The Spring Ball
As soon as Hermione stepped over the doorstep of her apartment, she felt a fluffy tail brush against her ankles. Padding silently on paws like saucers, the cat circled around her twice, almost causing her to lose her balance.
"Crookshanks!"
The feline eyes fixed on his owner, full of unspoken reproach for such an unaffectionate greeting. The witch usually found him asleep when she arrived home. He wasn't old, the lifespan of a Kneazle was considerably longer than that of a cat, but he must have been quite bored, locked in a flat all day while she was away at work. It was with a tinge of guilt that she realised she could not remember the last time she had taken him for a walk outside, or played with him using his favourite, now frayed toy rat she had got for him once.
Promising herself that she would not allow again the responsibilities at work to make her forget her only abiding company, she went straight to the kitchen, Crookshanks following close behind with tail curling upward with interest. Hermione opened a cupboard and reached out for a treat for her four-legged friend. Pulling out a box of salmon-flavoured drops from its depths, her flowy sleeve caught on a small, pot-bellied bottle. To keep it from tipping over, she quickly fixed it between her fingers.
Hermione recognised its bright sunny label, it was a Revitalising potion, from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Hermone tended to treat all Weasley products with well-justified caution but this one caught her attention during her last visit there, nearly two years ago at Halloween, when Ron had literally dragged her inside, promising to spend the equal amount of time in the bookshop of her choice. It was a fair deal and any relationship required compromise so Hermione ended up in this paradise for sweet tooths for almost an hour. The result of the visit, besides an obscene amount of sweets that Ron purchased, were several Cauldron cakes (self-admittedly she had weakness for these) and a few potion bottles she had picked up out of sheer boredom. One of them was now in her hands. She hadn't tried it yet, in fact, she had quite forgotten about it and now, perusing the label, she thought it was time to test out its claims.
"This potion will imbue the drinker with fresh doses of limitless energy and revitalise them to take on the challenges of their day!"
Unsure of the effectiveness of the potion - after all, it came from a prankster's shop, not a licensed apothecary - she hesitated, albeit only for a moment. The body's crying need for rejuvenation overrode whatever concerns she might have normally had. Hermione removed the cork cap, put the bottle to her mouth and downed the potion in one go. She had probably taken in more than the recommended dose but she figured it would only serve to ensure the effects of the stimulant. The demands of the day had been many and the evening ahead - long and full.
Having filled a grateful Crookshank's dinner bowl, her stomach growled loudly, the sharp pangs of hunger settling in her own belly. She gobbled down a leftover fish taco while slouching at the kitchen table, not even bothering to heat it up. She had been neglecting her regime, having developed sloppy eating habits and missed her 'Stretch and Flex' yoga practice more times than she could count. She could really use a few days off to unwind and catch up on life, if nothing else.
The calorie-loaded meal left her more sluggish than energised, and she blinked against the swiftly descending drowsiness.. So much for the Weasley products, she huffed, stifling a yawn. Perhaps a quick nap would suffice. Without thinking twice, Hermione plodded to her bedroom and curled up on her bed. The moment she pressed her cheek against the soft coolness of her pillow, she felt her eyelids drooping.
When she awoke, the heavy weight at the foot of her bed jarred her back to consciousness.
Ginny Weasley was sitting there, drumming her fingers against the pine footboard. Hermione loved the boisterous friend but sometimes she wished she hadn't shared with her the password to her flat.
"About time. I would have used 'Aguamenti' if you hadn't woken up in the next five minutes. I swear, Hermione, you're turning into an old lady. Afternoon naps at your age? Have you already taken your pills?" she teased.
Hermione offered her a wan smile.
"If you had been awake half of the night and had the day I had, you'd be snoring it off, too!"
Ginny threw glossy hair behind her shoulder.
"Better tell me about it, then."
Hermione pushed herself to a sitting position, keen to share the details of the trial but before she could open her mouth, Ginny stopped her, glancing at the clock on the wall-papered wall.
"Actually, it's already well past five and the Ball starts at eight. This leaves us with less than two hours to get you into a humpable condition. You know I am confident with my styling skills but even I'll need time to work with this!"
She threw her hands up in a gesture of over-dramatised despair looking at Hermione's hair which were presently having a field day, looking frizzier and more dishevelled than usual from her nap.
"Gin! I am not looking for a hook-up, actually I want this day to be over and done with."
The witch shook her head, her frizzy curls bouncing merrily around.
"Come on, you don't want to be moping around at the party, the Golden Girl tugging at people's sympathy."
"I'd rather tug at someone's heartstrings rather than their boxers," was Hermione's mirthless reply.
"One does not exclude the other, you know." said Ginny with a cheeky smirk. Turning features into a more serious expression, she added, "Hermione, I know you had a rough day, Harry mentioned he saw you at Greengrass' trial."
"It's not even that. Actually, it wasn't half as bad as I expected, though I can't help but feel for his wife. She was in shreds as soon as Lucius launched into his testimony."
"Harry said he appeared quite honest, but I bet it's only an act. Only a fool would fall for it," Ginny said with a huff.
"He really was quite convincing. I would have believed him if not for the conversation I witnessed afterwards," she admitted.
Ginny leaned forward with curiosity gleaming in her brilliant brown eyes, "What conversation?"
"Well, after I left the courtroom I encountered him and Theodore Nott in the corridor. I concealed myself so they had no idea I was listening in. They were discussing some sort of a deal, but I didn't catch any details. It sounded like Malfoy offered him something in exchange for a favour and was pressing him to deliver."
"That slimy bastard," commented Ginny with a hard expression. " I cannot think of anything Malfoy would need Nott for. I mean, he still has his money and a good slice of influence he once held, though I can't comprehend how, with all the wrong he'd done."
"Perhaps it has to do with his parole? For a man like Lucius it must be infuriating not to be able to travel places without the ministerial approval."
"But how could Theo help him with that? Anyway it all sounds devious and I wish we had something on him. For a former Death-Eater he doesn't exactly follow the conventional path of atonement. It's a pity you didn't have the machine from the Trial with you to record the whole conversation. While what you heard is not evidence, it clearly shows that a stricter sentence would have served him just right."
Ginny emphasised her point by thumping her fist on the mattress with such force that Crookshanks, who was resting on her lap, jumped off and walked away, offended.
Hermione surmised her friend had never fully forgiven Lucius for slipping Tom Riddle's diary into her cauldron all those years ago.
"I suppose," said Hermione but her voice lacked the same enthusiastic determination as Ginny's.
Deep inside she wasn't sure she would have turned Malfoy in. While her righteous side insisted on demanding justice, the other side of her could not disregard the tragic way he had lost his wife, the fact that he was practically alienated from his son. She recalled how unexpectedly vulnerable he had been with her speaking about his life choices with a genuine ring of regret. Then she remembered the feeling of his strong arm on her back as he steadied her, his undeniably masculine scent, his expressive eyes which could go from icy grey to passionate molten silver in a matter of seconds. The memory warmed her face and she shook her head as if trying to clear the images.
For the first time in her life, the witch, usually so steady in her convictions, felt conflicted and torn.
