One week went surprisingly fast when Mrs Fleur Weasley was in charge of events. From the moment Hermione and Ginny had arrived, Mrs Weasley had made sure to keep them occupied. The one visit to the Planter’s Hotel that she had mentioned on their first night had, after only one week, already become two. Hermione was quite sure it would turn into both three and four as well, as Mrs Weasley seemed quite fond of the place.
It was nice, she supposed “ an interesting building with its wrought iron balcony and recessed porch, as well as a place for wonderful food and afternoon tea*. What brought Mrs Weasley to the hotel, however, was neither the beautiful building, nor the wonderful food, but the rich and influential people that frequented the establishment.
It did seem the perfect place to meet people. During the social season many of the wealthy planters from the midlands of South Carolina came to stay in Charleston. Rich and wealthy men, meant, as could be expected, that families with young unmarried daughters flocked to the hotel as well, for tea or dinner or “ if things were going well “ both. No doubt many carried hopes of finding a suitable match in marriage during these weeks.
Rich and wealthy men also meant a great opportunity for business. Therefore the Charleston men, too, congregated to the building where those opportunities could be found. Invitations went out, deals were struck, and many partnerships started within the walls of the hotel.
Charles Weasley, who from the day Hermione and Ginny arrived in Charleston, had taken it on himself to escort them to any place they chose to go, had already on their first visit to the hotel, made quite a few predictions as to who would strike deals with whom before the season was over. That was, until Mrs Weasley interrupted him and told him in no uncertain terms that he should not discuss business at their table.
“Eet is boring!” she’d announced firmly. “And not something you discuss in ze presence of ladies,” she’d added.
It turned out this was not the only area where Mrs Weasley’s ideas of what was appropriate for a lady differed from those of her brother-in-law. She’d been quite upset when Charles “ as Hermione had secretly started to think of him “ had insisted on bringing Hermione to visit the Charleston Library Society, although in that case he had “ to Hermione’s happiness “ proved the more determined one. Ignoring Mrs Weasley’s protests, Charles had proceeded to tell Hermione about how the Society was more than one hundred years old and also the third oldest library in the country. It was a fact that had surprised Hermione a great deal. She’d always thought of people living in the south as less educated than people living in the north, a fact she now realised was, at least partly, prejudice on her behalf. The brown brick building had been quite impressive, and their visit there had so far been the one that Hermione had appreciated most during her stay.
Tonight, however, neither the Library Society nor the Planter’s hotel was on Hermione’s mind. Her stomach was actually fluttering quite nervously, in fact, as the ball was ready to commence in just a short while.
She was already dressed and ready, her dress in impeccable order and her hair arranged in long drop curls that hung from the back of her head. Mrs Weasley’s maid had proven to be very skilful and surprisingly swift when arranging her hair, even though the black girl had muttered something about a bird’s nest under her breath while working. As a result of the girl’s skills, Hermione had nothing to do at the moment other than to wait, which only made her more nervous as waiting had never been her strong suit.
Hermione was relieved when Ginny came into her room, providing a welcome distraction from waiting. She looked splendid in her white dress and the pearls that were adorning her neck and arms only added to the impression. It seemed that she, too, had had her hair taken care of by the skilful maid. She had it parted in the middle, according to the latest French trends, and tiny white flowers, matching those on her dress, made a bright contrast against the fiery red of her hair. She spun around with her dress held out wide as she entered the room, and laughed as she slumped down on the floor in front of Hermione, demanding that she, too, made a show of herself.
“You look spectacular,” she said, with a wide smile when Hermione after fussing for a while finally spun around.
“Not like you, I don’t,” Hermione answered, more than a bit jealous about the way Ginny’s hair contrasted so strikingly against the white colour of the dress. Her own hair looked pretty enough for now, but Hermione knew it well enough to know that more than one lock of hair would escape the neat order of curls before the night was over. To her credit, Ginny pretended not to hear her comment, but rather went on to chat about the ball.
