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This is for bingblot, and everyone else whose patience I've sorely tested.
A Most Advantageous Match
Chapter 10: An Intricate Dance
Hermione came around the bend of the stairs and saw her husband in the foyer, his back turned to her, in conversation with Mr. Weasley. Miss Lovegood stood with them - the other guests had not yet made themselves ready - and it was she who gasped at Hermione’s appearance and thus attracted Harry’s attention.
Harry’s eyes first showed shock, surprise - a bit more surprise than Hermione would have liked, to be truthful - but then there was something warmer, deeper, something like pride and affection, and something she couldn’t place…. While it wasn’t the desirous look she’d been hoping for, she couldn’t feel disappointed with such a look.
“Oh, Hermione, you look beautiful,” Miss Lovegood said, and Hermione thanked her, although she never took her eyes off Harry as she descended the last steps of the staircase and took her place by his side.
“All the women in attendance this evening will be dying with envy of your beauty,” Harry said, with an unusual gruffness to his voice that sent a bit of a shiver down Hermione’s spine.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to control the blush that was burning in her cheeks and sweeping down her neck. It was then that she remembered what was around her neck, and added, “And thank you for sending the necklace. It’s beautiful.”
Harry smiled. “It suits you perfectly. I’ll have to employ that jeweler again.”
Hermione had so convinced herself that the necklace was only a small piece of the family collection that she was taken aback by his statement. “You had this made?”
“Of course,” Harry said. “You ought to have something special, don’t you think?”
Hermione might have found some reply, but a very unwelcome voice floating down the stairs, encouraging her to take a firm grip on the inside of Harry’s elbow instead.
Miss Weasley was descending the staircase on the arm of poor, naïve Mr. Longbottom, chattering gaily about some episode that had evidently occurred at Hogwarts, while Mr. Longbottom listened so attentively that he stumbled on a few steps. Miss Weasley was beautifully dressed in a white gown of a quality that had to be well beyond her family’s means, causing Hermione to wonder what mischief she’d employed to procure it. The pure color did little, however, to make Miss Weasley seem at all innocent or demur.
“Why, Miss Granger,” Miss Weasley said, very intentionally, “How lovely you look.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said, bristling at those heavy words - partly because they brought to mind Harry’s initial slip of her name, and partly because of the implication that Harry was not, at least in some manner, her husband - “But I am Mrs. Potter now.”
Miss Weasley offered one of her more insincere smiles. “What a pity your dress is rather out of fashion - but perhaps no one will notice.”
Hermione clutched Harry’s arm rather more tightly, but he did not come to her aid. Instead, Miss Lovegood did.
“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Weasley,” she said. “Something so elegant could never be out of fashion.”
Hermione would not refuse any defense at the moment, but she did wonder how much weight Miss Lovegood’s opinion could carry when she wore a gown of a startling pink-orange colour that Hermione didn’t think could be obtained in England.
Before Miss Weasley could find a new way to insult Hermione, Harry stepped in, much to her relief.
“Perhaps you would like to take up your own entertainment while Mrs. Potter and I await the other guests,” Harry suggested, addressing everyone, and reluctantly, they all followed Miss Lovegood, who had taken up Mr. Weasley’s arm and begun chatting about the little known dangers of whist.
“Do not mind Miss Weasley, or anyone else. You look beautiful,” Harry said, once the others were well out of the room, patting her hand on his arm for reassurance. Hermione would have liked to feel pleased, but provoked by anger and insult, she could only wonder if he did not find Miss Weasley’s flame-red hair and slender figure more beautiful.
~
Sometime later, when the rooms were positively brimming with guests, the orchestra took up their places, and the time came for the first dance. As the hosts, Harry and Hermione would be expected to lead this dance, and Hermione had been looking forward to this particular event for some time. While dancing couldn’t provide the level of intimacy Hermione would have liked, it did require some level of physical closeness, and Hermione would take what she could get.
The first dance was up-tempo but fairly simple, the second slower and more intricate. Hermione savored them both, enjoyed every brush of Harry’s hand, every smile they shared, every time she thought she felt his eyes lingering on her. She even appreciated the envious looks other young ladies gave her (although she appreciated them rather a bit less when they moved to her husband).
