YAY FOR UPDATES! Yes! I do indeed still live! I won't even bother to promise updating soon. I will update as soon as my muse and GPA stop playing tag, hopefully soon. All the best! (P.S. Reiews may convince them to play fair :D)
Hermione looked out the window to get her first glance of the Manor. Backlit against a setting sun, it stood dark and imposing, surrounded by a great stone wall, with no gates. The carriage touched down gently in front of the wall and trotted forward. Hermione watched through the window as they passed through the wall, same as passing through Platform 9 3/4. Green lawns carpeted the courtyard of the Manor, bushes of ever-blooming white roses lined the walls. The path to the front steps diverged at a long pool of water and converged on the other side. The thestrals trotted to the steps, stopping to let Hermione and the Marquis exit.
Hermione heard the music coming from inside and the butterflies continued to run riot along her intestines. What does one even do at a royal ball? she wondered. Sit and simper? Do I find the prince or will he find me? And if the Widow sees me? I don't even know what she did to me before! What if she does it again? She glanced at the Marquis, looking for a bit of comfort and reassurance, but he looked positively gleeful. "There's little in life that's better than creating dramatic havoc. Come on Hermione; let's go!"
She realized that no help was coming from the oversized child beside her and sighed. Instead of voicing her concerns, she followed him to the large wooden double doors that opened of their own accord. The Marquis tucked Hermione's hand into the crook of his elbow and gave it a squeeze. Hermione felt her personal wrecking team abate a bit. Warm bright lights and chatter spilled out of the large room beyond them. Slowly, as Hermione and the Marquis entered, the chatter died and people turned to look at the very late newcomers.
Hermione looked on wide-eyed at the sheer amount of people before her. More grand, sweeping stairs led down to the ball room, allowing anyone who walked in to have a moment of stardom. At the bottom, witches and wizards in every hue of the rainbow covered the floor. Many witches were outfitted in varying versions of the confection dress Madam Malkin tried to stuff her in. No one else was wearing a fully whiite gown.
Three sets of eyes made direct contact with hers; Lucius Malfoy, in the back with a tumbler of something dark, raised the crystal to her with a smirk. The Widow, off to the right of the masses looked murderous, her face beginning to turn quite pink. The Prince Malfoy stood in the center of a teeming mass of colors and coifs, stark in white. So maybe this dress was a good idea. He caught her gaze and held it and Hermione couldn't let it go.
The house elf to the right gave no qualms to Hermione's sudden tension with a prince as he announced in an uncharacteristically booming voice, "The Marquis Sirius Black and Miss Hermione Granger." Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, but the shock brought her back to her senses. She looked over at Sirius, who's mouth morphed into the rogueish smirk he saved for flirting the bloomers off unsuspecting victims. Already, he seemed to be eyeing a particularly giggly group of ladies. Chatter quickly picked back up, few glancing at them again, as their moment faded already.
"What do we do now?" Hermione whispered to him? The butterflies eased their rioting as people turned their attention away from them, but a resilient battalion continued while the thought of interacting with Prince Malfoy stayed with her.
Sirius began to saunter down the steps, and Hermione concentrated hard on not stepping on the hem of her dress or her own feet. "We work our way to the drinks say hello to a couple of friendly faces and wait for your Prince to come scoop you up. After that you're on your own. I see a couple of, well, old friends that I need to get reacquainted with."
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. This man is a menace to the general female populous. "Not necessarily in that order of course. It looks as if the scooping will come first. Your man is about two metres away from us."
Merlin I'm not ready!
"Uncle, wait! What do I do?" Hermione asked him, eyeing Malfoy Jr.'s measured approach, swimming through the crowd.
"Never flirted with a man before," he said leisurely. He lifted her hand from his arm and kissed it before letting it drop to her side. "Besides you're going to marry him anyways. What does it matter, right?"
Hermione fumed, and resisted the urge to stomp her feet petulantly. What she really wanted to do was strangle him but he'd already left her with an irritating wink and grin; also, murder in the presence of royalty would get her an Azkaban sentence not a wedding.
