Sirius caught the maître's eye, calling for the check as Hermione gave him the stinkiest eye she could. "What in Merlin's name do you mean by play the game?" she asked. He smirked as the maître produced the bill. Sirius signed it with the quill offered to him and then stood, holding his arm out to Hermione, who'd remained in her seat.
"Come, we have things to do before the shops close for the day," he said grabbing her hand and dragging her out of the restaurant. She tried to stop outside the entrance, but Sirius kept moving, dragging her along.
"Uncle! Tell me what's going on in your head!" Hermione whinged, knowing she sounded like a child. But honestly, he's planning my future without my say so! The least he could do is give me forewarning. I'm tired of being blown any which way because someone else took a breath.
"This entire mess is a large, multi-faceted, game of chess," he said, guiding her down the avenue away from the restaurant section. "And in chess, every move you make, no matter how calculated, you risk losing something or trading something away."
"Malfoy has made a move in demanding my hand in marriage for his son," Hermione replied, trying to follow his logic.
"Right."
"And assumes that he'll get a powerful magical grandchild to carry on the line as well as keep his family in an ultimate place of power."
"Correct." They sidestepped a puddle in the cobblestones.
"I think he knows that I'll go through with it. He's holding my father and the Widow over my head, so I suppose it's a trade."
"Yes." Hermione huffed and glared at the side of his head, before gazing at the displays in the bookshops they passed by.
"I don't see what you're getting at, man."
"He's made his moves, made his demands and now it's your turn. What do you want?"
Hermione took a moment to think. What do I want? I want a lot of things. She thought of the spider waiting for her at home and of the children she would be required to bear. She looked around at the shops they were ambling past, the people milling about and realized she'd been seeing the same three faces for months.
"I want her ruined, the Widow," she said slowly, putting her thoughts into words. "I don't care about what happens to her daughters, let someone else handle them, but I want her in Azkaban for murder at the least. I want her misery, her suffering. It sounds terrible and cruel, but I want her to experience what she'd done to me." The Marquis nodded waiting for her to go on. "I want my freedom too. I don't want to be beholden to the Malfoys for the rest of my life. He made his offer to me as if he was doing me a favor, but this is a trade, like you said. I will not kowtow to him and his family. And I want my child-or children-magical or squib. I won't have them taken away from me."
"Anything else?"
Hermione opened her mouth and then faltered. When the dust settled, she would be married, locked to a man whom she did not know. His strongest emotion for her would probably be indifference, and though she couldn't expect more from their relationship, she couldn't help but want more. I want the love my parents had.
"I want to be friends with him, Draco I mean. I know this is a marriage of convenience, strategy and all, and that there will likely be no love between the prince and I, but I would like it if we could be friends. But maybe that's a bit far-fetched. He gave me the same speech and I all but spit in his face."
The Marquis harrumphed. Hermione glanced at him, catching a momentary grimace. I guess friendship is very far-fetched. "You may have to apologize for the projectile saliva."
"Yes," Hermione said quietly almost to herself. "I suppose I will." She lapsed into thought for a moment, trying to imagine what would happen when she saw the youngest Malfoy again. Would he be stiff with anger like he was when she last saw him, or would he be back to the lax cool affect she associated with him. Were smiles even included in his facial expressions?
"We're stopping here, Hermione," Sirius said slowing her down in front of the door to Madame Malkin's.
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "Why are we-"
"Why is she closed already?" Sirius wondered aloud, cutting Hermione off. Indeed the door was locked, and Hermione could see no one inside, but all the lights were on. "I didn't get my times wrong did I?" The scriptin the corner of the shop's display window, claimed that the clothing store would be open until 8:30 p.m. "There's at least two hours before the shop closes. Where is that woman?"
Sirius rapped on the door, lightly at first, then quick hard knocks. He jiggled the door handle and gave two more sharp knocks, trying to get someone's attention, but to no avail. He huffed and pouted and Hermione laughed at him.
"You were supposed to be telling me your mastermind plan anyways. Why do you need to go to Madame Malkin's? Is she in on this scheme too?"
"No," he said drawing out the vowel as he jiggled the door again. "But you need-ah! There she is!" Sirius smiled as Madame Malkin appeared from a door Hermione couldn't see. He was frowning again as the short plump woman shook her head frantically, waving her hands at them in a shooing motion. "What?" Sirius mouthed. "Open the door."