The dances ended far too soon, and Hermione was forced by the necessity of being a good hostess to surrender him and dance with other gentlemen.
She danced next with Mr. Weasley, then Mr. Longbottom, followed by a long series of neighbours and friends from Hogwarts. Even after they all ceased dancing and took a lengthy rest for refreshment, Hermione had little energy to give to her dancing partners. When another finger tapped her shoulder for the umpteenth time that evening, she turned around with little self-defense - and was thus startled to find herself face to face with none other than the younger Mr. Malfoy.
“Mrs. Potter,” he said, with a smile that didn’t quite manage not to look like a sneer, “May I have the next dance? Or have your charms already ensnared your next partner?”
Hermione swallowed, instincts jumping at the friendly tone in his voice. Malice she could handle in a Malfoy, but friendliness was something to be especially wary of.
“I’m afraid I’ve already promised the next dance to my husband,” Hermione said, hoping Harry would assist her in evading the man, but Mr. Malfoy only smirked again.
“That’s strange. I’m sure I just heard Mr. Potter engage Miss Weasley for the next dance.”
Hermione’s stomach sank as she realized she’d not only been caught in her lie, but also had her best defense stolen by their malevolent young guest.
“I must have been mistaken,” Hermione said as composedly as she could manage.
“Now, you would not be so cruel as to deny me the pleasure of your company for a little while, would you?”
Trapped by politeness, Hermione could find no way to refuse the man, and could only wonder how on earth he had even heard of the ball, as she had certainly not invited him.
Malfoy kept his movements a little too close for Hermione’s comfort, and Harry, at the other end of the lines, had evidently not noticed them, for he showed no signs of aggravation. Hermione could only resolve not to play along with Mr. Malfoy’s game, whatever that was, while she waited for the dance to end.
“Tell me,” she whispered, as they passed, “What exactly are you planning?”
Malfoy raised a delicate eyebrow at her. “Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Potter?”
“I know you’re not here for the enjoyment of the society,” Hermione hissed. “And because you came uninvited, I suspect you have some great motivation to be here tonight.”
The touch of his hand to hers made her skin itch. “And tell me, what do you suspect my motivation to be?”
“Namely,” Hermione said sharply, “to secure yourself as the heir to Godric’s Hollow.”
Mr. Malfoy looked coyly at her, and said with deliberate innocence, “But Mrs. Potter, as of now, I am the heir.”
“Until I bear a child,” Hermione said through gritted teeth, not scrupling to speak of such things with the likes of Mr. Malfoy, “And I’m sure you mean to prevent that.”
“Do you think me so greedy?” he replied, pretending injury. “Why, I only came to pay my respects to my relatives. Besides, you seem to suspect me of intending you some bodily harm. There are much subtler, less messy ways to prevent children.”
Hermione tensed, following the path of Mr. Malfoy’s eyes to where her husband still danced with Miss Weasley. His words might have meant nothing to her had her husband been looking back at her, offering her his reassurance, but his attention was on his task, and he remained completely oblivious to her plight. That fact alone disappointed her more than any of Mr. Malfoy’s suggestions.
“Oh, do not worry, Mrs. Potter,” Mr. Malfoy said, uncomfortably close to her ear. “A woman such as yourself will never want for attention, even if your husband is too busy to provide it.”
Hermione felt the slow prickle of tears at her eyelids and blinked them back, hurt mingling with anger as she went through the last steps of the dance. “If that is an offer, Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you swallow it and choke on it.”
He only smirked as he bowed to her and she returned with a reluctant curtsy. “I do look forward to our next encounter, Mrs. Potter.”
Hermione offered him only a curt nod and walked away as quickly as she could without tripping over her own feet or attracting undue attention. She strode out of the ballroom, through the foyer, and down a dark hallway, where the tears finally began to spill.
~
Harry had never hated the idea of having a ball so much as when, half-listening to Miss Weasley prattle on about something, he’d realized he would have to be the last to leave it.