Hermione turned her attention back to the man approaching her. Eyes followed his progress; some were hopeful, some despairing and some calculating, but Hermione's were nervous. Finally, he stood before her in all his regal glory. By some divine mercy, she managed a fluid curtsy and eeked out the correct greeting. She waited for a pregnant second with the crowd, head bowed, still in a curtsy. She couldn't understand where the tension in her stomach was coming from. A man she hadn't spent more than twelve hours max with gave her anarchic butterflies. What's wrong with me?
When he took her hand and bowed over it, he released Hermione and the crowd from their stillness. He held her eyes again and Hermione caught the miniscule tilt in his lips that she thought was his smile. Oh my poor tummy.
The octet of musicians playing from a balcony was oblivious to Hermione's intestinal turmoil, similarly to the house elf. They transitioned smoothly to the familiar 1-2-3 of a waltz. People around them began to pair up for the dance, while trying to surreptitiously watch the interaction between Hermione and Prince Malfoy.
"Miss Granger," Draco said loudly enough for Hermione to hear over the music and murmuring. "Would you care to dance with me?"
"If you can lead properly, I will dance with you. I can't distinguish one stupid dance from another to save my life." Oh bloody hell. Maybe he didn't hear me. "I mean, of course, Your Highness," she amended. His miniscule tilt grew to a small one. No he definitely heard me. Her thoughts quickly changed direction when she noticed the beginnings of a dimple in his left cheek. That's adorable.
He didn't say anything to Hermione's relief, just turned and led her by the hand to the edge of a raised platform where people were already beginning to dance. When he found a spot he deemed suitable, he turned and placed his hand on her waist as hers moved up to his shoulder.
Hermione remembered dancing with Malfoy like this once before, but she hadn't paid much attention to him then. Now, she was surprised by the amount of space his hand covered and the faint smell of bergamot and citrus that surrounded him. She had a feeling that if she moved closer the smell would be much stronger. But that could be awkward, so instead, she stared over his shoulder at all the envious and curious onlookers. One elegant turn brought her within the sights of the Widow, glaring at her from the arm of her fiancé.
He bowed his head over her ear like he'd done a long time ago, completely oblivious to the Widow's stare. "I was beginning to think you weren't coming."
Still watching the Widow watch her, Hermione answered, "I thought I wasn't for a while either."
"Cold feet?" How about bloody hands?
"Nothing of the sort." He leaned back to look her in the eye questioningly.
"What then?" Hermione debated telling him about her run in with mind control, and the cruelty behind Azalea Greengrass's vindictiveness.
"The dress I planned on wearing was ruined, but the Marquis was holding on to this one." Hermione smiled up at him. "I have to thank you for the dresses, don't I?"
"I'm sure you'll find a way to repay me," he said, small smile returning. Damn that dimple! He leaned forward to speak in her ear again. "I don't know what the other dress looked like, but you look beautiful in this one." Hermione could feel a blush rising on her cheeks. Sweet Circe.
"Th-Thank you, your Hi-"
"My name is Draco," he interrupted. "There's no need to stutter and stumble over titles if we're going to be married, right?" Hermione was beginning to feel quite hot in the face.
"Then call me Hermione."
"Very well."
They danced in an awkward silence for a while, trying to find something else to talk about. While they thought, the waltz ended and something faster began. Hermione grimaced at the thought of moving faster in heels she could barely walk in. Draco glanced down to catch the look of displeasure.
"Would you care to disappear for a while? It would be easier to talk."
Hermione looked up-how do I keep forgetting how tall he is?-with her eyes narrowed. You make me feel strange and I don't think I like that.
"Oh dear, a young lady all alone with the prince. My virtue could be besmirched," Hermione said sarcastically. Already though, she was feeling quite unsteady on her feet. She glared at the twinkle of amusement in his eye.