They had already met quite a few of the people who were attending, since Charleston’s High Society “ like Boston’s “ consisted of a fairly limited number of families. At the planter’s hotel they had already run into and talked to several families, although Hermione could only remember the names of a handful of them. She remembered the Parkinsons, because she thought that Miss Parkinson had seemed both unpleasant and haughty. On the other hand Miss Greengrass and her family hadn’t been that bad, and Miss Bell had seemed rather nice. The young Mr McLaggen, however, had seemed rather awful and in the short ten minutes that she’d spoken to him, he had already managed to insult her more than she thought was possible.
By the time one of the maids came up to collect them, Hermione wasn’t at all too sure about this any longer. Then Ginny mentioned her brother in passing, and Hermione could feel her stomach do a flip and she knew it didn’t matter if everyone else on the party was horrible, as long as Charles was there.
They descended the stair to the second floor of the house together, just as a few guests were arriving through the front door. From the floor below, they could hear the maid greet them and offer to take their coats before guiding them to the staircase leading up to where the ball was to be held. Another maid was standing outside the dining room, waiting to usher everyone inside. She smiled when she saw Hermione and Ginny and quickly guided them inside to where Mr and Mrs Weasley were waiting to greet their guests.
Fleur Weasley’s dress was as white as theirs, with rich silk draped in several layers of deep flounce. The dress was decorated with the tiniest blue flowers arranged in bouquets around the skirt and deep neckline, and a light blue silk bow was decorating her hair. With a smile, she hugged them both, before letting them go off to explore the rooms arranged for the ball.
The spacious dining room had been transformed with long tables around the walls to hold drinks and food, and the adjacent room, which Hermione hadn’t seen before, had been opened up to reveal an even bigger room. The room was practically empty apart from a few round tables with chairs standing along the wall in one of the corners, and a small orchestra situated along the short side. Large paintings decorated the walls and big chandeliers provided the room with a dazzling light. Large windows lined both long walls, and big French doors led out to the balcony overlooking the street. Curious, Hermione and Ginny stepped outside watching carriage after carriage driving up to the house, as people were beginning to arrive.
“Hiding already?”
Both girls jumped at the sound of Charles Weasley’s voice, and Ginny proceeded quickly to playfully hit her brother for giving them quite the scare. Hermione, however, suddenly felt very aware of herself. The way Charles looked when he teased and played with Ginny while leaning casually against the doorframe, made her feel odd and quite flustered.
“Fleur wanted me to escort you both inside,” he laughed, giving Hermione an appreciatory look “ or at least she thought it looked that way, even if she couldn’t be sure out here in the gloom of the evening. Taking Ginny by one of his arms, Charles offered Hermione the other, to lead them both inside.
The ball room had now started to fill with people, men and women old and young, all dressed in clothes of the most splendid colour and textures. Silk, velvet, lace all blended with the bows and the flowers that decorated the dresses and hairstyles. The orchestra hadn’t started playing yet, the players were still warming up their instruments, so people were chatting and greeting each other while waiting. Women were fanning themselves coyly, sending signals with their fans as there was no real need to use one against the heat yet. Hermione guessed that would change during the course of the evening.
A corner proved a wonderful spot for observation, and with a low voice Charles provided Hermione and Ginny with information about the various guests, spiced with quite a bit of gossip, Hermione noticed. To Hermione’s disappointment, they were interrupted rather quickly, when Fleur Weasley came to find her house-guest to make sure they were properly introduced to the more important guests.
“You cannot ‘old on to zem, all night, Charles!” she said reproachfully. “Ze guests are anxious to meet ze girls,” she added with a proud smile, taking Ginny and Hermione by the hands to show them the way.
“Before you steal them away from me, Fleur,” Charles called out quickly, taking a hold of Hermione’s hand, making her stomach do a gigantic flip and her face flush. “I would like to ask a favour of Miss Granger here,” he added.
Slightly surprised, Hermione nodded to him to go on, wondering what favour she could possibly do him. Both Mrs Weasley and Ginny, however, looked very pleased, and moved away giving them some privacy. Fanning herself in a vain attempt to cool down her nerves rather than her body temperature, Hermione beckoned Charles to go ahead with his question, slightly annoyed with herself for behaving like the girls she had just observed.
“What favour did you want to ask me?” she asked.