“…I just absolutely love that dance,” Miss Weasley was saying, “and it seems all the young men have reserved their dances so far in advance that none are free. How silly it is, don’t you think, to reserve all your dances before the ball even arrives! It makes spontaneity quite impossible. And you, Harry, have you already reserved that dance?”
Harry, not sure what dance she was even talking about, muttered, “Er…no, no I haven’t.”
He was trying to spot his wife through the many layers of satin and frolicking couples, but was failing miserably. He had hoped, if he could find her, that he could be excused paying a bit more attention to her than his other guests, but if he couldn’t find her….
“Well, shame on you!” Miss Weasley exclaimed. “Knowing you had that dance free and not asking it of me? Why, you must dance it with me. Come, now, I won’t take no for an answer.”
Harry cringed inwardly as he slowly realized he was trapped. He could not now say the dance was reserved for someone else, nor could he refuse without appearing an ungracious host, even if his guest was being imprudent…and how would it look, besides, if he snubbed his own houseguest?
Accepting the inevitable, Harry replied, “Of course, I should be happy to oblige.”
Reluctantly, Harry followed Miss Weasley to the floor.
No sooner did the dance begin than Miss Weasley began to talk.
“Are you quite happy in your marriage, Harry?”
Harry winced instinctively at her impropriety. “Yes, I’m very happy, Miss Weasley,” he replied, with a great deal of emphasis on the Miss Weasley.
“Well, I am glad,” she said with a slight laugh. “Nothing’s worse than a bad match. I just wish Mrs. Potter were as happy.”
Harry almost stopped dancing, her words struck him so. “What makes you think she isn’t?”
Miss Weasley smiled slyly. “Oh, well, don’t mistake me, she keeps no confidence in me. It’s only that now and then she seems rather…discontent, don’t you think? You should be careful…not that I doubt Mrs. Potter’s character, but I think you’ll find that a wife can take a lover just as easily as a husband can.”
He was sorely tempted to walk away at that moment, to abandon this conniving woman, but he knew he could not and instead remained resolutely silent and did his best to ignore Miss Weasley.
“Why, would you look at that,” Miss Weasley said as the dance was about to end. “It looks like she’s having her first lover’s quarrel now.”
Harry followed her eyes to his wife, who looked ready to cry, and looked across to her partner, who, to his extreme surprise, turned out to be none other than Mr. Malfoy.
Harry knew his wife to be well above what Miss Weasley suggested, but he did wonder how Mr. Malfoy had gained entrance to his house, and what he might have done to his wife to send her running out of the room, as she did now, with tears in her eyes.
Harry gave a brisk bow to Miss Weasley and a muttered, “Excuse me,” before following after his wife.
The foyer was empty when he stepped into it, and he did not quite know where his wife would go this evening. He started with the library, knowing she was wont to hide there when upset - well, she was wont to hide there whatever the circumstance - but he could not find her among the stacks. He tried the corridors to the back of the house, but saw no sign of her.
By the time he returned to the foyer, he found her there, standing as composedly and calmly as-you-please, hands folded in front of her as she caught sight of him.
“There you are,” she said, as if she’d been the one scouring the house for him. “Some of ours guests are preparing to leave. We must see them off.”
Harry could still see traces of tears in her eyes, but decided to say nothing until they could speak privately.
As Hermione had said, their guests were preparing to leave, and over the course of an hour and a half, they bid goodbye to all but their houseguests. Mr. Malfoy never did make another appearance, and Harry worried that he might still be in the house, intending some harm to him or his wife, but Hermione seemed thoroughly unconcerned. Harry took this as a sign, at least, that Malfoy had not done immediate harm to her, and relaxed slightly as they said goodnight to the Weasleys, Miss Lovegood, and Mr. Longbottom.
Harry turned to speak to his wife, but found that she was already halfway up the stairs and not looking back at all. Deeply unsettled, Harry called a trusted house-elf to give him his final orders for the night, particularly to search the house for any unwanted Malfoys, and set off in pursuit of his fleeing wife.
TBC
A/N: Yes, yes, I know you all HATE me right now (even my beta hated me after this one) but I assure you, it’ll be well worth the agony in the end. Really, I swear.