Hermione noticed that she looked a bit frazzled, a pin cushion floating around her head, a tape measure following her hands. She looked like she'd been hard at work on something. She looked behind her and yelled something unintelligible. Faintly, Hermione could hear someone respond to her. Malkin glanced back at Hermione and the Marquis flapping her hand persistently as she answered the hidden person.
Hermione wasn't sure of how to react when Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott followed the plump woman out into the main room. Malkin's hand dropped as the men came out. She looked as if she were trying to explain something, pointing at Hermione and Sirius. They followed the finger, eyebrows raised for a moment before turning back to the seamstress. Malfoy said something to her and she deflated, pointing at the locked door with her wand.
" So that's why she's already locked up. What are the odds?" Sirius muttered as it swung open. Indeed. "Good evening, your graces," he said to the two men, bowing at the waist. He nodded to Madam Malkin.
Hermione knew it was her turn to greet them, but her chest felt tight and her hands were clammy. This is the man I'm supposed to marry, she thought. Tall, broad shouldered and blonde as the dickens. Does his hair even count as blond anymore? Will I notice when he goes gray? The last time we talked, I made him angry. Does he remember?
As if he heard her thoughts, Draco's eye caught hers and she was stuck. Suddenly, she remembered what she was supposed to be doing. Quickly, she curtsied and murmured a greeting. She felt awkward. He wasn't a prince the last time I spoke to him. How am I supposed to treat him now? What do I say? Hermione shifted her weight, avoiding his eyes, not wanting to get caught again.
"Marquis Black, Miss Granger," Draco started. "A pleasure to see you. What brings you here?"
"We are shopping for dress robes, much like you I assume," Sirius said. He put his hand on Hermione's back. "Hermione will be attending the ball his majesty is hosting and I will be her escort for the night."
Hermione glanced up wondering if he'd known about his father's machinations. His eyes were on her again-well, maybe they never left, she didn't know, since she didn't want to look up. "Yes," he said, taking a step in Hermione's direction. "I wanted to speak to her for a moment before the ball, but my attempts have been rebuffed."
Rebuffed? By who?
"If you would permit me to speak to her now," he trailed, holding out an arm to Hermione as he glanced at Sirius in a non-verbal question. The Marquis waved his hand as if to say 'by your leave.' Hermione hesitantly took the prince's arm without looking at his face, feeling her stomach break out in butterflies. She looked back at her uncle anxiously and he shrugged. Malfoy led her away to a corner of the room, leaving the Marquis, Prince Nott and the seamstress to make awkward small talk. Bolts of fabric enclosed the corner, lending an air of privacy to the small space.
Hermione let go of him to fiddle with her own hands, still avoiding his gaze. His eyes look like a storm. What could he possibly say to me now? Beyond her hands, Hermione noticed her dress again, well-worn and old looking. She blushed hotly, mortified at the realization that he was seeing her-her 'deteriorated state'-as his father called it. I was no great beauty before, but now...
"Miss Granger, I owe you an apology," he said quietly. Hermione looked up surprised. "I spoke unkindly to you the last time I saw you. You were dealing with a very emotional change in your life and instead of offering my sympathy and compassion I derided-"
"Mr-Pr-Your grace," she stumbled in, interrupting. "I owe you the apology! Emotional turmoil is not an excuse to lose my good sense. I was angry and scared and I took it out on you just because you looked like a good target because of your father's persistence and I assumed that you would validate my treatment by being just as mean as your father and I never for once thought that you might be different from him but then you proved me wrong."
Hermione huffed a bit into the silence that followed her ramble, surprised that she found so many words to say to the man all in one go. With his eyebrows in the air, Draco seemed to be thinking the same thing. Hermione went back to blushing and twiddling her thumbs to avoid looking at him. Mean, ratty, rambling, graceless, she catalogued. I have yet to show my husband-to-be a side of me that doesn't make me look bad.
"We've both been unnecessarily cruel to each other, and as I understand, that's no way to begin a relationship," he said slowly. "We're probably going to be married in a few weeks time and while we may not be genuinely in love, I would like to think we could be genuinely friends."
Well, would you look at that. Request fulfilled already.Hermione risked being caught by his eyes by looking up and was surprised to see the small half smile-just the slightest change in angle from the left to the right. She was surprised to feel her own lips quirking to match his expression and ducked her head to hide it. Since when have I been shy?!
"I think I can agree to that," she told the prince, glancing up at him again.