“Save a dance for me,” Charles said with a smile. “Or better yet, let me sign your dance card to make sure that I get at least a couple,” he added, making her smile as she handed him her dance card. Only by biting her lip did Hermione manage not to tell him to keep it. Truth was that she didn’t want to dance with anyone else, but she knew such a bold move would be very improper and she did not want to give anyone “ least of all Charles “ the wrong idea of what kind of person she was.
“Thank you, Mr Weasley,” she said, smiling as he handed her dance card back to her. “And it was really no favour to speak of,” she boldly added, despite the heightened risk of him believing she was constantly the shade of a tomato.
“I’m glad you feel that way, Miss Granger,” he replied quietly. “Then maybe I’ll be so bold as to ask you another,” he said, waiting for her to silently nod her response. “When Mr McLaggen asks for it, tell him it’s full,” he whispered with a wink, inevitably making her giggle.
“That is a favour which I have no problem granting,” she whispered back.
Even knowing that she should turn and leave his company to go and find Ginny and Mrs Weasley, Hermione stood still, as did Mr Weasley. He was just about to speak when they heard a female voice call out.
“Mr Weasley, How lovely to see you again!”
As she turned a middle-aged woman and a young woman that Hermione thought was around her own age approached them quickly. Hermione recognised the elder woman immediately, as Mrs Weasley had introduced Mrs Brown only the other day. The younger woman, however, was a stranger even if Hermione felt fairly certain that she must be Mrs Brown’s daughter, as they looked rather alike. Surely Mrs Weasley had mentioned Mrs Brown having a daughter, had she not?
Charles quickly confirmed Hermione’s suspicion as he greeted both mother and daughter and then proceeded to introduce them both to Hermione, apparently forgetting that Hermione had already been introduced to Mrs Brown.
The impression Hermione got of Mrs Brown when meeting her the first time, was that the woman was quite overwhelming. This was an impression that was now quickly proved true when she with loud voice reprimanded Charles Weasley for not remembering that she and Hermione had already met. Above all else, she spoke of her daughter, in spite of the fact that the young woman was standing right next to her. Not that Miss Brown paid any attention to what her mother said at the moment, Hermione noted with displeasure. The young woman seemed far more concerned with making Charles sign her dance card.
“No need to be so modest, Mr Weasley,” she said with a bright smile and a boldness that had Hermione regretting not being braver before. After all, if Charles Weasley had proven anything in the past few months, it was that he had little concern for form and social rules but approved highly of honestly and bravery.
Of course, it didn’t help that Miss Brown was a very pretty young woman. Her blond curls, were perfectly arranged, and Hermione was quite sure that she never had anyone call her hair a bird’s nest. Her neck was long and slender, and her pink dress worked beautifully with her pale skin. It was with more than a slight pang of jealousy that Hermione excused herself from the company of Mrs Brown and ventured out into the crowded room to find Mrs Weasley and Ginny.
The task of working one’s way through a crowded ballroom, filled with people one didn’t know, was proving to be rather difficult. Everywhere she turned, Hermione seemed to be blocked by people greeting each other or talking amicably. Men laughed loudly and heartily when talking to potential new business partners, and young women giggled behind their fans as young men asked for their dance cards, mothers stood by with watchful eyes to make sure no inappropriate matches were made or any behaviour went out of line.
The scent of perfume lay heavily in the air, and Hermione was quite grateful that Mrs Weasley had ordered the windows and doors to be left open to the air outside. For a moment, Hermione considered heading back to the balcony to spend the night out there. Maybe Charles would even join her, if he wasn’t too preoccupied with the pretty Miss Brown.
After a near encounter with Mr McLaggen, only avoided with an abrupt turn and a good piece of luck, Hermione was relived when she finally saw Ginny’s and Mrs Weasley’s white dresses stand out against the crowd. Relieved, Hermione made her way through the crowd and over to them.
“Zere you are!” Mrs Weasley said with a big smile when she saw her approach, taking Hermione by the hand to lead her up to the man she was presently talking to. “Mr Nott, zis is Miss Granger, a very good friend of Miss Weasley ‘ere, and a guest in ze ‘ouse for ze next few weeks,” she introduced.
The tall, stringy looking man smiled and took her hand to his lips as he greeted her. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger,” he said.