On the one hand she found him infuriating in many ways, and his stubbornly low view of Muggles and Muggleborns as incomprehensible as it was offensive. On the other hand, now that she had glimpsed the man with a heart underneath the cold exterior of an ex-Death Eater and proud aristocrat, she was intrigued to know more.
Hermione had always thought herself a straightforward witch when it came to relationships. In her limited experience, she was usually attracted to men who wore their hearts on their sleeves, were transparent and honest with their intentions. When it came to Lucius he was a man of mystery, she was never quite sure when he was being sincere and when he only used sarcasm to mask his true feelings.
If one could put it so, boys like Viktor and Ron had one layer - all there was to them was that which met the eye. Lucius, on the contrary, appeared much more complex. She supposed it would take a lifetime to learn him, it was just the way he was. The thought of uncovering these layers one by one to get to know the true man beneath was thrilling for such an inquisitive witch as Hermione. She quietly wondered if even Narcissa, while she lived, had ever succeeded in having him lay his soul bare before her.
"Anyway, where's that beautiful gown you bought? Ginny's question yanked her from her musings.
A bit groggily, Hermione rolled from the bed, made her way across the room she reached into the wardrobe and pulled out the black dress she had acquired for the occasion.
"Let me have a closer look."
"Sure, I'll go shower." Hermione let Ginny take hold of the dress, grabbed a few items herself and headed to the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later she reappeared, in a basic black brassiere and a pair of black cotton knickers, with a towel wrapped around her head.
Seeing her Ginny pulled a disgusted face.
"I'd thought you could for once wear something less…plain."
"What does it matter? It's not like I'll be showing them to anyone. Besides, these are comfortable and I'll be up for most of the evening."
"How do you know? I mean, you're honestly not interested in meeting anyone? I reckon half the Ministry will be there along with some international guests and if French wizards are half as good-looking as the Beauxbaton girls..." she trailed off meaningfully.
"There were times when you didn't speak about them in such superlatives. Remember your lovely nickname for Fleur - Phlegm?"
"Duh, I saw the way Harry first looked at those girls and I was basically jealous. It's true that Fleur and I didn't get off on the right foot but things are okay between us now. She'd learned to drop her posh mannerisms and I suppose she really is a good match for Bill after all."
"Speaking of Fleur, one thing I really look forward to in the Ball is to see the wife of the French Minister. She's a half-Veela, you know."
"Yeah, Fleur says she was really something in her younger days but today she's basically a very handsome grandma. Good, otherwise Mum wouldn't be so keen on letting Dad go."
Arthur Weasly still worked in the Ministry and was one of the honoured guests due to his many merits, and his active and high-risk involvement with the Order of the Phoenix.
While discussing the invited guests, many of whom were their old classmates, Hermione slipped the gown on. The cool fabric flowed softly and felt comforting against her skin.
"I didn't know Draco was also on the guest list." Ginny scrunched up her nose when her friend relayed the information.
"Oh, he's not a honoured guest, to be sure, but the Ball is pretty much open to all Ministerial workers, Ginny."
"I hear he's dating Astoria. My teammate is an old friend of hers and she told me."
"She seems nice enough. She was present at the trial. Gavin Greengrass must be her uncle."
When Ginny tapped her on the shoulder, signifying the zipper was up, Hermione turned to face her friend. The backless dress emphasised her long neck and slender waist, clinging to her hips, following the line of her legs and finally flaring out at her calves in a mermaid tail-like swoop.
Ginny looked at her with approval.
"You look stunning! You have such a feminine figure. I think Harry likes my skin and bones but sometimes I wish I could develop more curves." The comment was accompanied by a sigh.
"That'll happen soon enough. As soon as you retire from the team, and raise your own brood.."
Ginny hit her arm playfully.
"Oh, shut up! I love and admire my mum but I don't want to change into a replica of her."
"But seriously I'm sure you know that Harry loves you for much more than your body. Your mind and soul are just as beautiful to him."
"You're a romantic idealist, good luck with that. As much as I'd love it to be true, I think you're overestimating him. Harry is quite a gentleman, he is still but a man and sometimes they can't help but be led by the groin."
Hermione pinched her nose at Ginny's unsparing assessment of male specimens. She was not naive, she knew physical attraction played an important role in romantic relationships but, from early childhood, she had secretly longed for someone that would look past her buck teeth, countless freckles and bushy hair and love her for the person she was. Viktor Krum once did and though he never officially became her boyfriend, the hours they spent together during his stay at Hogwarts belonged to sweet memories, and they both remained friends to this day.
Of course, she had long grown out of her ugly duckling phase, the stares she received on occasion testified to that fact, though Hermione usually found the male attention rather uncomfortable.
"I'm actually nervous about the Ball. They will put me in the spotlight, especially that you and Harry won't be there. Honestly I feel like a brain wreck after the past weeks."
"You'll be fine, and Ron will be there to share the spotlight."
"Even worse, people will question why we're still not together since it's the first major public event since the break-up."
"Come on, you may as well have a decent evening ahead of you. With all those foreign guests I'm beginning to feel a trifle regretful that I'm not going. Anyways, here, this should help." Ginny pulled out a bottle from her shopping bag.
"Ginny, I am not drinking alcohol before the party."
"Why not? I bought it for me and Harry, but a friend in need is a friend indeed," she quoted. "It'll give you an early start, besides, a glass or two will only calm your nerves and…inspire confidence" she added, showcasing her white teeth in a mischievous grin.
Hermione stared apprehensively at the sparkling contents. Not waiting for her consent, Ginny disappeared into the kitchen and returned shortly bearing two tulip glasses. Holding one by the stem, she simply filled it, and passed it to her friend. The wine did look inviting, with a glimpse of rosy peach in the swirl and fine streaming bubbles.
Hermione soon emptied her glass.
"Speaking of confidence boosters - I've nearly forgotten… Accio, necklace."
A black necklace flew swiftly into their direction and Ginny caught it with the skill of a professional Quidditch player. Hermione held her hair out of the way while Ginny fastened the necklace for her. The heart-shaped pendant rested right below the dip of her neck, contrasting with its milky paleness.
"Now, for the hair and make-up…"
The women sat in front of a dressing table and Ginny carefully picked several products from her oversized vanity bag. In a few circular motions she massaged foundation cream onto Hermione's face, followed by powder with a religious dedication. The brush tickled her nose and Hermione squeezed her eyes to avoid the powder from getting in. Knowing Ginny was unwilling to compromise with her on that matter, she had relinquished herself to her expert hands.
"Faut souffrir pour être belle," Ginny intonated with a good impression of the high-pitched voice and French accent of Fleur.
When Ginny moved on to the hair, the brush and wand in hand along with a handful of hairpins, Hermione quietly endured the tugging, pulling, twisting and pinning. After what seemed like half an hour, Ginny pulled back to examine her work.
"Hmmm, something is missing here," Ginny knitted her brow in concentration, and, lifting her hand to her friend's face, pulled out a few strands.
Hermione was greatly relieved when she finally saw Ginny's brown eyes gleam with satisfaction.
