"I thought it was a mistake."

The coffee in her cup sloshed over the edges as her hand shook. They were hardly ever spotted in Muggle London, but Harry and Hermione chose a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop because they knew the perils of leaving a trail.

The invitation was not a mistake. It was clearly addressed to "Miss Hermione Jean Granger" alongside her Daily Prophet. Her stomach fell to her toes when she first saw the gilded silver "M" on the black envelope, which then sat on the table in front of her. She could not pull her eyes away, even as Harry took the seat across the table. Hermione had stared at it for so long she could recite the words from memory.

"You are cordially invited to the annual Christmastide Ball at Malfoy Manor, Thursday the twenty-sixth of December. We request you forego typical dress robes and don Muggle ballroom attire as we celebrate a new era of acceptance and cooperation among wizardkind. All those unwilling to cooperate need not attend. We look forward to welcoming you into our home.

Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Black-Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy"

Harry sipped his tea.

"They've invited everyone in the British wizarding community between twenty and thirty. Some people are coming in from France, Germany, and even Greece."

"I can't go." Hermione said in a small voice. She wouldn't go back there—she couldn't. Malfoy Manor was centre stage in her recurring nightmares.

"Hermione—"

"You've got Ginny and the entire Weasley family is married off now!" Hermione avoided saying Ron's name because bitterness was still noticeable in her tone. "None of you have to worry about marrying someone you don't love …" Hermione trailed off. "I always thought I'd fall in love. But this? Being forced to marry a pureblood by the time I'm 25? This is loveless. Maybe I could've found someone who was just as damaged by the war so they could understand what I've gone through. That's shot to hell, now."

Harry laughed sardonically.

"Hermione, no one is as damaged by the war as the two of us," Harry said. "This was not the world we were born into, but the wizarding world chose us to save it anyway. We were seventeen, living on our own in a tent and hunted by the most powerful, hateful people in the world. Ron, I know, I love Ron but even he couldn't see what we had to go through because he is part of the twenty-eight. God, Hermione, I died for this world, but if you left like Ron did Voldemort would still be here. Two seventeen-year-olds with the world on our shoulders. You are more than strong enough to go, Hermione. As your best friend, I know you can deal with the memories you're afraid of. Don't pretend you are anything less."

Hermione sighed, "It's a setup, Harry. A glorified matchmaking party."

"That's the fun of it, though!" Harry said, excited. "Come on, I'll be there with Gin. We get to wear Muggle clothes, too!"

"If you two had seen the look on my dear Lucius's face when Draco made that decision!" A voice said. Hermione jumped and spilled coffee down her front as she turned around to face Narcissa Malfoy.

"Apologies," she said pityingly.

Narcissa was every bit opposite her sister, Bellatrix, yet Hermione still shuddered involuntarily and wrapped her arms around herself. Narcissa's blonde hair was pulled back in an elegant twist, a black coat cinched around her waist, and a forest-green scarf protected her neck from the London cold. Where Bellatrix was wild and unhinged, Mrs. Malfoy was the very embodiment of class and wizard royalty. That contrast almost warmed her to Hermione, but nothing could alter her memory. None of the potions or the spells she tried. It all stayed like it was branded on every synapse. Every face in the Manor while she was tortured hung like portraits in her mind: Draco's fear, Narcissa's pity, and Mr. Malfoy's cold indifference stood in contrast to everyone else's sick pleasure in her Mudblood screams.

That nightmare would never go away.

"Lady Malfoy, I'm … I'm …" Hermione flustered as she magicked the front of her shirt clean.

"Please, Miss Granger. Outside the Manor you may call me Narcissa."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said, unable to look at her.

There was never enmity on Narcissa's part, Hermione knew. It was only a cognizance of differences, but that knowledge did not make the pain go away even five years on.

"Mrs. Malfoy." Harry stood and greeted her with a handshake. His light tone was genine but his smile was forced. "I do look forward to attending the ball. Gin will look great in a gown. And Hermione, as well." Narcissa beamed.