“Mr Nott, you said?” Hermione said surprised. “That wouldn’t be the same Nott as Dr Josiah Clark Nott, would it?*” she asked, not being able to stop either the question or the sound of disdain in her voice though the sharp elbow in her side from Ginny told her that she had clearly stepped over the line.
Mr Nott, however, had apparently not heard the way her voice sounded, or just didn’t care, because his face lit up in a wide smile at the words. “Well of course! Josiah is my uncle. I am delighted to meet a woman “ and one from the north, nonetheless “ that has heard of his works.”
“Read them, actually,” Hermione answered, receiving another elbow in the ribs. With a glare at Ginny she rubbed her side, annoyed by Ginny’s accuracy.
“Even better!” Mr Nott exclaimed. “I find his works on racial issues most intriguing, and he has done so much to help the public understand that neg“”
“Mr Nott, as interesting as your uncle may be, zis is not ze time nor ze place to discuss such matters. And surely you ‘ave more interesting theengs to discuss with ze ladies,” Fleur interrupted him skilfully, while Ginny pinched Hermione hard in the arm, shaking her head vigorously when Hermione glared at her.
“Of course, I’m terribly sorry. You’re absolutely right, Mrs Weasley, this is not a topic suited for ladies or for a ball,” Mr Nott answered with a smile. “I’ll behave myself, I promise, but maybe Miss Granger would be so kind as to let me sign her dance card?” he continued turning to Hermione.
“It’s full,” Hermione answered, not being able to think of anything less enjoyable than dancing with someone like Mr Nott, except possibly for dancing with Mr McLaggen.
“Ah, too late, so soon,” Mr Nott said. “I’ll remember to be quicker next ball,” he added, taking her hand and kissing it lightly again before he excused himself and moved on.
“Hermione! What were you thinking?” Ginny snapped the moment he was out of earshot.
“What was I thinking? What is he thinking? You do realise that he was on the verge of saying“”
“Something that almost everyone in this room thinks! Hermione, remind yourself of where you are. You heard what Charlie said in Boston. You either agree or keep your mouth shut here. Please, for my brothers’ sake if not for your own, just don’t bring up the topic for debate tonight,” Ginny pleaded.
Hermione sighed. “Alright, I won’t tell them that they’re morally corrupt and horrible human beings!” she said resignedly.
“I guess we’ll have to be grateful for the little things,” Ginny said rolling her eyes.
At that moment, the room quietened as Bill Weasley announced that the dancing was to commence. Almost instantly the orchestra started to play and people without a dance partner moved away from the dance floor. Ginny and Hermione both joined the people moving into the adjacent room, while Bill Weasley took his wife’s hand and led her onto the dance floor.
Relieved when she saw both Mr Nott and Mr McLaggen move towards the dance floor, Hermione rested assured that she could safely move about without the risk of running into either of them.
She was stopped just before she reached the door, and when she turned a smile spread across her face.
“Didn’t you look at your dance card, or did you decide that I would probably just step on your toes?” Charles Weasley asked with a wink and a smile.
Inwardly scolding herself for not being more observant, Hermione smiled back and took his offered arm as he led her to the dance floor.
“You didn’t answer which of my alternatives were right,” Charles pointed out once they were on the dance floor, the soft music guiding their movements as Mr Weasley’s hand slipped around her waist.
“I didn’t look,” Hermione said, more than slightly distracted by the way it felt to be in Charles’s arms. “I had the unfortunate bad luck of ending up in Mr Nott’s company,” she added, trying hard not to lean too far into the embrace.
“Ah, I see. That can be unfortunate indeed. He didn’t brag about his uncle I hope? He is ridiculously proud of the man,” Charles said. “Especially considering the fact that he has done nothing to be proud off,” he added in a low voice, spoken so closely to Hermione’s ear that she could feel hot breath on her neck and sense the clean fresh scent that surrounded him.
“I’m afraid I brought that up,” Hermione admitted reluctantly, her voice somewhat less stable than it had been a minute ago. “Ginny stopped me before I told him what I thought of the man, however.”
“I shall remember to thank my sister later then,” Charles answered with a smile as he spun her around. “Some things are better not spoken of here,” he added.
