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Author's Note:

This fic came about in response to a post in the Slytherin Cabal FB group regarding the Regency Era.

Might I suggest listening to the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie soundtrack - my favorite - to set the mood.

Please do not upload this fic to another site/server without my explicit consent.

Feel free to reach out if there is interest, I am quite responsive.

Thank you,

Syren

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The Soul selects her own Society

The animated sounds of string against string waded between each elegantly decorated witch and doting wizard, their laughter and barely hushed gossip ringing in the room, mingling with the sounds of the quartet as if written for it by Ignal Pleyel himself. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest, and the tightness that accompanied it while the butterflies sprung and roamed in my stomach, as though sensing the beauty of the space around me and wanting ever-so-desperately to add to it.

In truth, I had no idea what I was doing there, in my borrowed lilac gown with lace and ruffles, and shoes that squeezed my feet until I hardly felt my toes. I was a mere muggle-born girl, born of lowly parents, with no real ties to aristocracy except -

"Hermione! You came!"

"Ginny," I smiled as the lovely girl with the copper hair drew her arms around me in a close embrace. "You all but forced me to come, don't you forget."

"I know," she grinned, her dark eyes scoping the crowd of people, "and aren't you overjoyed for it?"

"We'll see, perhaps I should have preferred to stay home and read," I responded, noting the slight purse of her lips as she fought the outright smile.

"Who shall I introduce you to first?"

It had come as a surprise to me how well Ginny had integrated into polite society. With her upbringing, though slightly more privileged with her pureblood lineage, was all but similar to mine. Her parents were poor, her father having lost everything after his part in the rebellion. Yet, ever the opportunist, Ginny had managed to find her way into Harry Potter's heart.

"Where is your betrothed?" I hadn't spotted the black, unruly hair amidst the crowd.

"He's still in France," she whispered, giving me a look that indicated her disapproval of the recent war efforts. She must have hardly seen him, as he served God and country to fight for our magical freedom. Though I had known him like my brother during our early school-years, his recent involvement with the war had won significant accolades, including land and title, and I had hardly an opportunity to congratulate him. His letter were far and few between, and though I had no doubt of our lasting friend, I had learned to fight against the ache of jealousy at Ginny's wealth of knowledge about Harry's current circumstances.

"Come," her thin fingers wrapped around my wrist and I felt the forceful pull as she drew me forward, out of the drawing room and toward the ballroom.

The string quartet grew louder, to my delight, and I unabashedly marvelled at the enormity of the room with its resplendent swirl of colours. Light hues and white lace flooded my vision, women with gowns that cost as much as my yearly earnings with real pearls and sapphires to adorn their delicate, pale necks. The white painted stucco columns framed the entrance of the grand ballroom, and the walls glittered like jewellery with the gold leaf frames and elegant pale green and ivory damask that rose like ivy to the ceiling.

As Ginny moved to secure a glass of sherry, my gaze drifted over the space to land on a peculiar group of three loitering in the corner, overlooking the gliding guests. Though I spotted a young woman of fair complexion, and a dark-haired man beside her, my eyes fell upon a rather tall, lithe gentleman, his hair stark and light, and eyes piercing blue as they lazily washed over the space. It took no particular sleuthing to recognize the boredom in their faces, as though they had been asked to merely supervise and were forbidden from enjoying the festivities.

"I see you found our host, the Earl, and his little friends," Ginny turned to me, taking a small sip from her glass of golden liquid. It smelled of ripe pears and honey.

"You're joking," I laughed. Were I to ever host an event such as this, I would do much more than merely watch from afar. Ginny's slender shoulder rose with a slight shrug as she turned to face the dancing guests.

"Shall we say hello? It's only proper," she murmured into her glass. The act of approaching such solemn individuals felt like a daunting task to me in that moment. Without an option to dispute, I felt her fingers around my wrist once more as she escorted me down the side of the room and stopped shy several feet from the hosts.

"Sirs, and my Lady," she said as she took a deep curtsy. I mimicked her, bowing my head as my knees parted to draw me low.