A Most Advantageous Match
Chapter 10: An Intricate Dance
Hermione came around the bend of the stairs and saw her husband in the foyer, his back turned to her, in conversation with Mr. Weasley. Miss Lovegood stood with them - the other guests had not yet made themselves ready - and it was she who gasped at Hermione’s appearance and thus attracted Harry’s attention.
Harry’s eyes first showed shock, surprise - a bit more surprise than Hermione would have liked, to be truthful - but then there was something warmer, deeper, something like pride and affection, and something she couldn’t place…. While it wasn’t the desirous look she’d been hoping for, she couldn’t feel disappointed with such a look.
“Oh, Hermione, you look beautiful,” Miss Lovegood said, and Hermione thanked her, although she never took her eyes off Harry as she descended the last steps of the staircase and took her place by his side.
“All the women in attendance this evening will be dying with envy of your beauty,” Harry said, with an unusual gruffness to his voice that sent a bit of a shiver down Hermione’s spine.
“Thank you,” she said, trying to control the blush that was burning in her cheeks and sweeping down her neck. It was then that she remembered what was around her neck, and added, “And thank you for sending the necklace. It’s beautiful.”
Harry smiled. “It suits you perfectly. I’ll have to employ that jeweler again.”
Hermione had so convinced herself that the necklace was only a small piece of the family collection that she was taken aback by his statement. “You had this made?”
“Of course,” Harry said. “You ought to have something special, don’t you think?”
Hermione might have found some reply, but a very unwelcome voice floating down the stairs, encouraging her to take a firm grip on the inside of Harry’s elbow instead.
Miss Weasley was descending the staircase on the arm of poor, naïve Mr. Longbottom, chattering gaily about some episode that had evidently occurred at Hogwarts, while Mr. Longbottom listened so attentively that he stumbled on a few steps. Miss Weasley was beautifully dressed in a white gown of a quality that had to be well beyond her family’s means, causing Hermione to wonder what mischief she’d employed to procure it. The pure color did little, however, to make Miss Weasley seem at all innocent or demur.
“Why, Miss Granger,” Miss Weasley said, very intentionally, “How lovely you look.”
“Thank you,” Hermione said, bristling at those heavy words - partly because they brought to mind Harry’s initial slip of her name, and partly because of the implication that Harry was not, at least in some manner, her husband - “But I am Mrs. Potter now.”
Miss Weasley offered one of her more insincere smiles. “What a pity your dress is rather out of fashion - but perhaps no one will notice.”
Hermione clutched Harry’s arm rather more tightly, but he did not come to her aid. Instead, Miss Lovegood did.
“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Weasley,” she said. “Something so elegant could never be out of fashion.”
Hermione would not refuse any defense at the moment, but she did wonder how much weight Miss Lovegood’s opinion could carry when she wore a gown of a startling pink-orange colour that Hermione didn’t think could be obtained in England.
Before Miss Weasley could find a new way to insult Hermione, Harry stepped in, much to her relief.
“Perhaps you would like to take up your own entertainment while Mrs. Potter and I await the other guests,” Harry suggested, addressing everyone, and reluctantly, they all followed Miss Lovegood, who had taken up Mr. Weasley’s arm and begun chatting about the little known dangers of whist.
“Do not mind Miss Weasley, or anyone else. You look beautiful,” Harry said, once the others were well out of the room, patting her hand on his arm for reassurance. Hermione would have liked to feel pleased, but provoked by anger and insult, she could only wonder if he did not find Miss Weasley’s flame-red hair and slender figure more beautiful.
~
Sometime later, when the rooms were positively brimming with guests, the orchestra took up their places, and the time came for the first dance. As the hosts, Harry and Hermione would be expected to lead this dance, and Hermione had been looking forward to this particular event for some time. While dancing couldn’t provide the level of intimacy Hermione would have liked, it did require some level of physical closeness, and Hermione would take what she could get.
The first dance was up-tempo but fairly simple, the second slower and more intricate. Hermione savored them both, enjoyed every brush of Harry’s hand, every smile they shared, every time she thought she felt his eyes lingering on her. She even appreciated the envious looks other young ladies gave her (although she appreciated them rather a bit less when they moved to her husband).