The dance ended far too quickly, and even before Charles had been able to guide Hermione from the dance floor, Miss Brown was at their side, all smiles and giggles as she reminded Mr Weasley that he had signed her dance card for this dance. Grudgingly, Hermione assured him that she would be quite fine and was more than able to escort herself, even if she hated to be forced to watch Charles take Miss Brown’s hand and lead her to dance.
Miss Brown really was annoyingly pretty, Hermione thought as she watched the two “ all coy smiles and fluttering eyelids as she moved over the dance floor with a natural grace and elegance that would leave almost anyone envious. Jealousy wasn’t a feeling Hermione was used to, and she wished that the fact that Miss Brown’s beautiful pink dress clashed rather horribly against Charles’s hair didn’t please her as much as it did.
“She isn’t the one wearing a white dress,” a voice behind her suddenly said.
Startled, Hermione turned around to see Bill Weasley standing behind her.
“Trust me, Miss Granger, my wife rarely does anything randomly, and she is very good at these things,” he added with a smile that had Hermione blush from head to toe. Had her thoughts and feelings really been that obvious to anyone looking?
“Speaking off my wife, she also mentioned that you might be in a bit of a predicament,” Mr Weasley went on.
“A predicament, Mr Weasley?” Hermione asked with surprise.
“You seemed to have told Mr Nott that your dance card was full, and seeing you standing here might indicate that it’s not,” Mr Weasley explained.
“Yes I guess that could be described as a predicament,” Hermione answered feeling embarrassed. “I just didn’t know what to say, I couldn’t imagine dancing with him. His views are absolutely horrible!”
“I know they are, as are most views in this room. But “ I did not come here to lecture you for lying to one of my guests, but to offer some assistance in filling that dance card of yours,” Mr Weasley said, holding out his hand. “If you’d let me, that is,” he added.
Handing him her dance card, Hermione smiled and thanked him, a bit surprised when he didn’t just write his name once, but a couple of times before he promptly took her arm and led her to the dance floor.
“As a married man and the host I can afford myself a few liberties,” he laughed when he saw her surprised expression.
Bill Weasley proved to be just a good a dancer as his brother was, and for the next two dances he made sure to keep Hermione occupied on the dance floor. When the third dance started, he moved them both from the dance floor and into the company of a few associates of his, introducing Hermione as his sister’s friend and his wife’s houseguest. It didn’t take long before almost half of Hermione’s dance card was filled, and while Hermione had been careful not to ask for their views on slavery, the men that Mr Weasley had introduced her to seemed decent enough. Still, Hermione was happy when she could once more find herself in Charles’s arms, happy that he hadn’t settled for writing his name once either.
“Having a pleasant time?” he asked her when they were dancing once more.
“I think so, yes,” Hermione answered.
“You think so? Then I’m not doing a good enough job at entertaining you,” he replied with a laugh. “Fleur will be most displeased with me,” he added.
“Well, you have been quite busy entertaining Miss Brown, this evening.”
Hermione could have bitten off her tongue the moment she spoke the words, and it was sheer willpower that kept her from running away to hide. She sounded petty and jealous and she had absolutely no right to do so. Charles Weasley had never promised her anything, or asked her for anything more than a dance and her company on a few walks. What right did she have to interfere with his choice of dance partner?
“The ever persistent Miss Brown…Yes, she has taken up a rather big part of my evening,” Charles replied.
“I’m sorry, I had no right“”
“Never the less you were right,” he interrupted her. “Fact is that Miss Brown decided long ago that I would be her future husband. It is about the only opinion she has ever formed on her own and she is not prepared to let it go anytime soon,” Charles continued, making Hermione’s heart sink. “Unfortunately for Miss Brown, my opinion on the matter is quite the opposite of hers.”
“It is?” Hermione asked before she could stop herself, her stomach doing a flip as her heart rose as fast as it had sunk. Looking down on where her hand rested in Charles’s, she damned her swift tongue and wondered how many more times she would put her foot in her mouth during the evening.
“I would rather marry her eighty-year-old grandmother and that is quite despite the fact that she is almost as silly as her granddaughter,” Charles joked, relieving the tension between them as they both laughed.