The woman with the dark blonde hair and ashen face responded with a curtsy, done with a woeful lack of enthusiasm, and the men leaned forward in a deep and proper bow.

"May I introduce myself, my name is Ginny Weasley -"

The woman interrupted Ginny's words with a sudden barking laugh, and the dark-haired man gave her a look of amusement. The blond glanced at them with narrow eyes and clear disapproval.

"And this is Hermione Granger," Ginny pressed a hand into the small of my back, thrusting me forward. I stumbled slightly before lifting my wrist toward the men.

I could feel my breath struggling to escape my lips as my eyes caught those of the tall blond, his gaze surveying me with enough intensity to make me feel bare. My gaze averted to the ground, a sudden heat rising to the tops of my cheeks as his fingers captured mine and he drew them up to press a light, courteous kiss on my knuckles.

"Granger?" the woman responded. "As in Granger's Dress Shoppe?"

"Yes, my lady," I responded, my face burning with another form of embarrassment now. Why would a woman of high birth bother to know my father's Dress Shoppe?

"And Weasley? Arthur's girl? How have you managed to get an invitation to a party like this?"

"Astoria, you dare to insult our guests?" the blond man challenged, though his features remained in a state of indifference.

"My apologies, Draco," she said, her features suddenly sour, before turning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd without another word.

"Draco... Malfoy?" I asked, my hand cradling the skin that had brushed against his lips.

"Indeed," he responded. As my eyes sought his, he turned his face to scan over the crowd with the lazy daze I had spotted earlier.

A sudden urge to shake Ginny overcame me. Had she warned that she was inviting me to a Malfoy's party, I would have laughed in her face.

"I didn't know you lived in Devon," I breathed, glancing from face to face.

"He doesn't, this is his summer home. I'm Theodore Nott," the dark-haired man introduced, seeking my hand which I reluctantly offered. "Would either of you care to dance?"

"I would!" Ginny interjected.

I felt the tension in my lips and fought the instinct to glare at her as she disappeared into the crowd with Mr Nott.

I took a step toward the right of Draco and turned on my heel to face the dizzying crowd, my heart fluttering once more at the sheer beauty. I could never understand how one would grow bored of these events. I'd never seen a room breathing with such life.

I peered up at him, permitting myself a brief moment to study his sharp features. My eyes washed over a curved masculine brow bone, perfectly-pointed nose, well-defined Cupid's bow on rose-dipped lips, all atop a bare angular chin. His white-blond hair had been delicately brushed back, but as the night wore on several strands fell to frame his harsh features, giving him a rather youthful appearance than the stark hardness his blank expression seemed to indicate. His hands were folded behind him, his chest barely moving with calm breaths.

"Do... Do you like to dance?" I asked.

"I'm tired of dancing," he said simply as if that were enough information to dissuade my curiosity.

"Ah," I replied, a small toying smile playing at my lips. "And how pray tell, would one tire of dancing if it is one's expression of passion?"

Our eyes met as he gave me a sideways glance.

"What, madam, would you know of passion?"

The sharp point of his words struck me with such offense that I couldn't help myself but laugh. His head tilted slightly, granting me another look.

"Because I am not of noble birth? I should have no feeling?"

"No, Miss Granger," he said, his words as plain and unfeeling as his expression, "I meant no offense."

"Apologies, my Lord, for I have many doubts about that. I should beg to be excused, I would loathe to bore you more from my lack of passion."

I thought I saw a fleeting flinch in his features, perchance a sense of regret - a novel emotion for him, I was sure - though I deigned to not be so hopeful. With his nod, I made my way back into the crowd and accepted the first hand that was offered to me in dance.

I bore through the sting of his words, allowing their meaning to wash over me until my heart had grown cold and skin grew desensitized to the sting. The dance washed everything away, as with each step, glide, and brush of hand against hand, I found myself falling in love with the music and the moment. The eyes of many men fell upon me, lingering beats longer than their appropriate amounts, and yet I felt no sense of discomfort or embarrassment as I was offered to the next dance partner with reluctance.

It wasn't, however, until I met the blue eyes again.

His palm pressed against mine before we withdrew. His left foot stepped toward my extended right, and our hands connected once more.