"Voila!"
Hermione turned her face to the mirror and parted her mouth in pleasant surprise. Wonder of wonders, Ginny somehow managed to force Hermione's unruly hair into submission, styling them into a pretty updo, sleek and smooth, with a few curls bouncing loosely around her forehead.
Visibly pleased with Hermione's reaction, Ginny smiled, not hiding pride over the fruit of her efforts.
"I've always wanted to have a sister, you know, to do that sort of thing with her. Now, I really dream of having a baby girl. Harry would rather have a son first. George is already taking bets with Charlie."
Hermione slipped into a reflective mood, her fixed resolve to remain entirely devoted to her career at a price of other matters was somehow losing its previously unadulterated appeal.
"This reminds me of young Teddy. I last saw him on his third birthday. Adorable kid. How old is he now?" asked Hermione.
"He's nearly five and still cute as a button. Harry takes his responsibilities as a godfather very seriously and they visit each other nearly every other week. Tonk's mum is taking really good care of Teddy, though she's a bit overprotective."
"Can you blame her? I mean she lost her husband and daughter in one year, Teddy is basically the only family she's got left."
"True, but all the more I am glad that Harry gets to take him out for trips and such. Last time they went to London Zoo and, of course, he could not refrain from telling the same old anecdote on how he had once let the snake out of its cage, before he even knew he was a wizard. Harry thinks it never gets old but I swear I heard it a few times too many. Good for him, Teddy adores his godfather and he was giggling like crazy. He actually tried to speak to different animals in the zoo, thinking that if he tried really hard he'd make the glass go away, too! They're so guileless at this age!" The corners of her mouth lifted in amusement as she took a sip from her glass.
"You never know, maybe he could have. Nymphadora and Remus were exceptional wizards, I'd be surprised if he didn't inherit at least some of their skills!"
"He did at least one- he's showing hints of being a Metamorphmagus just like his mum. When he gets upset, angry or excited the tips of his hair colour. Once, it happened when we were out in Muggle London, luckily we had a hat he could put on otherwise we'd be getting some weird looks for sure!"
"Oh, I'm glad I'll see him at your wedding. Can't believe it's just around the corner, so many things happening right now!"
"Yes, and one of them is the Ball! Hermione! You'd better get going unless you're going for a grand entrance," said Ginny, a bit alarmed, having realised the lateness of the hour.
Hermione shot her a wry look that said 'You-know-I'd-rather-take-a-divination-class-again-than-draw-attention-to-myself-there.'
Before she stepped out of the apartament, Hermione re-examined her reflection feeling genuinely pleased. An elegant face stared back at her with bright lips and black winged liner that brought out the gold in her eyes. Perhaps it was the effect of the light-hearted talk with Ginny, the potion, or the wine she had drunk was already setting in, but Hermione's spirits were on the rise and she found herself actually looking forward to the night. Looking into the mirror, she saw the other, red-haired witch beaming at her.
"I feel so proud, like a mum of a girl who's finally made it out in society."
"Now who's being sentimental?"
Ginny ignored the comment and gave her a little peck on the cheek.
"Go Cinderella, the charm will end by eleven so don't forget to find your prince before that."
"It was midnight! I find your ignorance in some of the most well-known fairy tales appalling! I see I must take up the responsibility of educating your children in Muggle literature, so their knowledge extends beyond the Wizarding world."
"Whatever. Harry certainly won't compete with you here as Muggle-savvy as he is. You know he was never a big reader." Ginny's eyes twinkled as always when she was mentioning her husband-soon-to-be these days, and Hermione asked herself if she would ever find someone who would beam in a similar way when thinking or talking about her.
They continued chatting as Ginny walked Hermione downstairs.
"Anyway, have a good time, girl!" she said as they reached the front door. "I'll grab my stuff and I'll be on my way, too. And don't you worry, I'll lock the door," she added, knowing her friends' festidiousness in such matters.
"I actually think I might enjoy it. Thanks, Gin."
The Spring Ball commenced as the sun arched low in the west. In line with the theme, flower arrangements in various shapes and forms decorated the grand Ministry hall, set apart for the occasion. When Hermione passed under the arbour situated at the entrance, the dropping curtain of jasmine and honeysuckle briefly caressed her skin and filled her nostrils with an intoxicating scent: heady and nectarous.
She surveyed the ballroom, wondering if the French minister and his wife had already arrived. Soft music of a string quartet was floating through the air, magically amplified to create an impression of permeating the atmosphere. It fell pleasantly on her ears and she spotted that several couples had already taken to the dance floor, swaying to the slow melody. She watched elegantly clad figures ascend and descend the carpeted staircase that led to balconies overlooking the scene.
Floral garlands hung in splendid clusters from the ceiling, its ivory white disappearing almost entirely beneath the brilliant abundance of flowers and botanicals. The columns placed in the corners were artfully twined with garlands of peonies and lilies, charmed to showcase the fullness of their splendid design, going from bud to full bloom in a matter of seconds, in a repeated loop. This kaleidoscope of colours reflected in the tiny crystals of radiant chandeliers evenly dispersed overhead, projecting a display of glittering light onto the glossy hardwood floor.
When working with the decorating department Hermione had voiced her concerns of going overboard with the decorations so she was thankful that it was all executed tastefully. The other guests seemed to agree as they looked around in awe and wonder, taking in the celebratory ambience with all their senses.
The vast majority of guests arrived with a partner, and Hermione was painfully made aware of the vacuum around her and a slight flutter of self-consciousness rose within her, despite her earlier assertions issued in the presence of Ginny that she was perfectly content coming to the event on her own.
As two women in heavy evening gowns passed next to her, a scrap of a conversation reached her ears and she paused at the mention of a certain name.
"Rumour has it that Theodore Nott finally got the job he had long applied for. I hear he's the new Unspeakable."
"Don't say! But isn't he the son of that awful Death-Eater?"
"He might be, but if the guys in the Department decided he's qualified for the job, that's good enough for me. Besides, have you seen him? He's quite a catch."
"Quite," the other woman answered with a chuckle.
Hermione quickly connected the facts, mentally going back to the conversation she had chanced upon several hours earlier in the damp corridor. So that was the inducement Lucius had offered in exchange for…well, she was maddeningly in the dark as to what service Nott was doing for the devious Pureblood, but before she could dwell on it any longer a voice called from some feet away.
"Hermione, haven't seen you in ages!"
Hermione turned around to discern the source from which the words came among the multitude of voices. Dressed in his best, Neville Longbottom made his way through the crowd. The unexpected but welcome sight of his face shining with unfeigned joy brought a genuine smile to her own.
"Neville! I thought you'd be at Hogwarts, the exam season and all!"
Neville took up the post of a Herbology professor at Hogwarts soon after completing his own supplementary studies in this area, assisting professor Sprout for two years before he had finally joined the staff dining table at the Great Hall as a full-fledged teacher this past September.
"I am confident that my students are well-prepared for whatever the examiners may throw at them. My third-years in particular did splendidly this year, and we actually managed to cover a good portion of material from outside the curriculum. There's no reason they shouldn't study some of the more rare plants and learn more about their amazing properties."
