Chapter Text
Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest, making her feel as if it was going to break free from her body. At least she wouldn’t have to accomplish what she was about to subject herself to, she thought, a somber laugh leaving her lips. She knew it was dangerous when she exposed the idea to the Order of the Phoenix, but it was the best way to try and learn more about their enemies. As the saying goes, “keep your friends close and your enemies closer”. She couldn’t help but hammer this phrase into her mind like a mantra. She was preparing to attend a ball at Malfoy’s Manor after all.
The idea came to her over the summer. Harry was still hurting from his godfather’s loss, and she wanted to carry on her soul brother’s torch into the fight against the evil forces the Wizarding World had to face yet again. What better way than to infiltrate a mondain event amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight? From what she’d heard, guests could invite whomever they wanted as long as they were not muggleborns, and who was going to suspect she was? Clearly no one was crazy enough to run right into the snake pit, especially after the incident that recently occurred at the Ministry, Voldemort revealing to the magical world his return from the infernal mist he never should’ve left.
She still felt anxiety creeping under her skin at the thought of someone recognizing her. She wasn’t famous - at least her face wasn’t - and a lot of guests were pureblood families that didn’t share the purity supremacists ideology, but the fear lingered in her mind still. She shook her head. She was a Gryffindor, she could handle the pressure. Even if it meant pulling such a reckless stunt. She chuckled, the reminder of how Gryffindors kept confronting their demises instead of letting events unfold lifting part of the weight that had been building on her shoulders for a week now. She was so proud to be part of this house. If her younger self may have felt like Ravenclaw was a better fit for her, she entirely respected the Sorting Hat’s decision now.
She lifted her gaze, meeting her own in the mirror of her vanity. She had tamed her rebellious locks into a neat side braid on the right side of her head, leaving the rest gracefully flowing in well defined curls. She had added silver hair beads all along her braid and wore matching jewelry, although nothing too fancy – a signet ring borrowed from Grimmauld Place and a necklace. Her necklace was adorned with a small enchanted snake that would move into any position it deemed most appropriate to its owner's outfit or mood. It was currently head down, its shimmering tail wrapped around the first half of its body, securing its hold on the small chain. Hermione loved this kind of magic, but she was feeling divided as it reminded her too well of her school rivals.
She wore an emerald green dress for good measure, really playing the card of the young half-blood proud to be in Slytherin. Yes, that was who she was tonight. Fiora Tremblay, French half-blood affiliated with the Lestrange and the Black but rarely seeing them. She chose her first name for the night not in reminiscence of Fleur Delacour, the French witch she met in fourth year, but because it resembled the Irish word for ferret her grandfather had once taught her. The irony of being in the manor of her childhood bully with the nickname he despised helped her ease some of the tension whenever she thought about it, and it was as far as it could get from her actual name.
Hermione pretended to dust off her pristine silken bodice, gathering all and every last thread of her confidence. Examining her reflection, she felt more and more in character as the seconds passed by. There was something invigorating in the way the Victorian style shoulder straps hugged her arms. The rustling of her dense tulle skirt gave her the last strand of courage she needed. Having gained what one could call a pureblood-like composure, she put her chin up and twirled away from her double, her gown almost floating in a dramatic manner. Already regretting the silver heels she was wearing, she transfigured them in elegant black boots with smaller heels. That’s better. She smiled, truly happy with her choice. The lacing on her shoes reminded her of the vintage heels Victorian women would wear to balls, she had always been fascinated by this era. Too bad this style of clothing was mostly carried on by blood purity supremacists among all wizards.
The young witch took her purse and adjusted her dark evening cloak. It was a Halloween party after all, the weather during this period of the year wasn’t kind by any means. After checking her dress pocket to make sure her wand was still there, she figured she had exhausted her valid reasons for postponing the inevitable. Muttering one last prayer to Merlin or whoever could help her come back safely, she disapparated. When she opened the eyes she didn’t realize she had squinted, she stood in front of a sumptuous wrought iron gate. She immediately walked towards it, her steps more confident than ever. There was no point in overthinking now.
The portal opened at the rhythm of her pace, closing quickly but without a noise right after she entered the garden. It sent a shiver along her spine. What if she was stuck here? She shook her head for the second time of the evening. She wasn’t stuck, nobody knew who she was, and she had put so much effort in her appearance that she doubted the potential classmates invited here would recognize her in this unusual attire. She smirked, arriving at the door where a butler bowed before opening the door for her and indicating the way with the arm not currently holding the heavy ebony door. Her smirk widened. Was it this easy to infiltrate the mighty Malfoy estate? Her expression changed quickly though. As she approached the room where the feast would mainly take place, her heart pace increased – of awe this time. Of course the manor had an actual ballroom. She always dreamt of a ball like this, the Yule Ball of the Triwizard Tournament being the closest to her fantasies, but not quite there. This on the other hand was definitely the atmosphere she daydreamt about from time to time. Well, if you put aside her mission and the fact that most people present would probably spit to her face if they happened to learn who she was.
Finally arrived at the thick velvet curtains framing the entrance of the room, she felt someone relieving her of her coat. She glanced back quickly, meeting the eyes of the head housekeeper. The lady had a noble aura radiating from her despite her working attire. As the Gryffindor girl turned around, the maid bowed her head in respect, making the brunette feel uneasy. She cleared her throat.
“Excuse me miss, could you show me the bathroom?”
The older woman bowed again before showing her a small door hidden in a charged tapestry not too far behind her.
“Thank you,” she replied before silently wondering if the household staff had explicitly been asked not to talk to the guests – she was not used to such an environment so she couldn’t tell what was out of the ordinary in there. She locked herself in the bathroom, opening her tiny bag to fetch her elbow-length black velvet gloves.