Charles didn’t let her go at the end of the dance, nor after the end of the next one. Not until they were both out of breath and unable to dance any longer, did he slowly guide them both from the dance floor and to the balcony outside. The night had become dark and a million stars lit the sky as a warm ocean breeze caressed their heated skin.
Laughter and music reached them from the open doors, and the light from the ballroom spilled out onto the balcony creating long shadows that danced and played on the walls and the street below.
“Cold?”
Hermione smiled as she shook her head; too focused on the fact that Charles was still holding her hand to concentrate on actually talking. As if he understood, Charles smiled back at her and stayed quiet as he turned to look out over the street. Almost black, the night still breathed with life. The life of the big oak trees lining the street, the life of the Spanish moss hanging from the branches, the life of the crickets and birds that made music as beautiful and magical as any ever created by man.
It crept upon them slowly “ the tension, once more taking its place between them, around them, as tangible as the scent of the night. Still, Hermione didn’t mind this tension. It was electrifying, exhilarating and made her heart do summersaults in her chest. With every stolen glance at Charles, her doubts and worries faded a bit more. He was a good man, a man who for some reason accepted her for who she was, who understood her and respected her and made her feel interesting and funny. Somehow, the fears she’d carried seemed to melt away as the tension rose. The way he gently, almost absentmindedly, ran his fingers over her knuckles, the way she caught him looking at her every now and then. She didn’t question it anymore. Nor did she questioned him or his intentions, even as he furrowed his eyebrows and bit his lip as if he was trying to decide something important.
“Miss Granger,” he started, turning around to face her. “There is something I need to talk to you about, something I need to tell you before…” he halted and took a deep breath. “I can trust you, can’t I?” he asked, looking very serious.
“Of course you can, Mr Weasley,” Hermione said, both curious and feeling slightly nervous at the seriousness in his expression.
“Good, because what I’m about to tell you“”
“Mr Weasley! There you are. I’ve hardly seen you all evening!”
She could have screamed loudly in frustration about the interruption, and judging from the look that crossed Charles’s face he felt something similar. Still, he turned with a smile on his lips.
“Mr Malfoy, how are you this evening?” he asked taking the other man’s hand in his.
“Very well, thank you. Your sister-in-law certainly knows how to make a ball worth visiting,” the man, who Hermione could now see was quite tall and blond, with a pointy face and a haughty expression. He looked well-bred but not very nice.
“I’ll be sure to let her know you said so,” Charles replied.
“Tell me, how did things work out with that young sl“”
“Have you been introduced to Miss Granger yet?” Charles interrupted the blond man while stepping aside so that Hermione stood face to face with him, an action that quite surprised her. Charles Weasley wasn’t a man who usually interrupted people. She quickly forgot her initial reaction, however, as Mr Malfoy stepped up with a smile on his face.
“I don’t think I had the pleasure, yet. I would have remembered such a pretty face,” he said reaching out his hand.
“Mr Malfoy is my nearest neighbour,” Charles explained as Mr Malfoy took her hand and brought it to his lips. To Hermione’s surprise, Mr Malfoy didn’t let go of her hand as fast as he ought to, instead he kept it against his lips for far too long while letting his eyes move to the low neckline of the dress. Charles’s voice tensed. “Miss Granger is my sister’s closest friend and a guest here for the social season,” he said, gritting his teeth slightly while forcing a smile that never reached his eyes.
Insulted, but relieved that it happened to be her left hand and not her right that Mr Malfoy had caught a hold of, Hermione moved her fan to cover her cleavage while trying to remove her hand from Mr Malfoy’s grip.
“Interesting,” Mr Malfoy said eyeing her from head to toe. “No ring, but still wearing white “ very interesting,” he said, casting a knowing look at both Hermione and Charles. It was with a sigh of relief that Hermione saw another man find his way out on the balcony “ a short-lived feeling, however, when she realised that the man who had joined them was Mr Malfoy’s son.
“May I introduce my son, Draco,” Mr Malfoy said with a smile. “This here is Miss Granger, from the north I would assume, Mr Weasley’s guest,” he continued.
“I hope by Mr Weasley you mean my married brother and not me. Miss Granger is an honourable young woman, and is staying here, in the company of my sister,” Charles said firmly.