"Of course," Hermione nodded eagerly, knowing his passion for the subject.
"For instance, did you see the pots on the terrace? It's Lunar Poinsettia, and each full moon it glows bright red in the dark. So bright, in fact, that protective glasses are needed to protect the vision. Their leaves are poisonous but when harvested during the full moon phase, they can be used as a strengthening ingredient in various potions, increasing their effectiveness by 85%. But what's really fantastic is the - "
Hermione touched his arm lightly, causing him to stop mid-sentence.
"Neville, it's great that you're so passionate about this subject, your students are really fortunate to have such a dedicated, enthusiastic teacher but I'm not really into plants and I haven't even been on the terrace yet. I've only arrived, you see."
"Oh." There was a trace of disappointment discernible in his voice. "Sure, I understand."
His eyes swept to her side. "You're alone tonight?"
"Not counting the other three hundred lucky invitees- yes, I happen to be on my own tonight." Hermione started off lightly but with a small edge to her tone.
"What a coincidence then - so am I. Shall we make the best of it?" said Neville and, straightening up, he offered her his arm. He had long left his awkward childhood days behind him, looking quite dashing in a well-cut tuxedo, easy smile and naturally tousled hair.
She took his arm willingly and he escorted her to the refreshment tables somewhat inconveniently stationed on the other side of the dancing area. Hermione was never fully at ease trying to match her body's movements to the rhythm so she was grateful that she had a legitimate excuse of catching up with an old acquaintance in case she was asked to dance.
They chatted for a while sipping champagne, distributed by servers who moved around with suavity, carrying silver trays that held a selection of other choice beverages. Hermione set down the empty flute with a decisive ring and eyed a glass of bubbling liquid, pondering if she should go for another. Though she had only had one so far (besides Ginny's generous offering of wine), she was beginning to feel rather lightheaded. That's weird, her tolerance for alcohol was usually higher than this…
Hermione had no idea why all of a sudden she felt warm and fuzzy in a way that was somewhat comparable to feeling tipsy, not that she was very experienced.
"I miss the old Hogwarts days sometimes," she confided, looking back with nostalgia, her fingers dancing on the glassy surface. Even though their latter school years were eclipsed by an ongoing war some things back then were easier, and felt less complicated. Or perhaps it was the excitement of living on the edge that she missed.
"I know what you mean, even though I consider myself immensely fortunate to live there for most of the year, it's so different without you, Harry, Ron, Luna, Ginny, Dean and the other guys. Although, the teaching faculty seem to have accepted me into their circle. Do you know- the other day Minevra.."
"You're on a first name basis now?" The witch suddenly burst with laughter. Somehow the thought filled her with mirth.
"Yes, why shouldn't we- Hermione, are you feeling okay?"
She was tapping her glass with her nails, the itch of nervous energy beneath her skin caused her to fidget in place, making it difficult to stand still and focus on the conversation.
"I'm perfectly fine. Strangely enough I'm starting to feel like dancing. Wanna dance, Neville?"
Not awaiting his response, she pulled him by the elbow and steered toward the centre of the room.
Hermione claimed the dance floor together with a bit of an awestruck Neville, who surprised her as an actually decent dancer. They spun and twirled until they were out of breath and when the set was over, they moved back to the tables for another round of refreshments.
"Wow, Hermione, I had no idea you were such an avid dancer. I am afraid I did not quite match your energy." he said half-apologetically but Hermione waved his words away.
"It's quite okay. I am usually not that great.
Would you care for another one?" she asked unabashedly but the telling look on Neville's face preceded his reply.
"Thanks, I'll pass. Let the others enjoy it for a change."
"Then you must tell me more about your other colleagues. Does Slughorn still throw these horrendous Christmas parties?"
Hermione spent the next half an hour very pleasantly reminiscing about the past; too engrossed in the conversation (all of a sudden she discovered she had so much to say!) to notice the doubtful glances that Neville occasionally shot in her direction. Even if she did, she wouldn't have cared too much. She felt, simply put, nice, the nicest she did in the past hectic weeks. Gloriously relaxed and content. Positively exhilarated. That potion had not only bumped up her energy levels considerably, but had a serendipitously positive effect on her mood, too.
She was in the middle of retelling a funny story she had heard earlier, but, not being used to telling many of those, she was getting rather lost and fumbled the punchline somewhere along the way.
"I swear it's hilarious, I just seem to've forgotten that one detail.."
"No worries, I know something about forgetting things. Do you recall the Remembrall my Grandma had gifted me with in the first year? Maybe you need one of those?" he said gallantly, with a hint of a smile, but it wasn't without audible relief when he announced shortly, "Look, there's Ron heading in our direction."
Hermione was currently standing with her back towards the main floor so she swiftly turned on her heel, coming face to face with her former beau. She had been apprehensive about this moment but now she did not experience half the anxiety or awkwardness of seeing him that she had thought she would.
"Neville, 'Mione, long time no see!" sounded Ron's greeting.
"Yeah, it's been a while," replied Neville and they engulfed each other in a hearty hug.
"Hermione, you're a vision!" Hermione couldn't miss Ron's sweeping look down the length of her body. Under normal circumstances she would have responded with a blush but presently she felt empowered and assured.
"Thank you, you don't look too shabby yourself although… there's always room for improvement." She closed the distance between them and raised her hands to strengthen the bow tie he was wearing, unintentionally letting her fingertips skim over his neck. She sensed his breath quicken under her touch and she was startled by the influence her touch evidently still held over him.
"Would you like to dance, Hermione?" he asked immediately with a serious intention written over his face.
"Why not, let me just grab a drink, I am pa-a-a-arched," she informed in a sing-songy voice, her eyes squinting on the glasses glittering in the warm light. She grabbed one rather violently from the server's tray and started to chug it in quick gulps.
"Merlin's pants, how many has she had already?
"Apparently one too many. Poor girl, the stress of work must have been really getting to her."
Ron was about to open his mouth and say something but he was cut short by the girl in question, announcing in enthusiasm.
"I'm ready!"
Ron and Neville exchanged glances.
Hermione put her hand in the crook of Ron's arm and they walked off to join the other rotating couples. She rested one hand on his shoulder while he placed his on her upper back.
"You didn't use to be so shy," she said teasingly.
"'Mione, you're not my girlfriend anymore…," he stated in a surprised tone.
"Five points for Gryffindor for stating the obvious. Can't one have a bit of fun?"
Ron's ruddy face turned a shade redder. He slanted a quizzical brow as if he had doubts if the witch before him was really the witch Hermione Granger and not someone else under the Polyjuice disguise.
"If that's what you want we could- you could- There's no one in the Burrow tonight, you know…" he trailed off weakly.
The witch glanced up at him and placed her forefinger on his lower lip. A hitched exhale dropped from his mouth.
"Oh, I meant teasing you, silly. Shh, we can talk about this later, let's enjoy the music."
