Barely Cold
Hermione was uncomfortable, in every sense of the word. She’d allowed Pansy to truss her up in a fancy blue gown that she never would have had the confidence to choose for herself, and she was almost certain that she was the only muggleborn in the room, judging by the dirty looks she was getting from some of the other guests. Most families had moved on from their archaic purist beliefs after the war, but there were still some that clung to their traditions, and it seemed that Malfoy’s mother had seen fit to invite them this evening.
Narcissa was an interesting case. She still valued her position as a pureblooded member of the Sacred 28, but she’d welcomed Hermione into her home with open arms, after a horrendously awkward apology and assurances that the drawing room had been destroyed and subsequently renovated. Apparently, Malfoy had blasted the place to pieces. She’d observed the way he got violent when he was upset a few times now, and so she could imagine him doing it. He was never aggressive towards other people though, just objects or furniture.
“Hey.” Goyle said, appearing at her shoulder and offering her a glass of champagne.
“Oh! Thank you.” She smiled, and he nodded. “How did it go on Saturday?” She asked, eager to know about his date.
He smiled down at her feet before looking at her again. “It was really good. We’re going out again next week, and she suggested spending some of Christmas together.”
She grinned and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m so pleased for you both, honestly. Let me know when you want to sort the Statute paperwork, and I’ll get Blaise to cover so we can go to the Ministry.” It had been a month since Goyle had come to her for advice. On a dare after a boozy snakes night, Goyle had wandered into muggle London and had ended up joining a pub crawl with a group of strangers. He’d bonded with one woman particularly, and at the end of the night, she’d given him her number and told him to call her. Naturally, the pureblooded wizard hadn’t had a clue what that meant, and so had asked the only muggleborn he knew. Hermione had collapsed in laughter when he’d turned up at her apothecary, but his earnest face had compelled her to help. It turned out that the muggle’s name was Lizzie, and she was a doctor in one of the hospitals in central London. Hermione had helped Goyle call her from her own mobile, which she used to keep in touch with her parents, and they’d set up a date for that week. Several dates later, Goyle had asked Hermione if she’d mind being his sponsor for the Ministry paperwork, so that he was allowed to tell Lizzie about magic. Now, it was just a case of him building up the courage.
“Merlin, this is really happening, isn’t it?” He said, rubbing his jaw. “What is she going to think? What if she doesn’t even believe me?”
“Stop it. Just show her something. Conjure some butterflies, that’s an easy one.” Hermione suggested, and Goyle swallowed, nodding.
“Ok. I can do that.” He replied, taking a long drink of whiskey. “I just don’t want to scare her off. I’ve not felt like this before.”
“You’ll be bringing her to some stupid new year’s party before you know it, trust me.” Hermione smiled, and he huffed out a laugh.
She glanced around the room and realised Malfoy was staring at her again. He’d been doing it on and off all night, as if she’d upset him somehow. Watching him dance with every woman in the room apart from her had made her a little annoyed, so she was happy to allow him to keep avoiding her. It had been weeks since she’d seen him last, and she missed him. Scorpius, too. They used to get lunch together, or take the young boy to the park sometimes, but that had all stopped recently. Hermione had no idea what it was that she’d done, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to be the one to cave. She’d just sit in her jealous misery instead. At least he wasn’t listening to the stunningly beautiful woman that was currently trying to capture his attention. He was too busy glaring at Hermione.
Movement made her tear her eyes away from the blonde man. She saw a table cloth move slightly, little hands lifting it just enough to peak out. Scorpius was hiding under the far table, nearest the door, and Hermione smiled before she caught a glimpse of his face. He was crying, and looking around the room fearfully, as if he was worried that somebody might find him. She frowned, and placed her glass down on her own table. Goyle was talking to somebody she didn’t recognise, so she slipped away, moving towards Scorpius. Malfoy was dancing with yet another refined beauty, so Hermione crouched down and lifted the material.
“Is everything ok, Scorp?” She asked, and he sniffed.
“I don’t want a new Mummy.” He said quietly, and she frowned.
“What do you mean, love?”
“Grandma said that Daddy is going to pick one of the ladies to be my new Mummy today. I don’t like them. They’re mean.” He replied, and Hermione felt like crying herself. Was that why Malfoy had cut her off? He was picking a new bride today, and she’d show him up? She was surprised they’d invited her at all if that was the case. Throwing caution, and any sense of propriety, to the wind, she crawled under the table and let the cloth drop, hiding them both from the rest of the ball. Gathering her skirts under her knees, she looked at Scorpius.
