. The announcement was very specific about the people invited: every eligible young woman is to come."
"Did invitations go out too?" The handwriting and filigree work on the card was beautiful, gold on ivory.
"There was no mention of personal invitations from either prince. I'm afraid I don't know what privilege or treatment goes along with it." They might not have come from the prince at all then. It wouldn't surprise me if his father had a hand in this bit too.
Hermione chewed on her lip and looked up at the Duchess. "I don't have a dress."
"I will get the seamstress that I used for the ball you threw."
"I didn't intend for that to be a request, Duchess. I still have the money my mother left for me. I can take care of it." Whoops! Besides, I don't like that woman. She wasn't at all careful with her pins.
"I haven't succeeded in most of my ventures for you, but I believe I can take care of a dress."
"Duchess please, let's not argue," Hermione said in a placating manner. "If I need help I will ask you for it."
The Duchess pursed her lips, barely letting a "fine then" pass through them. Hermione couldn't help think that she sounded like a petulant child and smiled at her.
It's the first day of school for me and my class starts in 20 min so it will be a little while before you hear from me again. In the mean time, review!