Dropping her usual inhibitions, Hermione let her eyelids close and allowed her body to be carried by the dulcet tones. Once or twice, the incompetence of her partner called her back from her hazy state when he stepped on her toe. She had forgotten Ron was usually an even clumsier dancer than she was.
When the music came to a still, a short interval was announced and guests were officially invited to partake of the provided refreshments which kept coming in an ever renewing supply, glasses and goblets refilled of their own accord, whilst the plates and bowls boasting delicacies, as appealing to the eye as to the palate, replenished on their own.
The trio was soon joined by another Weasley with Angelina at his side.
"Hey folks, how's your evening going so far?" George greeted the group genially. "For my part I can't complain, with my lovely date here," he added with an exaggerated wink, at which Angelina rolled her eyes.
"Some event, huh?" affirmed Neville, taking a sweeping look at the enchanted botanics hanging from the ceiling.
"The decorations are simply breathtaking. Ginny mentioned you had your part in it, Hermione, " said Angelina, giving her a smile.
"Oh, I did." replied Hermione with a slight delay as at the moment she was wholly preoccupied with the tray of canapes, struggling to make a choice if she should have the mascarpone and salmon one or the fried calamari bite. She loved seafood, both looked positively appetising and a sharp pang of hunger reminded her she hadn't eaten since that leftover taco.
"Blimey, these canapes do look delicious…" said Ron, his gaze following Hermione to the heavy-laden tables. "Anyway guys, what have you two been up to?" asked Ron, now busy himself stuffing his plate with two of each kind.
"Well, a certain lady is waiting for me to ask her for a dance, so I'll better do it before she hexes the shit out of me," said George grinning broadly. Suddenly, a suspicious expression passed over his features. "Did you come here together?" he asked with an undercurrent of incredulity to his voice, turning to his younger brother.
Ron nearly choked on his mouthful but Hermione only stretched her cherry red lips in a provocative smile.
"What makes you think we might have?"
"I just witnessed you two dancing earlier today and the sight caught my attention, alright. Truth be told, unlike my brother here, the indisputable holder of the King-of-Awkward-Dancing title for several consecutive years in a row, I have to say you actually looked like you were enjoying the moment. Not at all like yourself," he added jokingly.
"What do you mean - not like myself?" She asked in a tone lined with impatience, placing her hand on her hip.
"Oh, don't get upset, you're usually much more tight and…" George paused, pretending to cast around for a right expression, smirk not leaving his face, "stiff."
Normally, his words would have riled her but at present, she simply laughed it off, responding with,
"Oh, really? Then I suppose I should be grateful I ever purchased your potion."
"What potion?" George squinted his eyes with curiosity.
"The revitalising potion. I had misgivings at first but was sure it was worth its money. I haven't felt so energised since..well, for a long time."
George's eyes flickered to the nearly empty glass in her hand.
"And what are you drinking now?" he asked in a low voice and he paled almost imperceptibly.
"Why, a peach champagne. You and Angelina ought to try, the flavour's divine. As always, they really spared no expense," Hermione finished off on a sarcastic note, as she mumbled something about the administration branch never lacking funds for their promotional events.
It seemed to her that the galleons flowed freely and generously to some departments and only trickled to others, though she had to admit that ever since Kingsley was in charge, the funds were more fairly distributed between the departments. Still, she remembered how she had waited almost indefinitely for the green light and financial backing for organising a series of lectures under the umbrella of the Department of Magical Creature Regulations (her very first initiative in the department) on "What Wizards can learn from Goblins, and how their mutual cooperation will prove beneficial for the Wizarding Communities worldwide."
Meanwhile George Weasley leaned in to his date, "Excuse me, honey, I need to have a word with Hermione. I'll be right back."
Angelina nodded in agreement.
George gently pulled the witch in question away from the group of friends, who looked after them, appearing slightly puzzled.
"Is there something wrong?" demanded Hermione.
"Hermione, I'll say it straight. Of all people, I'm surprised you didn't pay attention to the warning on the label."
"What warning?" Hermione gulped, the gravity in his voice bringing her to awareness.
"Just the big, unmistakable flashing letters on the front that the potion must not be taken together with alcohol," was his sarcastic reply, "The combination of two results in an outcome akin to getting thoroughly stoned, not that you'd know what it's like."
She peered up at him. "Well, how do you know? I thought Wizards had plenty of more creative ways of getting high and I'm not talking about Quidditch?"
George let out a dry laugh. "Suffice it to say, one autumn in Fred's and my last year at Hogwarts Seamus did not arrive at school empty-handed…Seamus had a great laugh afterwards saying that his friends in Muggle school would never believe he'd actually managed to smuggle in such stuff. Filch was pretty clueless since it wasn't any magical substance. I guess no one else had ever thought of trying it there before but I might be wrong. Anyways, as far as the potion is concerned, when Fred and I were testing it one day, I felt simply revived, whereas he ended up acting out of control but I'll spare you the details. Mother went ballistic and it took us two weeks to convince her we were not really filling up on illegal substances for fun. We ultimately worked out that the potion went into reaction with the butterbeer Fred had had earlier. Later experiments confirmed it."
His words had an instantly sobering effect on the witch. Hermione's amber eyes widened momentarily in trepidation- that would explain why her mood was so uncharacteristically elevated, her usually high walls were down and she seemed to record everything with delay.
However, the effect was short-lived and ultimately lost on her, only signifying how much under the influence she already was. She laughed his words off and answered saying she was having a superb time and was glad to let her hair down for once.
George, with an earnestness wholly out of line with his goofy personality tried to persuade her to go home earlier.
"The thing is, the effects are different on different people. You need to sleep it off, you'll be alright in the morning, except for a hangover, perhaps."
"Thanks but I'm not planning on leaving any time soon. I have yet to meet the French minister and his half -Veela wife."
"You'll do as you want, just don't tell me I haven't warned you."
Realising she would not be persuaded, George returned to his girlfriend while Hermione went back to the table with canapes. A wave of whispers travelled through the crowd but she did not pay attention, busy with slipping a few of the delicacies into her sequined purse, muttering to herself,
"Must save up some for Crookshanks."
At the same time a heavy hand rested on her shoulder, pulling her gently aside, "I was looking for you, Hermione!"
It was Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"This is my wonderful assistant I have spoken to you of." he said with a look of fatherly pride, presenting her to his guests.
The French Minister of Magic was a short and stubby man, dressed in a cream-coloured suit stretched over the protruding belly, the gilded buttons looking as if they were about to burst. A single white rose tucked into his gold-trimmed lapel. Hermione glanced up at his wife who, in contrast to her chubby husband, Mrs L'Eclaire presented herself tall and graceful in a dramatic floral-themed tiered ruffled gown with a long train that swept the floor as she moved. The contrast between them was almost cartoonish, the overbearing, ostentatious opulence being the only uniting factor.
Hermione brought her hand to her mouth, muffling a giggle, which soon swelled to a spasm of hysterical laughter.
Kingsley cleared his throat. "Um.. Hermione? You must share that fantastic joke with us later. Now, I'd like you to meet Mr and Mrs L'Eclaire."
