Chapter 3
Upon returning to the humble estate at Auburndale after their playful chase across the countryside, Miss Weasley and Miss Granger were greeted at once by Mrs. Weasley, full of maternal worry for their prolonged absence.
"My dear girls! Where have you been? I have been anxious to the point of distraction in your absence!" she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her bosom.
With a quick perusal of her daughter and the girl who’d virtually become her sister, she gasped at their disheveled states, the hems of their gowns six inches deep in mud.
"Goodness, look at the state of you both!"
However, her consternation was soon forgotten when Miss Weasley revealed the particulars of their morning - the chance encounter on the path with Mr. Potter, lately arrived to Stagfield Park.
His inviting them to a grand ball in London society.
"Mr. Potter! Why, he has five thousand a year!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley ecstatically. "And he has taken a fancy to you, Ginny dear, just as I knew he would! Such a charming gentleman. You must have new gowns made at once! Muslin, silk..."
"He did seem rather smitten with our Ginny," smiled Miss Granger indulgently, provoking a vivid blush to spread across Miss Weasley's cheeks.
Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together.
"And you, Miss Granger! I am certain you will secure a respectable gentleman at the ball as well!"
As Mrs. Weasley hurried off to make preparations, Ginny turned to her dearest sister Hermione, her countenance glowing.
"Is it not wonderful, Mione? I feel as though I am living in one of our beloved novels! Mr. Potter is so genteel and agreeable. You were quite right in your appraisal of his character earlier. Surely it must be fate that brought us together so fortuitously."
"I am pleased you think so highly of him already," replied Hermione judiciously, though privately she felt uneasy at the prospect of being immersed in the extravagance of high society.
The idea of sticking out like a sore thumb driving her sick with anxiety.
Especially re-meeting all her lifelong friends.
However, her friend's sweet anticipation was infectious, and she resolved to focus for now on Ginny’s happiness alone.
After eager anticipation, the night of the grand ball in London finally arrived, the splendor of the scene stealing their breath away.
The ballroom was aglow with the light of countless candles, which glittered off the fine silk gowns and jewels of the ladies. Liveried servants circulated with trays of refreshments. At one end of the room, musicians tuned their instruments.
Decked in a new silk gown of ivory with gilt trim, Miss Weasley was a vision of loveliness that drew the admiring glances of all.
Miss Granger was elegant in a gown of pale tint of purple-blue muslin, though her mind was ill at ease amidst the opulent ballroom, the orchestra's strings, and the press of so many strange faces.
The men wore their usual garb, the entire Weasley family eager to make a positive impression.
Mr. Potter hurried to greet the Weasley’s warmly as they entered. His eyes lingered admiringly on Miss Weasley, Ginevra, with whom he had been quite taken since making her acquaintance.
Along with him, stood a much taller man, his platinum hair provoking pressure onto Hermione’s chest.
She knew this man, all too well.
Mr. Potter was universally acknowledged to be an amiable gentleman of good fortune.
His manners were lively and unpretentious, which rendered his countenance pleasing, and made him an object of admiration amongst the ladies at the ball.
His friend Mr. Malfoy, however, soon eclipsed him in attention.
Standing loftily with an air of nobility, Mr. Malfoy cut a striking figure.
His finely chiseled features and tall, athletic form drew many an appreciative glance.
Whispers swirled that he was possessed of vast estates in the North that yielded ten thousand a year. For a time, Mr. Malfoy was greatly admired, considered far more dashing than his friend Mr. Potter.
Yet as the evening wore on, his excessive haughtiness and disdainful air soon diminished his popularity.
It was evident that Mr. Malfoy considered himself above the company, too proud to engage and be pleased. Not even his magnificent ancestral home nestled amidst the dramatic peaks of the highlands could redeem him, for his unpleasant countenance and odious manners prevented him from comparing favorably to the far more congenial Mr. Potter.
Mr. Potter lively spun across the dance floor, partnering one lady after another with enthusiasm.
Yet it was evident his particular interest lay with the radiant Miss Weasley, whom he stood up with twice, eliciting whispers of a potential match.
In stark contrast, Mr. Malfoy brooded solitary along the edges of the festivities, speaking little even to his own companions.
He condescended to dance but twice the entire evening - once with the delicate Miss Chang, and again with the dark-haired Miss Parkinson.
Rumors of his vast wealth and far-reaching influence rippled through the gathering, yet his haughty demeanor kept all at a distance. Only his elegant dress robes of finest silk hinted at depths beneath his stony exterior.
To Hermione, the sight of Malfoy in such finery was a shock, though his haughty countenance remained unchanged from their schooldays.
Malfoy's tall, broad-shouldered frame towered over the gathering, his presence palpable as a chilling shadow.
His piercing silver eyes swept the room like shards of ice, warning all not to approach.