He leaned forward to whisper, "We're getting married. Your virtue is mine anyways." Before she could respond with an angry retort, he dropped the hand that was on her waist and turned to lead her off the dance floor. Hermione was not blushing at the idea of her wedding night, no. She was glaring at his back and ignoring the onlookers; but mostly, she was not thinking of her impending wedding night. Merlin!
Draco led them out of a side entrance and away from the ballroom at a clipped pace, past many portraits, tapestries and doors. Once the music had grown faint, he slowed so that he and Hermione walked side by side. Hermione ignored the fact that he still held her hand as they walked and the feel of his hands-again-around hers. Dry and warm and slightly rough with calluses. What the hell does this pretty boy do to leave his hands callused? Hermione wondered. Not that I mind of course.
"Your virtue is safe from everything but rumors, Hermione," he said at length, breaking her from her musings. He looked at her from the side of his eye. She turned a bit pink at the word 'virtue,' but other than that, she was proud to say that she kept her cool. "I won't be taking anything from you until you are ready." Until he said that. That was maraschino cherry red worthy.
I would really love it if we could leave the topic of my virtue for a time when I don't find it blush-worthy! Seriously! There's no way my face isn't permanently a lovely shade of tomato by now. She quickly cast about for something to divert him.
"Why are your hands callused?" I think that's a safe body part.
The look of surprise on Draco's face suggested 'unexpected,' rather than 'safe,' but he answered the question anyway. "I like to brew potions and I enjoy practicing hand-to-hand combat. They're outlets of sorts."
Hermione's eyebrows raised a little, surprised. "Really? That's-that's interesting." His dimple returned with a soft snort.
"You don't sound impressed. Aren't you supposed to be overcome with awe at everything I reveal about myself?"
She was caught unaware by the giggle that broke from her. She covered her mouth in an attempt to push it back in, but a small smile remained. "I don't know anything about you, so I guess I'm just trying to learn. I liked potions too." She glanced up to see his eyebrows gather in the middle briefly before smoothing. She wondered why for a moment, but let it pass. "Why hand-to-hand combat?"
"I am a firm believer in being able to defend myself if I am disarmed. If the person I'm dueling doesn't know how to handle their body in a fight, then all the better for me," he said nodding sharply.
Hermione looked at him slyly from the corner of her eye. "I imagine you get disarmed often then."
Draco blustered and sputtered as steel shot up his spine, before spitting out a sharp 'no.' "I am an excellent duelist." Only when Hermione began giggling did he relax back into his easy posture, his dimple returning, seeming more and more permanent. "And you? I assume your hobbies include practicing beauty spells and gossip?"
Hermione glared at him. "I'd go insane listening to some idiot natter on about rumors. I quite prefer a fully stocked library." Yep, permanent adorable dimple.
Draco and Hermione continued on in this manner, bantering and ribbing, revealing small things about themselves to each other: love of history, indifference to dancing but an ear for music, lack of athleticism, undeniable love affair with quidditch. There was an unspoken agreement not to go beyond these superficial details. They were still only acquaintances at best.
Even then, Sirius's speech on 'playing the game,' creeped around Hermione's mind. Draco seemed nice enough, he had a sense of humor, not to mention the dimple, but she didn't know him. He was taught to be charming and his looks were the work of genetics. Hermione knew what his father wanted out of their arrangement, and she could assume that he would benefit from the Duke's desires, but what did he want?
"Excuse me?"
"I said,'What do you want out of this marriage?" I don't think I actually wanted to say that aloud. . "Wh-what I mean to say is-"
"No," he snorted derisively, not without humor. "I understand. Let's find somewhere to sit down first. I swear women's shoes are the most common form of torture."
Hermione had actually forgotten all about the pain in her feet, but now that they were brought back to mind, they ached with a vengeance. She nodded in agreement, not trusting herself to keep her foot out of her mouth. He turned to one of the many doors they passed and held it open for her. It opened into someone's study. A few arm chairs surrounded a low coffee table, a large window fixed up with a bench and side table and a very large desk filled the room in mahogany and warm reds and browns.