Hermione wiped palm hastily behind her back, and extended it to Mrs L'Eclair, who, evincing from a lofty expression she donned, was not impressed in the slightest. Nevertheless she lent her white, manicured hand for a flimsy handshake.
"My pleasure," said Mrs L'Eclaire in a thick, French accent, rolling her Rs emphatically in a tone that signified quite the opposite.
She had silvery hair plaited in an elaborate thick French braid wrapped around her head, interwoven with sprigs of bay and laurel and dainty pearls. Her face, though haughty, left no doubt how breathtakingly pretty she must have been in her youth. Even though she was in her 60s, she still managed to turn many heads, mesmerised by her foreign allure: her aquamarine eyes that brought to mind pools of clear ocean water, her slender figure, and poise befitting royalty.
Hermione only stared. A vague thought passed through her mind that she ought to say something.
"I heard you were very beautiful in your youth," she said sincerely, not aware of her faux pas.
A tiny blush crept onto the woman's cheek but she did not acknowledge the comment.
Where the wife lacked in her cool, restrained greeting, her husband made up for in his gushing effusiveness, lifting her hand to his mouth to plant a brief kiss on her knuckles.
"Pleasure to finally meet you, Miss…"
"Granger."
"Yes, we have heard about you in France. Your name and merit for the British Wizarding society are mentioned in the latest edition of the modern world wizarding history textbooks.
Though, I must say, I didn't expect you to be quite so young," Mr L'Eclaire said in good English, his French accent fairly discernible.
"Would you like to join our table?" said Kingsley, and pointed to the elevated dining area reserved for the choicest guests.
Hermione looked slightly panicked but for a moment. This could actually be fun.
"Delighted," she confirmed.
When they stood beside the table, set for four people, Kingsley pulled out a chair for Mrs L'Eclaire while her husband did the same for Hermione. As soon as she sat down, the empty blank place card showed her name glittering with golden and rosy sparks written in her own handwriting but somehow more refined. Before she had time to admire that fact, the empty bowl before her filled up with soup. A warm, rich aroma of caramelised onions, cheese croutons and wine swirled into her nostrils. When the taste landed on her tongue she let out a sigh of appreciation.
"Mmm, I haven't eaten that good of an onion soup since I was last in France."
"Oh, you've been to France, Miss Granger?" inquired Mr L'Eclaire, reaching for the serviette. It was shaped to recreate a snow-white swan, which sat gracefully next to the plate, turning its long, elegant neck every once in a while to reorganise its fine satin feathers. The man unfolded the serviette and draped it neatly across his lap.
"A few times, yes," answered Hermione. "With my parents," she added as an afterthought.
"You mentioned your parents, tell us more about them. They're Muggles, aren't they?"
Hermione briefly recalled that a certain someone had already asked her the last question once, though the manner and tone in which it was posed now were much more pleasant. Nevertheless, in spite of her elevated mood, her defences came up.
"Yes. And I'm incredibly proud of them."
At that mention, delivered with an upward tilt of her head, and a hint of aloofness, the French minister and his wife viewed her curiously.
"Please, what do they do for a living?"
"They have a dentist practice. They take care of people's teeth," Hermione responded shortly.
"Fascinating, isn't it, my dear?" Mr L'Eclaire turned to his wife whose expression, vacillating between sour and bored, suggested otherwise. She whispered something into her husband's ear. The French wizard smiled broadly and clasped his hands,
"Of course! My wife- please forgive her for her quietness, she doesn't speak fluent English- would like to ask if you're the only one in your family who manifested magical skills in their youth,"
"Yes, as far as I know."
"Then it must have been hard for you,' said Mrs L'Eclaire in a melodic, nasal voice, opening her mouth for the first time.
Hermione bit her lower lip thoughtfully, she found it increasingly more difficult to think clearly,
"It was, I guess, but by the end of the first year I had made good friends."
"Oh yes, the famous Golden Trio. Are your friends here, Miss Granger? We would love to meet them later…"
"Ron is here-," The girls' eyes raked the crowd, "Can you see that lanky guy with red hair bolting down the cakes? That's him. I'm sure he'd like to meet you, too. Hey, Ron!" she called out, her voice rising over the guests. Ron twisted his head to see who was calling him, "Ronald -"
Kingsley interrupted her, "Perhaps this can be arranged later," he said in a deep, calm voice, "Let's enjoy the feast, the elves had been cooking all day."
"That reminds me, we in France were surprised to hear about the elves' laws reforms. Again, I hear no one else but Miss Granger is behind the project," said the minister, looking at her intently.
"That'd be me," she acknowledged absent-mindedly, without the usual interest in one of her pet subjects being raised, hardly raising her head from the plate.
"Hermione, you must be very tired," said Kingsley, taking a look at her red-rimmed eyes. "You see, she's been working immensely hard these last weeks," he added half-apologetically, turning to face his guests. "We all have."
Hermione was staring into her dish of honey-lacquered duck breast. Her head was spinning and all of a sudden she felt so very heavy. She took a few bites of the tender meat and a rather random question popped into her mind.
"Mrs L'Eclair, Since you're a half-Veela, do you turn into a Harpie when you - you know -re really pissed?" she asked, looking at the older witch with genuine interest.
The woman's eyes narrowed, her mouth twisted in anger, and her face elongated in a frown and Hermione thought that she had already begun morphing into one.
Fortunately for Hermione, Mr L'Eclair only laughed and commented on the side of Kingsley, "Your assistant has a sense of humour. I like her." Then he spoke something to his wife in a conciliatory tone.
Kingsley murmured something in reply but at the same time he fixed his eyes on Hermione. She had a vague impression that she might have said something off but a sudden pressure in her bladder made her rise from her seat.
Hermione excused herself, announcing louder than necessary to her table companions "Merlin's pants, this champagne settles down there fast," flattening her palm against her lower belly, "I need to, as they say, 'powder my nose'" she added with a wink, "Excuse me."
Mrs L'Eclair dried her mouth with her serviette, giving a slight cough.
In the bathroom, Hermione stood in front of the mirror, washing her hands. She took a glance at her reflection: her makeup and hairdo were still immaculate- Ginny had done a really great job- but her eyes looked unhealthily glazed and shiny, with redness around the rim. Her vision was blurry and her hands were shaking a little when she turned off the gilded tap. Perhaps she should go home earlier after all.
She returned to the ballroom, intending to inform Kingsley about the change of plans but she couldn't find him at the table. Then she saw him standing next to the music group, announcing a speech.
When he had the crowd's attention he began, "I'd like the opportunity to honour my wonderful assistant, who's work behind the scenes has made a tremendous difference at the Ministry, and I am convinced, will continue to reap good results for us all. You will recognise her by her nicknames: the Golden Girl and War Hero, but today I'd like to introduce her by her new title, the Senior Undersecretary. It is my pleasure to publicly announce that Hermione Jean Granger has been promoted to the new post with our dear Myrna Talpin retiring in September. Congratulations, Hermione."