“Well of course!” Mr Malfoy said with a smile that, in Hermione’s opinion, did nothing more than prove to her that he had, indeed, meant to insinuate exactly what he had.
Hermione’s greeting with the younger Mr Malfoy was, thankfully, quite short, since Miss Parkinson joined them soon afterwards, hanging on to Mr Malfoy’s arm as if they were already engaged. Escorted by Charles, Hermione soon returned inside and back to the dance floor. Once more moving together to the music, Hermione started to relax again. All things considered, tonight had been rather pleasant and it was hardly Charles Weasley’s fault that he had rude neighbours. With a thought to what had been happening before Mr Malfoy so unfortunately had interrupted them, Hermione looked up.
“You were going to tell me something before we were interrupted,” she said softly, trying not to get lost in the way it felt to be in Charles’s arms.
“I was, but now I think I’d better wait until we can’t be interrupted or overheard. It’s too important,” he answered with a smile, soon changing the subject completely.
Soon the orchestra started to play another waltz, and Charles’s previous engagements forced him to leave her for the company of Miss Brown, though he seemed reluctant to leave her.
“Be aware of the Malfoys,” he said quietly. “Neither of them are men you’d want to spend any amount of time with,” he added, before he nodded and left her in the hands of Ginny who was sitting down to rest her feet for the moment.
No sooner had Hermione seated herself to talk to Ginny, than they were interrupted again. The voice alone made Hermione wince, and when Mr McLaggen settled down on the chair closest to hers, she wanted nothing more than to get up and leave.
Of course she didn’t. It would have been terribly impolite to do so, and Hermione had no desire to reflect badly on her hosts. Instead she forced a smile and tried to make polite conversation with the man, who seemed interested in very few things that didn’t involve himself.
After he, for the third time in less than thirty minutes, told her and Ginny about how he once ate a pound of quail eggs as a dare, and followed up with telling them “ also for the third time “ that maybe it was not a story suitable for ladies, Hermione wanted to scream at him to stop telling it to ladies then. By the time Mr McLaggen started to talk about what an excellent dancer he was, Hermione considered she’d stayed long enough to be polite, and decided to make sure to leave before he asked to see her dance card.
She was, however, too late. The moment she stood up, Mr McLaggen, not only asked for her dance card, but impudently enough reached out and grabbed it from her hand. With a grand smile, he then added his name to each and every slot that hadn’t been filled, while going on about how fortunate she was that he had saved so many dances for her.
Helplessly, Hermione looked around her to see if she could spot Charles anywhere, but when she did see him he was still being held up by Miss Brown “ she simply had no choice in the matter but to dance with Mr McLaggen.
As she feared, Mr McLaggen wasn’t nearly as good a dancer as he thought he was. Instead of concentrating on his own dancing, he concentrated on everyone else’s ‘mistakes’ as he saw them, and as a result he held her too tight, so tight in fact that he nearly lifted her off the floor. After two dances, Hermione fought her way out of his arms, and sent him to get something to drink while making sure to go in the opposite direction, hoping to find Charles or Ginny somewhere in the crowd.
She spotted Ginny soon enough, but she was dancing, and hence proved little help and Charles was no where to be seen. With a mixture of hope to find Charles, and a need for fresh air and somewhere to hide from Mr McLaggen, Hermione headed towards the balcony. When she stepped outside, however, it wasn’t Charles she found, but Mr Malfoy and another man with long black greasy hair and a large hooked nose. He didn’t look very pleasant, and Hermione was just about to turn around to walk away, when she heard what “ or rather whom “ they were talking about.
“It was odd, coming from Mr Weasley,” Mr Malfoy said leaning against the railing.
“But surely he gave some sort of explanation?” the other man asked. “It wouldn’t be like Mr Weasley not to severely punish a slave who escaped,” he added.
“And yet he did nothing but put the man in chains. I have seen him do worse to slaves that spilled tea in his lap!” Mr Malfoy said with emphasis.
Hermione gasped, suddenly feeling rather faint. “Surely you are not talking about Mr Charles Weasley?” she asked agitatedly, too upset to be able to stop herself.
The man with the greasy looked at her with cold eyes. “And who are you?” he added suspiciously.