An invisible barrier surrounded him, an impenetrable aura of remoteness.
The cloying perfumes of the ladies could not mask the undercurrent of danger that lingered about Malfoy's silhouette.
He stood apart from the glittering throng, half-hidden in the shadows, his hands tucked behind his back in a deceptively relaxed posture. But Hermione could see the tension in his shoulders, the restless flexing of his long, pale fingers.
Those hands appeared capable of violence, having inflicted their share of pain in years past.
Unapproachable.
Unfathomably detached.
Hermione shuddered, recalling too vividly the cold disdain, the unfathomable egoism that encapsulated Draco Malfoy.
In her own time, Draco Malfoy had remained her academic rival, though their childhood disdain had melted into indifference, both becoming strangers sharing the halls of Hogwarts.
Here, in this lavish illusion, he was unfathomably detached from the revelers around him, exuding that same air of haughty egoism that had encapsulated Draco in his youth.
Some aspects refused to be altered, even in this fantasy realm of silk and candlelight.
Hermione knew Malfoy had grown into an expert potion-maker, his acclaim surpassing even her own considerable talents. She resented his skill in the subtler magics, for potions had always been a weakness she strove to overcome.
But no amount of studying could recreate Malfoy's intuitive grasp of the art.
Unsure of the intricate steps of the dances, Hermione had denied all gentlemen who approached her for a partner.
Making a fool of herself for however long it took to return home was not part of her plans.
She would remain an observer on the sidelines, vigilant and impatient to regain her own world.
Sitting toward the corner of the room, she was within earshot of Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter’s conversation. Both appearing engrossed within the topic.
"Come now, Malfoy," implored Potter, "you must dance. I cannot bear to see you lingering about in such an unsociable manner. You would do better to partner one of these lovely ladies."
When he deigned to speak, his voice came low and smooth as black velvet, betraying hints of venom in its cultured tones.
As he raised a goblet of deep burgundy wine to his lips, Hermione glimpsed his signet ring, forged of weighty platinum and onyx.
Dark and foreboding, just like its wearer, Hermione thought.
"I certainly shall not," Malfoy drawled disdainfully.
"You know I abhor such frivolous amusement, unless I am intimately acquainted with my partner. You’ve already forced me upon two. To dance with any other woman at this meaningless assembly would be utter punishment."
"You could at least try," Potter replied good-naturedly. "Upon my word, I have never met so many charming young ladies as this night. Look there, are not several of them remarkably good-looking?"
"You waste your time with only one beauty here," said Malfoy with a glance toward the flaming-haired Miss Weasley.
Potter flushed at the implication but smiled.
"Come now, my friend, set aside your fastidious nature for but one dance. I daresay your dour mood might brighten in more lively company."
But Malfoy merely glowered, refusing to be tempted into socializing with those he deemed unworthy of his intimate acquaintance.
"Look there," Potter discreetly indicated the willowy Miss Granger nearby, "Surely even you must admit she is rather fetching. Allow me to broker an introduction."
Malfoy's piercing gray eyes raked over Miss Granger slowly, as if appraising a prize horse at auction.
She felt his gaze trail down her neckline a touch too long for propriety. His thin lips pursed ever so slightly before he turned away dismissively.
"Tolerably pretty perhaps, for one of no consequence. But hardly worth my time or attention this evening." The contempt in his silken voice was unmistakable.
With a swirl of his black robes, he quit their company.
Miss Granger's cheeks flushed crimson with indignation and embarrassment at his candid appraisal.
She detected the scents of spice and musk as he brushed past, mingled with the fainter aroma of wine on his breath.
Tolerably pretty? What a mug.
She thought, peering at herself in the mirror across the room.
At least I'm remotely appealing, unlike you, Malfoy.
With a prideful scoff, she lifted herself from her seat and walked over to Ron and Percy, their bodies pressed to the wall as they conversed with other gentlemen. Next to them, stood Mrs. Weasley deep in conversation with an older woman of evident social prominence.
"You won't believe what I've just overheard," she began, her cheeks still flaming from the encounter. "That horrid Mr. Malfoy had the nerve to publicly appraise me as though I couldn't hear him!"
She affected Malfoy's lazy drawl.
"The girl has adequately pretty features, I grant you. But hardly worth sullying my evening for a dalliance.'"
Ron's face turned nearly as red as his hair.
"Why that arrogant git! How dare he speak of you that way!"
"The audacity!" Percy adjusted his glasses. "Utterly classless, not to mention absolutely misinformed."
Just then, Fred and George sauntered up.
"What's this about the wonderful and amazingly kind Mr. Malfoy?" asked Fred with a grin.
Hermione repeated her lively imitation of Malfoy's appraisal, sending the twins into peals of laughter.
"It appears the wealthy gentleman has indeed put his foot in his mouth," chuckled George.