The dances ended far too soon, and Hermione was forced by the necessity of being a good hostess to surrender him and dance with other gentlemen.
She danced next with Mr. Weasley, then Mr. Longbottom, followed by a long series of neighbours and friends from Hogwarts. Even after they all ceased dancing and took a lengthy rest for refreshment, Hermione had little energy to give to her dancing partners. When another finger tapped her shoulder for the umpteenth time that evening, she turned around with little self-defense - and was thus startled to find herself face to face with none other than the younger Mr. Malfoy.
“Mrs. Potter,” he said, with a smile that didn’t quite manage not to look like a sneer, “May I have the next dance? Or have your charms already ensnared your next partner?”
Hermione swallowed, instincts jumping at the friendly tone in his voice. Malice she could handle in a Malfoy, but friendliness was something to be especially wary of.
“I’m afraid I’ve already promised the next dance to my husband,” Hermione said, hoping Harry would assist her in evading the man, but Mr. Malfoy only smirked again.
“That’s strange. I’m sure I just heard Mr. Potter engage Miss Weasley for the next dance.”
Hermione’s stomach sank as she realized she’d not only been caught in her lie, but also had her best defense stolen by their malevolent young guest.
“I must have been mistaken,” Hermione said as composedly as she could manage.
“Now, you would not be so cruel as to deny me the pleasure of your company for a little while, would you?”
Trapped by politeness, Hermione could find no way to refuse the man, and could only wonder how on earth he had even heard of the ball, as she had certainly not invited him.
Malfoy kept his movements a little too close for Hermione’s comfort, and Harry, at the other end of the lines, had evidently not noticed them, for he showed no signs of aggravation. Hermione could only resolve not to play along with Mr. Malfoy’s game, whatever that was, while she waited for the dance to end.
“Tell me,” she whispered, as they passed, “What exactly are you planning?”
Malfoy raised a delicate eyebrow at her. “Whatever do you mean, Mrs. Potter?”
“I know you’re not here for the enjoyment of the society,” Hermione hissed. “And because you came uninvited, I suspect you have some great motivation to be here tonight.”
The touch of his hand to hers made her skin itch. “And tell me, what do you suspect my motivation to be?”
“Namely,” Hermione said sharply, “to secure yourself as the heir to Godric’s Hollow.”
Mr. Malfoy looked coyly at her, and said with deliberate innocence, “But Mrs. Potter, as of now, I am the heir.”
“Until I bear a child,” Hermione said through gritted teeth, not scrupling to speak of such things with the likes of Mr. Malfoy, “And I’m sure you mean to prevent that.”
“Do you think me so greedy?” he replied, pretending injury. “Why, I only came to pay my respects to my relatives. Besides, you seem to suspect me of intending you some bodily harm. There are much subtler, less messy ways to prevent children.”
Hermione tensed, following the path of Mr. Malfoy’s eyes to where her husband still danced with Miss Weasley. His words might have meant nothing to her had her husband been looking back at her, offering her his reassurance, but his attention was on his task, and he remained completely oblivious to her plight. That fact alone disappointed her more than any of Mr. Malfoy’s suggestions.
“Oh, do not worry, Mrs. Potter,” Mr. Malfoy said, uncomfortably close to her ear. “A woman such as yourself will never want for attention, even if your husband is too busy to provide it.”
Hermione felt the slow prickle of tears at her eyelids and blinked them back, hurt mingling with anger as she went through the last steps of the dance. “If that is an offer, Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you swallow it and choke on it.”
He only smirked as he bowed to her and she returned with a reluctant curtsy. “I do look forward to our next encounter, Mrs. Potter.”
Hermione offered him only a curt nod and walked away as quickly as she could without tripping over her own feet or attracting undue attention. She strode out of the ballroom, through the foyer, and down a dark hallway, where the tears finally began to spill.
~
Harry had never hated the idea of having a ball so much as when, half-listening to Miss Weasley prattle on about something, he’d realized he would have to be the last to leave it.