A vigorous applause and cheering erupted in the room. Hermione, despite her professed dislike for the limelight and public exposure, was a popular figure. As an unassuming and young Muggle-born witch, the proverbial underdog, who had risen to ranks of the war heroine, she was held in high esteem by most. Truth be told, there were a few (especially in the Pureblood circles) who disliked her on principle, taking her position in the Ministry as a personal affront, some found her overachieving personality annoying, still others were simply envious of her shiny image as the society's Golden Girl. If she tripped up, many would surely exult in her fall. Hermione was sure of that.
Kingsley waited until the clapping subdued before he continued, his booming voice reaching into the far ends of the cavernous hall.
"The Spring Ball commemorates the victory gained at the Battle of Hogwarts, concluding a very dark period in the Wizarding history. By gathering here we celebrate the triumph of light over the dark, of love and sacrifice over hatred and death. As you're all away, this year we're especially honoured to host international guests. Let us all welcome the French Minister of Magic and his lovely wife, Mr and Mrs L'Eclaire."
Another round of applause sounded throughout the room.
Kingsley spoke once more, "This year marks the fourth anniversary since the conclusion of the War. On this momentous occasion I would like to invite Miss Hermione Granger up here to share a few words."
Hermione stood for a while, unresponsive, when an elderly witch with a kind smile whom she recognised from the Ministry nudged her, "Honey, that's you."
Hermione rubbed her hands down her legs. Her thighs were suddenly slick with sweat and there was a dryness in her throat. The exuberant mood left her like a swiftly retreating tide, giving way to weariness. She struggled to collect thoughts which scattered like owl feathers on the wind each time she made an attempt to catch one. With a throbbing headache she made her way toward the stage. Standing in Kingley's place, she linked and unlinked her fingers and inhaled deeply through her nose before addressing her audience.
"Umm, this was thoroughly unexpected. Thank you." A pause.
"What shall I say? The night is great, it's always good to meet a few familiar faces and drink some good champagne, especially when it's free - " she added with a wink, "- though, I guess with my new position and new salary I don't have to worry about that, do I?"
There was a muffled cough heard in the room. Hermione wasn't sure anymore what she was saying, she was just babbling the incoherent thoughts that swirled around her mind.
"Anyways, as Mr Shacklebolt mentioned, it's the fourth Anniversary so all that's meant to be said has already been said in the previous years. Most of you are probably quietly wishing for the official part to end to get on with the fun, dance a bit and perhaps even score a date. I know I could use some excitement myself."
Now, Hermione had everyone's uninterrupted attention. There wasn't a single eye in the hall that wasn't fixed on her.
"Yeah, how shocking, right? The Golden Girl wanting to get something out of life, too? You know, these past few years I've been working tirelessly on account of disadvantaged groups in our society, being part of one myself, barely taking time to socialise. I have been on exactly one date since Ronald- you know him right?- and I broke up last summer. Yeah, we're no longer together in case you wondered." She let out a hollow laugh.
She scanned the crowd before her. Most of the faces stared at her open-mouthed as they took in the news, a few wore mocking smiles, their amusement palpable. One or two women were coughing nervously, still other Wizards and Witches she recognised from the Ministry looked plain embarrassed by their colleague. No one looked even remotely bored.
Hermione noticed Neville's stunned expression; next to him Ron was visibly flustered, blushing to the hairline, mouthing something to the puzzled Angelina while George Weasley, whose eyes locked with her momentarily seemed to be saying "If I weren't decent I'd say 'I told you so'.
Still, she felt propelled to go on.
"Each day I come to my flat, in the unglamorous part of London, welcomed only by my cat, I think to myself- is it worth the effort? I've been around in the Ministry for several years and I still encounter the same prejudices, the same outdated views and patronising looks. Here we are, talking about shared vision, unity and rebuilding the world wrecked by decades-long wars and we're still struggling to learn our lesson and treat each other and other creatures with equality and respect."
Hermione had no idea why she felt like getting all this out. She hadn't even been aware of all the pent-up frustration that must have been simmering in her for quite some time under the energetic, optimistic outlook.
"Well, I'll tell you what - I am tired of it all."
Silence rang heavy in the room as people blinked at the conclusion of her short anticlimactic speech. No one knew what to say. Even Kingsley, usually composed and unruffled, didn't move, astonished at what he just heard.
The world vomit that poured out of Hermione then ceased as fast as it started and she found she had nothing else to say. She thought she ought to finish her scrambled speech somehow, so she mumbled, "Thank you for your attention. I think I'll go now. Enjoy your evening."
When she took the few steps down the stage, her heel hooked into the hem of her fishtail dress, tripping and toppling downard to be caught by Mr L'Eclaire who stood the closest.
"Now, now, careful here."
When he helped her up, she glimpsed his gaze drop to her cleavage appreciatively. Noticing it, his wife shot her a jaundiced glare.
Hermione winced. Even in her altered state she could not stand the old men's, or any men's for all that mattered, overtly ogling stare.
Kingsley missed this quick exchange, his mind preoccupied with other matters. He had finally recovered from his shock, and was whispering something to the music group, who nodded in reply, immediately picking up their instruments.
Soon, lively new tones reverberated through the ballroom, signalling the victory waltz that had become a central point of the traditional Spring Ball. He probably deemed it sensible to have the ball attendees occupied for the time being. He would speak to his new Senior Undersecretary later.
"Juliette, if you will," said Kingsley to Mrs L'Eclaire with a dignified bow, offering her his arm, leaving Hermione with the woman's husband.
The crowd had finally dispersed, people following in their footsteps onto the dance floor, and the familiar hum of conversation picked up eventually, though now with only one subject of interest on everybody's lips. After the unexpected interval, the Spring Ball resumed.
"Shall we?" Mr L'Eclaire asked in a voice which she had previously found amiable and which now sounded disagreeably oily to her.
"Actually, I think I need a little air," replied Hermione weakly. Her heart was pounding, her head was spinning and her limbs went numb. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet as if she was swept by a current. She tried to steady herself by grabbing onto the railings as she struggled for her breath like a fish plucked from a lake and left gasping on a pier. Sweet Helga, what was happening to her? She felt worse with every minute, the crowds, the lights, the music, the scents, the intensity of it all was overwhelming and she felt she should, she must get out.
"Allow me, Miss Granger," she heard him say and let him guide her, too hazy to question his motives.
She was barely aware of her surroundings as he led her past the rotating pairs to the side exit and onto the adjacent terrace, adorned generously with festoons of flowers to match the theme inside. For some time, Hermione leaned against the ivory balustrade, drained of all energy, but found her breath slowly returning. The cool night's air was enough to bring her to her senses and she realised how quiet it was compared to the buzz of the ballroom.
The area was vacant and silent, safe for the faint music coming from the inside, a steady murmur of crickets and the occasional sound of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Apparently nobody was keen on missing the highpoint of festivities. The grand waltz and the resplendent gowns would be featured heavily in the press and be the leading topic of many conversations in the coming days.
"Feeling better, Miss Granger?"
"I- I think- so."
"Good, then let us be straight with each other."
"Ex- excuse me?" she blurted.