"I'm glad." He nodded succinctly and held his arm out to her. The butterflies returned at the thought of touching him again, but Hermione followed him the few steps back to her uncle, Prince Nott and Madam Malkin. The bolts of fabric really did make it seem as if they were in another room completely.
In the circle, Hermione stood next to the Marquis again and the Princes stood together. The seamstress still wore her sour look and Sirius looked utterly bored. Strangely enough, Prince Nott looked deeply displeased and stiff as a board. Apparently, small talk didn't go well. "I'm afraid we must take our leave," the blonde told them. He murmured something only loud enough for the seamstress to hear and thanked her. Whatever it was, it brought the sunniest of smiles to her face and she aimed every beam of it at Hermione, making her anxious for a completely different reason. The two princes nodded to Sirius and bowed shallowly to Hermione as she curtsied, promising to see them at the coming ball. Again, Hermione was the recipient of Malfoy's miniscule smile which seemed to deepen Nott's displeasure and send Hermione's butterflies into a small tizzy.
When they exited the shop, Sirius and Hermione let a meaningful look passed between them as the seamstress turned her eye on them. "Here for ball gowns are you?" she said with a smile, her measuring tape and pin cushion advancing on Hermione in an almost menacing fashion.
An hour later, Hermione remembered why she hated seamstresses. Every single bit of her had been measured, tied up, poked, prodded and judged by the squat little woman. The only reason Hermione hadn't sent a little-Honestly! She wouldn't even feel it!-hex her way was because the woman still held pins in her hands. The Marquis laughed at her until it was his turn to be measured. Hermione took her turn to chuckle at his discomfort, especially when the woman seemed to develop a fondness for rogues. When Madam Malkin finally left to gather bolts of cloth, Hermione let out a peal of laughter as he tugged on his clothing indignantly, muttering with a scowl on his face.
"Alright! Alright!" he exclaimed. "That woman is a menace. And it wasn't that funny either." Hermione sucked both lips back into her mouth to try and hold in the smile that threatened to crack her face, but it was very difficult and she still let out a giggle. Sirius glared.
"I'm not going to apologize, Uncle, so you better get over yourself," she said with a gleeful sigh. He huffed and sat in one of the chairs sprinkled around the room. Hermione took one nearby, still smiling.
"Well what did the boy want with you?" he asked, scowling all the while. Hermione sobered remembering her conversation.
"He wanted to apologize, oddly enough, for being mean at the wedding," she said thoughtfully.
"Was that it?" he asked, eyebrow raised. "An apology caused you to blush and flutter like a rose at dawn?"
Hermione spluttered and she could feel her cheeks warming again. "I-a rose-what?" He snickered at her discomfort, feeling vindicated. His eyes twinkled mischievously.
"It wasn't as bad as that," he assured her. "But something small did change between you."
"We just apologized to each other, and agreed that we could be friends." Hermione went back to fiddling with her hands still blushing. Honestly, it's not like we made an attempt to procreate. Why are my cheeks going red at every comment?
Sirius' eyes narrowed and she could feel him studying her. "Remember that he's a player in this game too, dear, and more than likely he learned from his father. Just because he offers friendship doesn't mean your goals align."
Her eyes snapped to his as the seamstress toddled back in, arms full of fabric and more following her. What is he getting at?
"These are the fabrics that have been the most popular this season," Malkin said charming the bolts to line up and float in two rows, "especially this one here." She tapped her wand on a chiffon bolt in mauve. "But of course no one wants the same look! I've seen it mixed with silk, crushed velvet, lace, all sorts of things! And then the dress patterns!" Scrolls zoomed from some corner of the room to line up in front of the fabric. "Of course these designs aren't set in stone! I can tailor them any way you like! And if tou don't mind I have some suggestions of my own-been in this business a long time deary. I can make a dress to turn a pig into a gazelle!"
Oh sweet Merlin, she's insane. Hermione sneaked a glance at Sirius, expecting a similar feeling to show on his face, but instead he was listening to the witch prattle on with diligence, studying the fabrics and patterns intently. There's no hope for me.
Sirius shifted the fabrics this way and that, holding them up against a scroll, commenting on the bodice of this one and the skirt of another. Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, settling herself for what was going to be a long evening. Until the Marquis asked if there was a way to see the tailoring on Hermione, that is.
"Oh of course! Stand up girl!" She waved Hermione on to her feet excitedly and stood her up on a stool.