"Clearly jealous of the lovely Miss Granger's popularity," Fred chimed in with an exaggerated bow.
Ron cracked his knuckles menacingly. "Next time I'll help him put a few more things in there..."
Despite her irritation, Hermione had to suppress a smile at their jesting.
"I hardly care for his opinion."
"Too right!" Ron chimed in.
"Chin up, Granger," said Fred with a wink. "At least you got to bask in the blessing of his gaze."
"Ugh, don't remind me!" Hermione grimaced in exaggerated disgust, eliciting more laughter from the boys.
Their lively banter continued, each outdoing the other with insults and jesting imitations of the arrogant Malfoy. For Hermione, jesting so freely with her friends went a long way toward erasing the sting of Malfoy's cruel appraisal.
Yet, she hardly cared.
The ball had been a triumphant evening for the Weasleys, especially for Mrs. Weasley as she saw her daughter Ginny admired by so many. Mr. Potter had danced with Ginny twice, to the quiet delight of the girl.
His genteel companions had also paid her particular attention.
Her pleasure was evident to the others, though Ginny bore it with grace. Hermione had even garnered compliments from Mrs. McGonagall on her charms - high praise coming from that particular socialite.
The rowdy crowd of Weasley brothers were simply thrilled to have partners aplenty, consumed more with frivolity than refinement.
“I’m utterly in love with her, I swear it.” sighed George dramatically, recounting his lively dance with Miss Angelina Johnson.
Thus, in high spirits, the party ventured out into the cool night air towards the carriages that would take them home to Auburndale manor.
The sounds of merriment and farewells echoed through the lamp-lit streets.
Mr. Weasley had awaited their return with some curiosity, privately hoping his wife's ambitious matchmaking would go unfulfilled. But as she bustled in, her pride at Ginny's perceived social coup was written across her face.
Mrs. Weasley excitedly launched into every detail of their evening with the esteemed Mr. Potter and his circle. Mr. Weasley settled in with his book, prepared to indulge his wife's exhausting accounts of the scintillating ball.
“Oh Mr. Weasley, you should have seen how well matched Ginny and Mr. Potter looked together on the dance floor,” gushed Mrs. Weasley.
“Did Hermione attract any suitable gentlemen?” he inquired with an indulgent smile. “She’s such a clever girl.”
“Merlin, no! The girl sat out most dances,” Mrs. Weasley scoffed disapprovingly.
Glancing at the curly-headed lady, Mr. Weasley gave Hermione a proud smile.
“Nothing wrong with being selective, my dear.”
“She was likely too distracted by Mr. Malfoy’s presence,” teased Fred with a grin.
At this, Ginny, Ron and the other Weasleys erupted in laughter while Hermione fervently denied it. “As if! He’s the most unpleasant man imaginable.”
“Come now,” cajoled George. “Remember he finds you tolerable.”
Hermione huffed a laugh. "Well it's certainly my utmost goal to be the most tolerable lady in town!"
"Don't aim too high now, you're already the most insufferable," Ron quipped affectionately, inciting more chuckles.
Hermione swatted his arm playfully. "Honestly, Mr. Malfoy's good opinion is of no consequence to me. There are far better men of actual substance to admire."
"Hear, hear!" Mr. Weasley concurred. "We've no need for the approval of stuffy aristocrats. Cleverness and kindness matter far more."
Hermione beamed at the praise from her adopted father, feeling a rush of warmth and gratitude.
Losing her parents had rendered her profoundly lonely in her own world, yet here in this vivid reality, she felt loved and accepted once more.
Luckily for her, she had read so extensively about the period's speech patterns and etiquette that she could emulate them with ease.
The language flowed naturally off her tongue, blending seamlessly into this pocket of the past.
"But I can assure you, Mr. Malfoy's good opinion is of little consequence," Mrs. Weasley added.
"That family's wealth and prestige matters not when the son is so disagreeable. Prancing about as though he owns the place! The nerve of him to call you barely suitable for a dance partner. Hmph! As if we care one whit what he thinks."
Popping a chocolate sweet into his mouth, Fred chimed in amusedly before taking his leave.
“I’m quite sure he might own the place mother.”
Later, as the house finally quieted for the evening, Mr. Weasley retired to bed with a contented sigh.
Though the Weasley clan had enjoyed the evening tremendously, he could not help but feel relieved it was over.
The ostentatious balls and tiresome social climbing held little allure for his simple tastes. Mr. Weasley was happiest tinkering with his Muggle artifacts in his little shed out back, though he indulged his wife and children's fancies when required.
Meanwhile, Ginny hummed upstairs to her room, still floating on a cloud from the attentions shown her by the charming Mr. Potter.
She lay in bed replaying each dance in her mind, the memories fresh and vivid.