“This is Miss Granger,” Mr Malfoy informed. “A friend of Mr Weasley’s sister and a guest here at the moment,” he added.
“A northerner then?” the other man snarled with disdain.
“Northerner or not, you, sir, did not answer my question,” Hermione said firmly.
“Of course we were talking about Mr Charles Weasley! Who else would we be talking about?” the man snorted.
“But“” Hermione started, her head swimming with questions.
“Miss Granger,” Mr Malfoy interrupted her. “This is not a matter with which you should bother that pretty little head of yours. Leave it to men who know what they are talking about,” he said dismissively.
“Mr Malfoy, I understood very well what you were talking about,” Hermione snapped, now starting to get angry. “You were talking about punishing a man for wanting his freedom!”
Mr Malfoy snorted with annoyance, but it was the other man that spoke.
“You northern girls are all alike. You come down here with your high morals and silly ideas about slave rights, when you don’t know the first thing about how things work in the real world,” he said, contempt dripping from his voice.
“You’ll do best to leave the thinking to Mr Weasley, Miss Granger,” Mr Malfoy added.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked angrily.
“That you have not the faintest idea of how things work down here in the south!” Mr Malfoy said while stepping closer. “You walk around in your sheltered little world, not knowing the first thing about what it takes to run a cotton plantation. Mr Weasley does know, and you would be wise to trust his judgement on the matter,” he finished now standing so close that Hermione could feel the scent coming from him.
Before she had time to respond, Mr Malfoy stepped back and beckoned to the other man to come with him. “Come on Mr Snape, we need to discuss this further,” he said.
The man called Mr Snape stepped past her as if she didn’t exist. He gave Mr Malfoy a hard pat on the shoulder when he spoke. “I don’t think you need to worry about Mr Weasley. He is not one to be lax with his slaves, after all. I’m willing to wager that the slave in question won’t even be alive at the end of the month.”
The moment they were gone, Hermione slumped back against the wall. She felt nauseated and dizzy. The corset suddenly felt far more constrictive than it had before and she couldn’t breathe in anything more than shallow gasps. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the tears burning behind her eyelids. Could she have been this stupid? Could Charles really have fooled her so completely?
It took all the strength she had to pull herself together enough to even stand up straight. Swallowing hard she pushed back tears nd tried to ignore the feeling of being hit hard in the stomach. She couldn’t go back inside and pretend as if nothing had happened. Charles still had his name on her dance card, and she couldn’t pretend as if nothing was wrong at the moment. She needed time to think, to breathe, to get out of this horrible corset.
With quick strides, Hermione worked her way through the ballroom as fast as she could. When she ran into Mr McLaggen she took her chance by telling him she wasn’t feeling well. Eager to play hero, Mr McLaggen quickly escorted her out of the room, cutting down the time it would have taken her to go through everyone on her own quite remarkably. The smile she gave him in return was forced and felt strange, but Hermione was sure he was too caught up in himself to notice.
As fast as she could, Hermione then moved upstairs to her room, remembering to ask a maid to give her excuses and regrets to Mrs Weasley for behaving in such a manner. She wasn’t proud of leaving a ball like this, but the moment she closed the door behind her and sank to the floor of her room, Hermione forgot all about form and social rules as hot tears started to fall down her cheeks. This couldn’t be true. It wasn’t allowed to be. If it was, then Charles Weasley had lied to her for months. She couldn’t believe that he had. But if he hadn’t been lying to her, then the things Mr Malfoy and that Mr Snape had said made no sense.
Suddenly feeling very tired, Hermione got up from the floor. She needed to think, to work this out, because no matter how she turned it over in her head, Charles Weasley was certainly lying to someone. The only question was to whom.
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* A picture of and information about the Planter’s Hotel, (today the Dock Street Theatre) can be found here.
* Josiah Clark Nott was an American physician and surgeon, and writer, writing mostly about surgery, yellow fever and race. He was born in South Carolina and resided later in Alabama. His racial theories were put forth in a book of essays, from 1854, written with George Robins Gliddon. It successfully popularized the polygenist theory, of separate origins of races of humans, where blacks were considered inferior and created to serve as slaves.