"So you will come?! Wonderful!" She looked at Hermione and only saw the top of her bushy hair. "Oh, you will love it, I promise! You have my word. Draco is doing everything he can-–"

"Draco?" Hermione's head snapped up. "Draco is making these decisions?"

Narcissa nodded enthusiastically.

"My wonderful boy. He never had an appetite for the old ways, but he wanted to be just like his father. And Lucius, well, Mr. Potter, you know all about his commitment to, shall we say, outdated wizarding tradition." Harry paled slightly. "Family is the most important thing in this world, or any, and Voldemort nearly tore mine apart.

"We cannot change our past, but I want what is best for the future of my family, for Draco's future. If that means marrying him off to someone that's …" Narcissa glanced at the floor and tried to find the right words. Instead, she pivoted. "I don't believe Draco is interested in the Muggle world, but he wants to right a wrong. All his wrongs and his father's. I keep telling him there is no way, but he keeps trying. He wanted those from tainted lineage to be comfortable in our home." Hermione squirmed and tried to sink further into her chair. Narcissa backed away.

"I am sorry, Miss Granger." She looked down at Hermione and realized there was no way to right that wrong, not even within herself. Despite her best efforts to gloss over history, Hermione felt Mrs. Malfoy's lingering disdain.

"We are trying. Draco, he's a better man than his father. We want to help. What can we do?" Narcissa asked and Harry pulled over a chair from a nearby table.

Hermione finally met her gaze, but only really had one question.

"Why are you in Muggle London?" She asked and cast a soundproofing charm around their small table. Narcissa sighed.

"To ensure the high-profile invitees will be in attendance. What is a ball without the Golden Trio?" Hermione's gaze wavered but did not drop. "I want the Malfoy name to live on, as does Lucius. Draco knows his role. We want to find him a decent bride but avoid the appearance of whoring him out to society."

"We're props," Hermione deadpanned.

"No! No, of course not!" Narcissa insisted. "You need to marry too, now. It is for the benefit of the community. Go, dance, mingle, and leave with better memories of Malfoy Manor than you have now." Hermione shook her head. How could Mrs. Malfoy think it may be that easy? She couldn't Obliviate those moments away if she tried.

"I can't."

"She will," Harry insisted. "Hermione, you're the strongest witch in generations. You're Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic! The first Muggle-born to ever hold the position. Look at me, Hermione." When she complied he continued, "Tell me, really, why you don't want to go to the ball."

Hermione's resolve faded.

"People know what happened. They will say I'm so desperate to find someone I returned to the place I was tortured. They'll say—"

"Damn them to hell, Hermione!" Narcissa nearly shouted. "You will be under my roof and my protection. We will not discriminate any longer. We are prejudiced and the only thing we can do is ensure the future of our family is not. We need you. Perhaps you can send a good witch Draco's way, he should be so lucky to find someone as amazing as yourself. Please, Hermione," Narcissa's voice softened. "You deserve a nice pureblood man, be there such a thing. You will look gorgeous and the whole of the crowd will have their eyes on you. Help yourself and help us. The world will be better for it."

Hermione nodded slowly. It was tempting, and Narcissa was obviously trying to overcome her past grievances. There would never be another gathering of this size with people Hermione's age. It would be the best opportunity to find happiness, to find someone who could help her through her struggles. It's not as though she had another option.

"I have one condition," she said.

"Name it," Narcissa insisted.

"I get to use Polyjuice potion and go to Malfoy Manor where no one will know who I am. I get to find a man on my own, without the pressure of being … Me," Hermione finished sadly.

"Of course," Narcissa said. "I look forward to seeing you both at the festivities." With that, Narcissa rose from their table, bid them good-bye, and Disapparated. Harry turned to Hermione and said, "You are so important that Narcissa Malfoy came to Muggle London. That is amazing."