"You don't need to act anymore, there's only you and I here and they say I'm an expert in silencing charms. I have to be with all those morons I get to work with."
Hermione didn't respond, not sure at all where he was going with it.
"Please call me, Pierre, I'm sure we'll be good friends. Hermione is such a pretty name, though not quite as pretty as the one who holds it."
He took a step closer and she could feel his breath fanning her skin. He raised his hand to her face and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. Hermione flinched away immediately.
"Why so shy now, as if you didn't feign the fall and this excuse for 'fresh air' to come here and be alone with me," he chuckled.
For a moment Hermione thought she was dreaming. It was some terrible nightmare or perhaps a hallucination induced by the combination of alcohol and the potion she had taken earlier, which George was warning her about.
"You must have misunderstood, I never.."
"Of course a lady will never admit that. You all enjoy playing hard to get, don't you?"
"Mr L'Eclaire, it has never been my intention, please believe me!" Her muscles tensed and she fought a mounting panic and irritation.
The man let out a disappointed sigh. "Forgive me, Miss Granger, perhaps I was indeed a little dazed by your charms and misjudged the situation. You see, It is not often that I enjoy the company of such, forgive me for the daring term, enticing Muggleborn witches."
"Oh, aren't there any in France? She asked in a honeyed tone but laid thickly with sarcasm as a surge of anger rose higher within her, dispelling her fear.
"Muggleborn witches? But you misunderstood me, I am not prejudiced against your kind, in fact, in many ways you exceed the witches of more…pure descent. Your Minister is animmensely fortunate chap," he said with emphasis and he eyed her up and down, lingering on the curve of her hips.
He probably thought she was one desperately insecure, naive Muggleborns who ought to feel grateful when a wizard of high-born Pureblood lineage saw it fit to bestow attention on her. And blind she was to think that he was actually nice. Without any witnesses around he showed his true colours of a predator.
"If you mean to insinuate any inappropriate relationship, you are wrong. Mr Shacklebolt is an honourable man and he would never even consider me in such a way, and neither would I him."
Apparently, he thought she had earned her way into the position of the Senior Undersecretary by means of sexual favours.
"Well, in that case he certainly won't oppose… Miss Granger, you must know that I am a man of means, quite ridiculously rich."
Ridiculous, too, Hermione thought, questioning her sanity for continuing to subject herself to this tiresome form of verbal abuse. But her energy levels were still pathetically low and she had difficulty concentrating.
"You said you've been working so hard, wouldn't you like to take a little break? There are things I can offer you, get you, if you'd be willing to cooperate with me,"
The sensation of his sweaty palm on her wrist made her shiver in revulsion.
What a horrid, lewd, misogynistic git. The man truly filled her with disgust. And to think that he represents the Wizarding society in France! She almost felt sorry for his wife, though, gathering from the brief introduction, they were worth each other.
"I thought you found your wife attractive," she said, a bit naively, trying to stall his advances by engaging him in a conversation. All the while she was trying to secretly extract her wand, which she kept strapped to her thigh, but struggled, with anger and fear clouding her vision.
"I don't deny it, only she's grown dispassionate with age and it's the youthful energy and vibrancy that I find myself so sorely missing, miss Granger. Unlike most, I enjoyed your passionate display up on that stage," he explained, pronouncing his 'Rs' in a guttural trill.
"Consider my offer, Hermione," the man pulled her toward him, rasping against her ear.
A clear-headed Hermione would have not allowed the things to go as far, she would have excused herself earlier under some plausible pretence. One way or another, she would have dealt with the situation diplomatically to save the event from another scene, though she would have in no respect tolerated his inappropriate remarks, never mind touch. Hitherto, reaction to his advances was delayed and tempered by her altered state. That is, until the moment when his hand slid behind her back, moved along her exposed spine and down, until his thumb glided over her buttocks.
How dare he! Before she knew what she was doing, her hand connected with the man's cheek in a firm smack, followed by another to drive the point home. He immediately let go of her and clasped the affected area, red from rage as much as from stinging pain.
"Putain!" he hissed under his breath in French but Hermione understood.
A rush of adrenaline coursed through her body and the pulse throbbed in her ears. Without sparing the man another glance, she gathered the folds of her dress to facilitate longer strides and bolted inside. Elbowing her way through the sea of guests, she ignored their disoriented looks, blinking back angry tears forming under her eyelashes but the salty drops were already tumbling down her burning cheeks in uncontrollable streams. To Hades with the Ministry, and the Spring Ball, she would not put up with all that farce any longer. This is what you get for weeks of hard, dedicated work, for putting the best foot forward no matter the circumstances.
Ginny's joking comment turned out to be right. She did feel like Cinderella, escaping the ballroom before time. Only, she wished she could do so in disguise, like the girl in the fairy tale, and not be recognised the next day. She anticipated the headlines in the Prophet and groaned in despair.
Out of the periphery of her vision she spotted a tall, red-haired figure running after her. It was Ron.
"'Mione! Wait up!" he called.
When he caught up with her in the foyer, breathing heavily, he looked as if a thousand questions were pressing on his mind but one glance on her face as she turned to face him made him refrain from asking any.
His former girlfriend was shivering as if in fever, her amber eyes were red and swollen, and smudges from her damp mascara left dark streaks on her pale face, amplifying her misery. She was so badly shaken, she knew she wouldn't be able to Disapparate without risking a serious splinch. She looked at Ron imploringly.
"Ron, please help me get home."
He threw his arm around her shoulder and she clung to him for dear life. Taking a deep breath, Ron Apparated them both to her apartment on 64 Fleet Street. The last thing she remembered was him entering the code (luckily she never changed it, even after their relationship ended) and her stumbling inside as soon as the door unlocked, with Ron following closely behind to make sure she was alright. She wasn't; shaken by the events, embittered and exhausted, she lay down on the sofa while Ron hastened to the kitchen to fetch two cups of strong, black tea. When he made her sit up and drink the bitter brew, Gradually, Hermione allowed for her breath to quieten as she drew in long, full breaths between the sobbing sips, watching her unexpected saviour pensively. Ron was sitting right next to her, apparently busy with his own cup as he averted his gaze.
"Thank you," she whispered softly, resting her small head on Ron's shoulder. Her hair, still sleek and neatly arranged, safe for a few strands - evidence of Ginny's undeniable skill as a hairstylist- brushed against his neck, causing him to stiffen in alarm. But when he looked down at Hermione, her puffy amber eyes looking into his questioningly, almost imploringly, he sensed her need for comfort and warmth of a fellow human touch. Having taken off his blazer, he wrapped it around her bare arms and pulled the girl closer to himself.
A/N: Hi Guys, I am back after a looong break with a mammoth of a chapter- over 10k words, yikes!
I was going to let this story languish unifished having suffered a prolonged writer's block but today I got some inspiration to finish off the chapter that has given me so much trouble. It's the one that immediately precedes sort of a turning point in the story in terms of Hermione's developing relationship with Lucius and even though I don't feel its completely up to par, I hope it's decent enough and so... deep breath here it is... Please let me know your thoughts, I'd love to know what you think of this!