"What would you like to see first, sir?" she asked. Sirius seemed to have gotten over his discomfort with her after finding something they could bond over: playing dolls with Hermione.
"Let me see the dress with the fuller skirts in pink," he said pensively, scrutinizing Hermione carefully. She groaned internally, on the verge of crying. With a bit if wand waving, the seamstress made the dress Hermione was wearing disappear under the dress Sirius wanted to see modeled. Sirius pursed his lips studying her. Malkin summoned a mirror so Hermione could see herself and she balked.
"I look like-like a cloud! A big pink puffy cloud! What is this?!"
"I don't know Hermione, it makes you look-"
"Like a pastry puff!"
"I was going to say innocent but-"
"I quite agree with you, Marquis-"
"No uncle, absolutely not. Don't even think about it." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the two until they sighed and gave in.
"Fine, Hermione," Sirius said. "No need to throw a temper tantrum." Let me dress you like a baker's display window and I bet you'd throw a temper tantrum too. The trio went through the stack in a similar fashion, though sometimes, the seamstress or Sirius vetoed a dress. When at last, Sirius nixed the last combination, Hermione gladly fell into the chair. The Marquis sighed and sat down beside her, rubbing his stubble.
"Why are you so difficult to dress, Hermione?" he muttered.
"It's not my fault," she told him nose in the air. "I don't like extravagant things and everything you picked looks extravagant. Sparkles, jeweled bodices, brightly colored skirts- they look ridiculous on me!"
"Well, what would you like then? Tell me and stop giving me headaches."
"You're being melodramatic." Sirius glared at her, but Hermione paying attention to him anymore. "I just want something simple. Simple can still be very pretty."
"Not too simple or you fade into the background," Malkin supplied. Hermione nodded.
"I suppose," she said. "I do like lace though. And it's not all that plain, either." Sirius shot up in his chair.
"I have an idea!"
"And I have lace!" Together, the two dollmakers hustled Hermione back onto the stool and began to design a dress out of scratch.
"You can't look!" Sirius exclaimed, conjuring a blindfold. "You'll tell us no before we've even finished." Hermione couldn't see the changes being made, but she could feel the dress itself. The fabric of the skirt and torso was light as gossamer wings and cool and smooth to the touch. She wanted to sway just to feel it caress her skin. Maybe they're not such bad people after all. A few moments later, Hermione heard their murmuring stop and felt their eyes on her. She shifted self consciously.
"I think she's done," Sirius said quietly. Am I a pot roast? He vanished the blindfold and allowed her to look in the mirror.
Stark white, delicately patterned lace started high on her throat and stopped just above her cleavage, extending down her arms to her wrists. Where the lace ended, the gossamer fabric began, following the shape of her torso and the curve of her hips closely, then falling straight to the tops of her shoes. The fabric looked much sturdier and heavier than it felt, and Hermione was amazed at the way it flowed around her as she turned this way and that in the mirror.
"Well?" the Marquis implored impatiently. Hermione was still focused on her reflection. "I think she's speechless. I don't think that's happened since before she learned her first word."
"It's all acromantula silk," Madam Malkin chimed in proudly. "Strongest fabric out there and extremely resistant to stains. When it dyes though, the colours are absolutely brilliant. You'll find no other fabric like it."
Hermione was shocked to see herself in the mirror. I do believe this dress will wear me, she thought. "I don't think this is the right dress," Hermione said quietly. She saw the Marquis' face blanche and the seamstress' head drop in the mirror. "It's beautiful, it really is!" she rushed to clarify, "but I can't-I don't-"
"I don't see what the problem is!" Sirius cried. "It's lace and it's simple! Beautiful?! The damn thing is a work of art!"
"Uncle please!" Hermione sighed grabbing his hands as Malkin whispered finite incatatem. "I'm going to marry Draco Malfoy regardless of what I wear to this ball. I could show up in a potato sack and we'll still be wedded soon."
The marquis couldn't help but feel peeved, but he did settle on something much simpler: the silk in periwinkle with the same cut as the dress Hermione rejected. Sirius did have the last say however, he requested the dress made anyways while Hermione waited outside the shop for him to settle accounts with the seamstress.
Hermione waited in the enchanted lamplight outside Madam Malkin's, her mind returning to the Malfoy men. In three days, she would attend the ball. She would accept Lucius Malfoy's terms and attempt to hash out conditions of her own. Regardless of her success, she would officially be affianced to Draco Malfoy. Of those three facts, her impending engagement to a man she still didn't know was the least faint inducing.