“I can’t believe I've forgotten such a simple social rule out of the numerous traditional rules of this type of event.”
She read so many books on proper pureblood etiquette months prior - even taking notes - that she was probably as educated as any pureblood heir, even if she obviously lacked practice. The pressure was certainly not helping. After a deep breath, she went back to the curtains. Deciding to take her purse everywhere with her just in case – and mostly because the familiar object was reassuring to her – she casted a reducio and tucked it in the other pocket. She wanted her wand to be easily reachable if need be.
She began her slow descent on the wide marble stairs. She made the right decision when she changed her shoes. Her gaze swiftly scanned the marble floor where gents and maidens were already dancing, most of the older individuals discussing by the long buffet table, a flute of what seemed like champagne in hand.
Once arrived down the cold stairs at last, she noticed a few persons looking at her. She saw nothing but vague curiosity though and assumed her garment would probably turn some heads as her now undersized periwinkle chiffon dress used to. Her smile turned demure as she made her way to the dancing floor, taking her time and mimicking interest in the architecture around her, as well as the sculptures on the walls. It wasn’t hard as she was actually appreciative of the taste of the architect. Too bad this belongs to untasteful owners. A server passed by with what were definitely champagne flutes and she decided drinking one would not only make her seem in her element but it also give her enough bravery to ace her mission.
Hermione recalled what her mission was as she was sipping on her drink. She needed to learn as much as she could about the way their enemies worked. Their inner hierarchy as well as their relationships, maybe some feud between them that could be used by the Order. If she was able to overhear some of the Dark Lord’s plans, it would be a bonus. Remus and Arthur had insisted that her attending was already a big step forward, and if it went well she could become their spy during most of these events. No need to get in danger’s path if she could avoid it. The girl sighed. She would never hear anything of high importance in this crowd, but she knew they were right. Even if tonight wasn’t fruitful she could have other chances.
In her peripheral vision, she saw someone walking towards her. It was a boy slightly older than herself. His stark white suit clashed with his black waistcoat and bow tie.
"Good evening milady."
Having read all the existing library on etiquette, she gave him her free hand that he took and kissed briefly. She mentally rolled her eyes at the display but kept her face unfazed.
"Good evening, mister…"
"Davies, Roger Davies. May I know which name belongs to this beautiful face?"
His wink elicited polite giggles from the smart girl.
"Fiora Tremblay," she answered with a small bow.
"Well, Fiora, would you allow me this first dance?"
She looked at the quartet, the musicians were about to start a new partita. Something intrigued her, making her hesitate for a short time.
"How can you know it is my first dance?"
He smiled at her with all his teeth before whispering in her ear.
"This party was frankly boring before I saw you come in."
"Should I report this comment to our lovely host," she jokingly asked at a normal volume, "or will you report this observation to them yourself?"
"Don’t you dare," he faked a menacing tone, "I didn’t get my dance yet."
She laughed at that and took his arm. Looking at the crowd from afar, she noticed a blond figure. Her blood ran cold. Draco Malfoy. Did he recognize her? It seemed like he was staring directly at her. Impossible, not at this distance. She was aware she could stumble onto him during the night, but she had hoped she would notice him first to avoid any confrontation. She looked at Davies, keeping sturdy nerves. As they positioned themselves, the music started. It was a polka. Nothing I can’t handle, thought the brunette. She was relieved as her dance notions, although more than enough for a ball, were not infinite either. They danced in silence until the next dance. It was also a polka. Did pureblood have a sort of adoration for polka or was she just lucky tonight? She wouldn’t complain if her luck persisted, that was for certain.
"A galleon for your thoughts?"
She looked up at her cavalier. His grin was almost wolfish, she had a hard time understanding him. What was he actually playing at? Was he playing at all? Apart from his obvious flirting, that is. The Gryffindor felt a bit uncomfortable but kept it to herself.
"Nothing, I just concentrate not to step on your feet."
He let out a loud laugh. Hermione decided it was one of the most irritating sounds she'd ever heard. She knew her excuse wasn’t the best, but she didn’t have enough time to think and it felt at least realistic enough – even if it internally hurt her pride to let a stranger assume she would do something so stupid. Shut it Hermione, it isn’t that big of a deal and it worked, mentally grumbled the girl.
"Don’t worry about it too much, you’re doing great," he winked.
Suddenly, she wanted the dance to end. Why did she start her second dance with this man anyway? She stopped her internal debate to listen to him.
"Where are you from, by the way? I never saw you before and I know for sure I would’ve remembered such a stunning woman," he professed, winking again.
Seriously, this guy’s manners were already getting old. Oh, but you’ve already met me a few times in Hogwarts Davies. She fumed inside but there was a part of her still happy she was now sure even fellow students – and former acquaintances - just didn’t know her well enough to recognize her true identity.
"France, but I am often practicing English as my distant family lives there."
"Pray tell, who are they? If they are as good looking as you are, I suppose it would be difficult to miss them."
"The Lestrange, but I also have some links with the Black family" she responded concisely.
He paled at the news, giving her an awkward smile. It took the young woman all her willpower not to wheeze in his face. But she had to admit she would probably not have a better reaction had the roles been reversed. Realizing the music was ending, she abruptly left his embrace to bow quickly.
"Have a wonderful evening, Roger."
And just like that, she flew away from him – not literally, she had to stay proper after all. If she wanted to spy more for the Order – and infiltrate more balls – she needed to be perfect at all costs. When she didn’t hear him following her, she half hoped it was also because of his fear of her alleged family. This way, he wouldn’t bother her would she run into him again at some point.