"A bit creepy how she knew where we were," Hermione admitted. Harry shrugged,

"Probably have a tracking charm on the invitations. Did you see how she was fawning over you? Laying it on a bit thick, wasn't she? 'Draco should be so lucky to find someone as amazing as yourself.' Sounded like she'd take the ring right off her finger if you'd agree to marry the poor bastard."

Hermione giggled, then sighed.

"I still don't know if I'll be able to go back."

"You will, I know it," Harry said. "I heard Draco had a whole wing demolished and redone because it was painful for him to live in it."

"Have you spoken to him?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

"I run into him at the Ministry on occasion. He's still a pompous git, but I saw him when he had to kill Dumbledore. Even with his family's lives, their entire line hanging in the balance, he wouldn't do it. Draco's spoiled rotten, he's arrogant, and he's loyal as hell to his family. But he's a good man, I think." Hermione nodded and went to get another coffee. The barista rang Hermione up and mentioned,

"That lady who came in earlier, she looked a bit posh. Like royalty, almost. We don't get much of that sort in here."

"You have no idea," Hermione muttered as the barista quickly turned to make the drink. She was beautiful: long blonde hair and a tiny waist with a kind face. Like someone right out of a Muggle fairytale. Wasn't that exactly what she was after? A Muggle fairytale in the wizarding world.

As the barista handed Hermione the coffee cup, she asked, "She frightened you, didn't she?"

Hermione nodded and said, "Terrified, really."

The barista gave her a knowing smile.

"Good on you, then, to get through it. My mother used to say, all you need is to have courage and be kind."

Hermione smiled in response and deftly snatched a few stray hairs from the edge of her sweater.

"Thank you, Ella."

.oOo.

"You are going to zee ball at zee Malfoys? 'ow splendid!"

Fleur Weasley was the most fashionable woman Hermione knew. Never particularly gifted in that department, Hermione admitted she was in need of guidance. When she told Fleur she would attend the Christmastide Ball, Hermione was overwhelmed by Fleur's excitement.

"You are like family!"

"Fleur, thank you so much. That means everything to me, you cannot possibly understand how much I appreciate your help. I just … I'm so scared. After everything, After Ron—" Fleur nodded in understanding. "I just don't want to be looked at like … Well, like they always look at me. Like I'm secondhand? The only unhappy third of the Golden Trio," Hermione sighed. "Is it wrong? I want to go to the ball as someone other than me. Maybe it will work out. What's the worst that could happen?"

"No! No, and I think this ees a good idea. You should find love, someone to love you like I love Bill."

"Yes!" Hermione agreed. "Yes, that much."

"Zen I know just zee person to make you a dress!" Fleur said, which is how Hermione wound up in the middle of wizarding Paris four days later, in the shop of Madame Annelle. Polyjuiced as Ella, all Hermione could think about was the extravagance of the small shop. Everything about Madame Annelle was large, from her black hair pulled back into an elegant updo to her vibrant aura that seemed to disperse throughout the store.

"Fleur!" She greeted in French and kissed Fleur on the cheeks before turning to Hermione. "This is the beautiful specimen you bring me?" Hermione withered a bit under Madame Annelle's scrutiny. "She iz very thin, but zee skin is nice. Look at zat waist! Mon dieu! So tiny! What are we thinking for colour, hmm?"

"Bleu, no?" Fleur asked, appraising Ella's complexion.

"Oui, oui," Madame Annelle agreed. She turned her attention to Hermione. "For Miss Granger," Madame Annelle paused. "This ees Mademoiselle Granger, no?"

"Oui," Fleur replied.

"Zen zee dress ees free, as long as you promise I will do your wedding gown." Hermione laughed aloud and agreed, "I can guarantee it."