Maybe he wouldn't be so bad, though. Twice now he made the first attempt to apologise, bought her gown for the ball, and apparently he'd been trying to contact her before. Love was still off the table, friendship still a far leap, but civility seemed to be in their grasp. She unsuccessfully suppressed a small smile when she remembered his: unobtrusive and almost inconsequential but a start. She couldn't help but wonder what a full out smile looked like.
The Marquis joined her outside with a wry smile on his face. When Hermione caught sight of it, she questioned him.
"A couple things," he sighed, taking her arm and walking in the direction of the qpparition point. "Most importantly, Madam Malkin is under strict orders from Prince Malfoy to charge whatever you buy to the Malfoy account."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. At length, she finally went with, "Oh." Like before, Sirius Side-Along apparated her between one step and another. Outside the gates of her once-upon-a-time home, the Marquis stopped.
"Hermione listen," he said holding her face between his hands to make sure their eyes held. "I know life has been indescribably cruel to you the last few months. The Duchess and I haven't been able to be there for you so it's been lonely. Malfoy is going to feel like a breath of fresh air compared to what you've had and his gestures of comradery look great, but don't trust him. He isn't his father, but he still stands to gain from marrying you and it is completely in his power to manipulate and hurt you if you don't play this game correctly." He looked her in the eye, as if he was searching for something and sighed again. He patted down her hair, letting his hands slide to her shoulders. "Be careful, love."
He kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly. Tears caught Hermione by surprised as she hugged him back. Once, seemingly long ago, her father hugged her like this. She pulled back from his embrace and smiled up at him teary eyed. "I'll be careful, I promise." He gave her a brief, somewhat pained smile before apparating away, leaving Hermione to walk the path to the house by herself.
The steps to the front door were lit by the open door, shadows cast across it, but there were too many figures. As she got closer, she distinguished the three Greengrass women and a man. The Marquis and Hermione slowed as they reached the bottom steps. The man was balding from the forehead back, what left of it was sandy blonde and short. His nose was hawk-like and he was a bit short.
"Hermione dear!" the Widow exclaimed as she got closer. Her daughters fidgeted beside her, smiling, but throwing nervous glances at the man on the steps. "Your just in time to wish Robert good bye!"
'Robert,' who'd been gazing at the Widow adoringly until she said Hermione's name, now regarded her with a cool intent that was disturbingly familiar. Hermione didn't greet him, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from his. She could feel goosebumps rising up on her arms. Confusion and disgust rose up in her throat. One more to the slaughter house.The Widow looked gleeful as she looked back and forth between Hermione and Robert.
"We'll be married soon! He doesn't want a big wedding so we're just going to go to the Ministry, sign the papers and come home to celebrate!"
Hermione didn't know how to react. She'd completely forgot about the failed adoption in the Malfoy whirlwind, forgotten what the Duchess told her about the Widow and the man handling the case. She couldn't really blame him, for the failure, but she couldn't help but feel angry beyond reason. Strangely enough, instead of another savage burst of magic, this anger left her quiet. It's just a matter of time before justice is served, she thought, watching the Widow plant a kiss on Robert's lips. He smiled saccharinely at her, waved goodbye to her daughters and bumped shoulders with her on his way down the path to the apparition point.
Hermione watched him apparate away and turned back to see the Widow sigh with satisfaction and flounce into the house, her daughters following behind, Hermione still rooted at the base of the stairs.
She shook her head and gritted her teeth before starting up the stairs as well. Just a matter of time.
I'm back! For a little while anyways. I'll try to get another chapter up before spring semester starts, but in the mean time enjoy this! As always review = brownie points! I'm technically not old enough to offer you drinks, but if you're review is sufficiently flattering, I will risk censure and get you a glass of the rum left over from my Christmas cakes. Slice of cake to anyone who points out mistakes.
Oh and a reviewer asked for a time line of past events. I didn't plan one originally, but magically, it seemed to work out, even the magnolia tree flowering bit from earlier chapters.
Beginning of March - Mother's funeral
End of March - Duchess's Ball
April 13 - Granger-Greengrass wedding
Mid April-July - failing relationship between Hermione and father
July 8 - Father's funeral
July-August - Hermione practices wandless magic
September 11 - Malfoy Visit
September 16 - dress making
September 19 - the ball
All the best!