She could still feel the warmth of his hand at her waist, smell his pleasantly masculine scent, see the admiring smile in his bright green eyes.
Hermione helped Ginny undo her hair and unlace her gown, all the while listening fondly as her sister reminisced over every word exchanged with Mr. Potter.
"Oh, his hand was so warm and gentle holding mine," she gushed, cheeks rosy at the memory. "And the way our eyes locked as we moved through the steps - such an exquisite, bashful delight!"
Hermione smiled indulgently as she brushed out Ginny's fiery locks.
"It certainly seemed you two only had eyes for each other all evening."
"Do you really think he could fancy me, Hermione?" Ginny asked eagerly.
"Imagine, the dashing Mr. Potter interested in plain old me!"
"You underestimate your charms, dear sister," Hermione assured, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "What's not to admire? Your beauty, wit and kindness have clearly caught his attention. I've no doubt his intentions are sincere."
As she continued combing through Ginny's fiery locks, Hermione's mind wandered.
How could she return to her own time?
Where could she find the means?
Living in this reality felt like an undeserved dream, a fantasy.
All those she held dear surrounded her, not just as friends, but as family.
It was idyllic, until Mr. Malfoy's rude interruption of her reverie.
Despite their opposing temperaments, an unlikely friendship bloomed many years prior between Potter and Malfoy. Potter, with his guileless smiles and easy laughter, was drawn to Malfoy's composed and cultured air, like a moth to a flame. While more reserved in bearing, Malfoy's subtle wit and dry humor never failed to provoke Potter to uproarious mirth.
Despite their opposing temperaments, an unlikely friendship bloomed between Potter and Malfoy. Potter, with his guileless smiles and easy laughter, was drawn to Malfoy's composed and cultured air, like a moth to a flame.
While more reserved in bearing, Malfoy's subtle wit and dry humor never failed to provoke Potter to uproarious mirth.
Malfoy moved through the world with refined manners and fastidious tastes, lending him an air of haughty remove, like a rare orchid too exotic for a common garden.
Potter burned as warm and steady as the sun, lighting up every room he entered. By contrast, Malfoy was mercurial as the moon, his mood ever-shifting.
Yet somehow, like planets orbiting the same star, their unlikely friendship endured.
They were as close as brothers, though opposite in nature.
Worlds apart in temperament yet sharing an unbreakable connection - such was the curious friendship of Potter and Malfoy.
By balancing each other's strengths and weaknesses, their unlikely bond thrived, taking root in the fertile soil of youthful camaraderie.
“Hermione, are you listening to me?!” Ginny suddenly whined, now facing her sister directly.
Snapped out of her thoughts abruptly, Hermione placed the brush down next to her on the quilted bed.
“Yes, sorry Ginny. I was just...distracted.”
Ginny huffed, though a smile tugged at her lips. “Honestly, I pour my heart out about the dashing Mr. Potter and you drift off, no doubt pondering some philosophical conundrum.”
"Not this time," Hermione laughed lightly.
Ginny smiled knowingly. "Let me guess - pondering how to get back to your own time again?"
"Yes," Hermione sighed, letting herself fall back onto the plush mattress. "I'm just at a loss for what to do."
Rising from her kneeling position, Ginny tiptoed silently on slippered feet toward the chamber door. Hermione watched her sister curiously until Ginny waved for her to follow.
"Well, come on then!" Ginny whispered eagerly.
Hermione rose and crept after Ginny's footsteps as they slipped down the grand staircase. Hugging the shadows, the sisters made their way toward the stately library, avoiding the creaky floorboard near the candle-lit foyer.
Pushing open the heavy oak doors, they were enveloped in the leather-bound scent of aging parchment and ink. Hermione immediately began scanning the shelves, running her fingers over the embossed titles, while Ginny sank into a tufted leather chair by the cold hearth.
"There must be something here on magical transportation through time," Hermione murmured, flipping through ancient tomes illuminated by moonlight streaming through the glass-paned windows.
Hours passed as they scoured the library's countless volumes yet found nothing to elucidate her predicament.
Now asleep sprawled on the leather chair, Ginny provided no assistance.
Hermione sighed, gazing out the dark windowpanes.
As much as she longed to return home, part of her treasured this reality.
Here she had the family she always dreamed of, no longer orphaned by her own hand in a bid of protection. She cherished the moments spent with Ginny, laughing over silly jokes like sisters.
She longed for the enveloping feeling of family, of love.
Could she really leave this world behind?
But it wasn't her life.
As fulfilling as this existence felt, it was still just a fantasy, an echo of the life she was meant to lead over a century prior.
However warmly this world welcomed her, it wasn't where she belonged.
With resolution renewed, she gently shook Ginny awake. Together they crept back upstairs to bed, stealing through midnight's velvety darkness. She would find her way back, no matter how long the search took.