Draco chose the window seat to sit in; if Hermione chose to sit elsewhere, she would seem rude or awkward. She took a big breath and steeled herself. I've been holding his hand for Merlin knows how long. I can sit beside him. When he noticed her hesitation, he patted the space beside him in a manner that was much too similar to his father. Hermione shook of the déjà vu and sat down, back to the wall and legs curled up beside her.
They sat for a few seconds in silence. Draco looked down at his hands, his dimple gone, replaced by tight lips. Hermione studied him. He kept his hair long-like his father's-wrapped in a white ribbon today- though his ponytail was shorter. As a matter of fact, it seemed all of his features were his father's: square jaw, straight sharp nose, grey eyes. She wondered how much of the father was in the son.
"I don't believe you are inferior to me," he said quietly, still looking at his hand. "Maybe if you were stupid, or naive, ugly-then you would be below me, but you are quite the opposite of all of that. What my father and his peers-his entire generation and the ones before them-believe is archaic, based on what was once a real and justified fear of muggles, but it has evolved into a cruelty and injustice that is senseless and has endangered our way of life. We've inbred so much in an attempt to preserve purity that more squibs are being born than ever recorded. Our schools are reporting attendances resembling that of when they were first built. My father pushes for our marriage because he understands this, even as he holds on to his prejudice. I am not my father."
Hermione still sat quietly, studying him. The full lower lip wasn't his father's, nor the cheekbones. There was more blue in his eyes, foamy seawater rather than platinum. He wrung his hands and glanced at her quickly before looking down at his hands again. Is that nervousness I spy? When he cleared his throat, Hermione almost cried with joy. Not so calm and collected anymore are you?
"I want to change our world," he continued. "Abolish archaic laws, give rights to those who have none but should." His sentence tapered off as if he hadn't finished his thought. "There's so much in the world that needs to be fixed. If this marriage is the price, then I would pay it in less than a heartbeat."
"Am I a price?" Hermione asked, suddenly perturbed at the thought of being a burden to him. Although, I thought of this farce in terms of prices and burdens not even two hours ago as well. When did things change? "Do you think marriage to me would really be a burden?"
"I don't believe it has to be," Draco said, looking at her again. "I've thought once or twice that maybe I would have put some effort into courting you, had we not entered into this with a time limit and misguided pre-conceptions."
Hermione surprised herself, and him, by saying, "I would have liked that." Draco took a hard look at her, searching her face for something. Hermione could feel a blush-another one?!- heating on her cheeks as she avoided his eyes, ducking her head down. What have you done to my poor stomach, Draco Malfoy?
"And you? I've bared my soul, now it's your turn." Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and bit her lip. For a little while, he'd made her forget about the Widow and her henchwomen, forget about the broken vase and the torn dress, her cot in the servants' quarters. Her dead parents. Fear and loneliness. Anger.
"I just want freedom. And revenge. She keeps taking bits and pieces of my life away from me. Just once, I want her to know how it feels."
He nodded slowly. "And from me?"
"I don't know." Hermione bit her lip and kept her eyes on her wringing hands.
She felt his body shift on the cushions and watched his hand reach to stop her worrying. Already his hand felt familiar. "You know, being friends is the least we could strive for." He scooched closer, covering her hand with the other. "We only have less than a week before my father's timeline dictates that I announce our wedding, but maybe, maybe you would like to go somewhere? A picnic perhaps? We have a beautiful gardens and an orchard. Or maybe Hogwarts-"
Huh. Who would have thought Draco Malfoy rambles? A smile grew on Hermione's face as he continued and she squeezed his hand to gain his attention. Before she could start however, a patronus took form in front of them in the shape of a great fierce looking dog. It barked and then delivered its message to Draco.
"The crowd is teeming with the press, looking for Prince Malfoy and his darling heart throb." Prince Nott's voice had a sarcastic edge to it. "They think you will come back in the same way you left. If you intend to keep the woman you're with out of the press, you'll find another way in and come separately." It gave a last bark and leapt between them through the window, startling Hermione into standing.