“…I just absolutely love that dance,” Miss Weasley was saying, “and it seems all the young men have reserved their dances so far in advance that none are free. How silly it is, don’t you think, to reserve all your dances before the ball even arrives! It makes spontaneity quite impossible. And you, Harry, have you already reserved that dance?”
Harry, not sure what dance she was even talking about, muttered, “Er…no, no I haven’t.”
He was trying to spot his wife through the many layers of satin and frolicking couples, but was failing miserably. He had hoped, if he could find her, that he could be excused paying a bit more attention to her than his other guests, but if he couldn’t find her….
“Well, shame on you!” Miss Weasley exclaimed. “Knowing you had that dance free and not asking it of me? Why, you must dance it with me. Come, now, I won’t take no for an answer.”
Harry cringed inwardly as he slowly realized he was trapped. He could not now say the dance was reserved for someone else, nor could he refuse without appearing an ungracious host, even if his guest was being imprudent…and how would it look, besides, if he snubbed his own houseguest?
Accepting the inevitable, Harry replied, “Of course, I should be happy to oblige.”
Reluctantly, Harry followed Miss Weasley to the floor.
No sooner did the dance begin than Miss Weasley began to talk.
“Are you quite happy in your marriage, Harry?”
Harry winced instinctively at her impropriety. “Yes, I’m very happy, Miss Weasley,” he replied, with a great deal of emphasis on the Miss Weasley.
“Well, I am glad,” she said with a slight laugh. “Nothing’s worse than a bad match. I just wish Mrs. Potter were as happy.”
Harry almost stopped dancing, her words struck him so. “What makes you think she isn’t?”
Miss Weasley smiled slyly. “Oh, well, don’t mistake me, she keeps no confidence in me. It’s only that now and then she seems rather…discontent, don’t you think? You should be careful…not that I doubt Mrs. Potter’s character, but I think you’ll find that a wife can take a lover just as easily as a husband can.”
He was sorely tempted to walk away at that moment, to abandon this conniving woman, but he knew he could not and instead remained resolutely silent and did his best to ignore Miss Weasley.
“Why, would you look at that,” Miss Weasley said as the dance was about to end. “It looks like she’s having her first lover’s quarrel now.”
Harry followed her eyes to his wife, who looked ready to cry, and looked across to her partner, who, to his extreme surprise, turned out to be none other than Mr. Malfoy.
Harry knew his wife to be well above what Miss Weasley suggested, but he did wonder how Mr. Malfoy had gained entrance to his house, and what he might have done to his wife to send her running out of the room, as she did now, with tears in her eyes.
Harry gave a brisk bow to Miss Weasley and a muttered, “Excuse me,” before following after his wife.
The foyer was empty when he stepped into it, and he did not quite know where his wife would go this evening. He started with the library, knowing she was wont to hide there when upset - well, she was wont to hide there whatever the circumstance - but he could not find her among the stacks. He tried the corridors to the back of the house, but saw no sign of her.
By the time he returned to the foyer, he found her there, standing as composedly and calmly as-you-please, hands folded in front of her as she caught sight of him.
“There you are,” she said, as if she’d been the one scouring the house for him. “Some of ours guests are preparing to leave. We must see them off.”
Harry could still see traces of tears in her eyes, but decided to say nothing until they could speak privately.
As Hermione had said, their guests were preparing to leave, and over the course of an hour and a half, they bid goodbye to all but their houseguests. Mr. Malfoy never did make another appearance, and Harry worried that he might still be in the house, intending some harm to him or his wife, but Hermione seemed thoroughly unconcerned. Harry took this as a sign, at least, that Malfoy had not done immediate harm to her, and relaxed slightly as they said goodnight to the Weasleys, Miss Lovegood, and Mr. Longbottom.
Harry turned to speak to his wife, but found that she was already halfway up the stairs and not looking back at all. Deeply unsettled, Harry called a trusted house-elf to give him his final orders for the night, particularly to search the house for any unwanted Malfoys, and set off in pursuit of his fleeing wife.
TBC
A/N: Yes, yes, I know you all HATE me right now (even my beta hated me after this one) but I assure you, it’ll be well worth the agony in the end. Really, I swear.