"Zen eet is decided. I will make you zee most beautiful dress in zee ball. A Muggle dress I must say I see a challenge!" Madame Annelle amended. She magicked off Hermione's clothes and helped her onto a dais for measurements. While Madame Annelle alternated between measuring tape and her small notebook, she and Fleur rattled off ideas in French, occasionally asking Hermione for input. After Hermione returned to her physical form and put her clothes back on, Madame Annelle showed her a sketch of the design. Hermione gasped and nearly teared up it was so beautiful.

"Can you truly have this done by the twenty-sixth?"

"For you? Of course, Mademoiselle Granger. Without you, zee world is a much darker place. You bring zee light back into life for so many of us, so if I put a smile on your face, eet makes me feel good to do something for you. Now, go prepare to fall in love!"

Hermione laughed and glanced back at the sketch. Could it be possible to be looked at not as the bookish hero, dumped for Lavender Brown, but just a member of society? No blame from one side and no thanks from the other? It may truly be that for one night she could feel like a princess.

.oOo.

Christmas night was hell. Hermione couldn't sleep until dawn on the 26th.

MUDBLOOD

Please, no. No, please, please, stop. STOP! I'll do anything! Anything, please, please, stop!

"I want you to scream so loud your filthy Muggle parents will hear you!"

Curtains and curtains of tightly-curled and tangled black hair. Bellatrix's fingertips scraping my scalp like talons. Her blade at my throat – my personal guillotine.

"I'll leave Potter for the Dark Lord, but the redhead is mine. I'll carve blood traitor into his skin. I'll dig his eyes out of his skull with my knife for looking at you like he wanted you. I'll body-bind him and cut his fingers off, one-by-one so he has to lie there and feel it. I'll leave him to bleed out slowly. The last thing he hears will be you screaming. The last thing he'll see is a flash of green, knowing that I've killed you and he did nothing to stop me!"

Hermione woke up at noon, drenched in sweat, clutching her neck and breathing heavily. She collapsed back onto the bed and rolled over so her face was in a pillow. She cried.

"I'm so scared," she said to no one. "I don't want to live with this anymore."

I want to love someone who understands that I still have nightmares. I want to love someone who understands they will never go away. I need someone who can just hold me until it's through. Someone that strong. Someone who's damaged because I don't want to be a burden; I want to be a source of strength for somebody. Is that too much? Can I find that?

I want a family again.

.oOo.

The dress arrived in Hermione's living room at eight o'clock and Fleur arrived minutes later to help her dress. The Polyjuice potion tasted like honey as Hermione drowned the glass. She tried to shake the nervous feeling, but she was frightened to her core. Hermione had the sinking feeling she would not be able to let herself enjoy life in the same place it had nearly been taken from her.

Four hours.

Fleur opened the box and both of them gasped.

"Stunning," Fleur said. Hermione nodded in agreement. It had to be magicked on, and Hermione didn't know how long she could stand upright because it was so tight. The skirt was layer after layer of tulle and organza, and unimaginably heavy.

"Turn!" Fleur demanded, and giggled as Hermione complied. "Eet ees like you are wearing a cloud!"

As Hermione's dress settled, Fleur motioned for her to pick it up by the front.

"Madame Annelle forgets nothing," Fleur said as she produced a pair of glass slippers.

"Merlin!" Hermione slipped them on and asked, "Do I look like a princess?"

Fleur leaned over the dress's skirt to wrap Hermione in a tight hug.

"I 'ad hoped to have you as a seester, but am happy to help you find love. I 'ope you succeed!" Fleur let go and helped Hermione to the Floo. She threw the powder at her feet.

"Malfoy Manor."

As the world whirled around her, visions of the Manor ceiling and a phantom pain throbbed in her neck. She stumbled out of the fire and into the ballroom, nearly tripping over herself a couple times in the unfamiliar shoes. Hermione then stood still and forced herself to take a breath, her gaze not leaving the floor. The music stopped abruptly and a hand appeared in her sightline. She placed her fingers in his to regain her balance.

"Are you alright?"

Hermione's heart dropped to her stomach as she lifted her head to meet a too-familiar pair of smoky-grey eyes.