“I’m sorry, Scorp. I’m sure they won’t do anything if it makes you this unhappy.”
“They will! Grandma said it was really important.” He insisted, tears still falling. She bundled him to her, not giving a damn if it ruined her dress or not. He clung on tightly, as if he was worried she’d disappear if he let go.
“Your dad loves you more than anything. Even if he does pick somebody today, they will never come before you, ok? You are his priority, and you always will be.” The thought that the Malfoys were forcing a little boy into this situation made her blood boil. Putting aside her own feelings, she knew that Malfoy had loved Astoria, and she’d assumed that he’d respected her more than this.
“I had to sit with all these different witches today, and none of them liked me. What if one of them is my Mummy now?” Scorpius asked, and Hermione looked down at him.
“Why don’t you think they liked you, Scorp?” She was genuinely puzzled by that. The boy was impossible not to like, it would be like kicking a pygmy puff.
“Grandma left some of my books to read and said we should talk, but none of them wanted to. Miss Lefton told me to shut up when I asked her a question. Miss Dubois didn’t say anything at all, and Miss Fawley said that she’d be really angry if I stood in her way.” He sniffed, and Hermione resisted the urge to find these women and gouge their eyes out.
“How about you head upstairs to your room, and I’ll come and read some of your books with you, ok? I just need to tell your dad where we’re going first.” She said, and Scorpius nodded.
“I like when you read to me, Mione. Nobody else does the voices right.” He replied, and she kissed the crown of his head gently.
“I’ll be right there, I promise.”
He nodded, and crawled out from under the table, running straight for the large double doors that led to the rest of the house. She also crawled out, smoothing her dress as best she could once she was standing. She left the damp patch from Scorpius’ tears where it was.
A quick glance around the room told her that Harry and Theo had already snuck away, probably to defile one of Malfoy’s many rooms. That was good, she supposed. Harry was always uncomfortable whenever she made a scene.
“Mrs Malfoy? Might I speak to you?” She said loudly, approaching the large group surrounding the matriarch. She’d interrupted somebody, but she didn’t care.
“Miss Granger, is everything alright?” Narcissa raised an eyebrow, already visibly annoyed. Malfoy himself then appeared, once again staring at Hermione.
“I always had the impression that you valued your family, Mrs Malfoy. It disappointed me greatly to find out that I was mistaken.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tonight’s event is purely to find somebody suitable to replace Astoria when she is barely cold in her grave. It’s a farce! Not to mention the way that it’s upset Scorpius, not that either of you have bothered to notice.” She looked at Malfoy, whose eyes went wide.
“Where is he?” He asked, glancing around.
“Upstairs. I’m going to join him in a moment, but not before I make it clear to you that you have let him down tonight. Not a single one of these women care about him in the slightest. To prioritise purity, after everything we’ve been through, is utterly ridiculous and I cannot believe that you would still find any value in it.”
“In all my years, nobody has ever spoken to me in such a way!” Narcissa snapped, and Hermione met her gaze, raising her chin.
“Well, perhaps somebody should have.” She countered, feeling the entire room’s eyes on her as a few people gasped. Narcissa was a respected woman, but that respect was borne of fear. Hermione feared very few people, and Narcissa Malfoy was certainly not one of them. She had returned to the house in which she was tortured with her head held high, and she would be leaving in the same way. “I don’t care if I’m overstepping because somebody needs to speak up for that boy. Scorpius feels scared. He should never have to feel that kind of fear, but especially not in his own home. It shouldn’t be put upon him by the people he loves most.”
“Typical mudblood, dying for attention.” Somebody muttered, and Hermione smiled as the two Malfoys also heard the word.
“I was never welcome here, but I will not be leaving. I wish you all the best of luck in your pursuit of the Malfoy vaults.” She smiled again at the group of women. “I hope it was worth it.” She said to Malfoy, who was paler than she’d ever seen him. Turning on her heel, she marched towards the doors, catching Pansy’s proud look out of the corner of her eye.
“I warded those doors myself! Only members of the family are able to leave the room!” Narcissa called after her. Hermione waved her hand and dismantled the wards with ease. She left without a second thought.