My eyes remained on him, even as I was passed to the next man, and his sought mine.

I felt tense as a bowstring and warm as a dove soaking in sunbeams.

As my current partner, a stout, portly man with a thick white mustache, pressed against my palm and ushered me back to Draco, I felt my heart rise to my throat as his fingers brushed against mine with more firmness than necessary. Our fingers intertwined, small sparks of heat living where our skin touched, as he drew me in a slow, elegant twirl. He was an excellent dancer, a natural leader; with each push he drew me where I was meant to go, and with a delicate tug of his fingers, ushered me back toward him.

"You're quite graceful for a man that's tired of dancing," I said, glancing around as though undisturbed by his presence. Faint lines creased near the corners of his lips, undetectable to those who were not seeking its sight.

His hand pressed against my back as we lowered into our respective courtesies and bows.

"Miss Granger, I -"

"Draco, there you are!"

The voice felt harsh to my ears as it was the last I wanted to hear. Astoria's fingers brushed against the navy fabric of Draco's shoulder, squeezing the curve of his muscle as her intrusive and forceful glare landed on me. I could sense his eyes lingering on my face, but with a deep curtsy, I excused myself as my feet rapidly moved to navigate me out of the crowded room and away from the heavy eyes of aristocracy.

I could feel my heart beating with a rapid, angry force in my chest. My fingers caressed the skin under my throat, feeling the hammering that pounded like winter's rain, as I pressed my back against the wall, taking in the passing noble witches and wizards that floated with entitled ease in and out of the corridor.

It took a mere moment before I understood the idiocy of my actions. What was I hoping for? This was not a night to formulate a silly infatuation with an Earl. I had been dancing! And enjoying it.

And that's what I intended to do - the night was young, and my feet had some blood and life in them yet.

I stumbled through room within room, each one preoccupied with laughing nobles that knew no cares in the world except pleasure.

I pushed my weight against a door past the drawing room, and the sudden silence was the first indication I needed of a place to rest. The scent was second - a familiar muskiness that reminded me of earth and powder. Like woodchips and quills. Parchment. I stepped into the dark room, its only source a dimly lit fire that sputtered and coughed its last few breaths. My feet echoed with soft clacks as I approached the mantle of the magnanimous fireplace and my fingers gripped for the silver poker as I stabbed at the dying flames. With each prod, vivid sparks of orange burst into the air and the flame found new life to stifle as it grew in the wood. The heat caressed my face and arms, illustrating my success. I stepped back to survey the slightly brighter room as cold air filled my lungs with a deep inhale.

As my enchanted eyes glanced in every direction, I saw books. Tomes, cracked leather, scrolls, bindings upon bindings of literature and knowledge and words waiting patiently for me to devour them. To inhale their knowledge and give purpose to them once more. I fought to climb onto the vast bookshelves, but opted, uncharacteristically, to maintain my ladylike composure as my fingers drew over the covers.

Dust had gathered on every title my fingers touched, causing a wistful sigh to pass through my painted lips.

What a waste it was to leave these books here. In a summer home. What about spring, and winter, and autumn? Who would keep them company then?

I heard the sudden sound of a loud pop which echoed through the dark, silent, marble library, causing me to jump and relieve myself of several unladylike words.

"Enjoying the party?" the voice echoed in the grand space as footsteps grew louder as they approached me. His figure was shrouded in the shadows, but within a moment I could spot the shine of his silver hair glistening in the warm glow of the flames.

"I am, actually," I said. Though a proper woman would feel embarrassed for their intrusive wandering of private chambers, I felt no such useless emotion. I had found my place, in the quietude of towering words.

"Have you found any you like?" he approached me, his eyes wandering up the wall of books. I could feel his presence, his warmth as his sleeve nearly brushed against my bare arms. I felt my breath shorten and forced myself to swallow as I drew my gaze away from his pointed, winsome features, perfectly groomed hair, and elegant poised stance. The man breathed gentility; prim and proper was embedded in his veins.

"I haven't had a chance to explore quite yet," I said, taking a sudden interest in a tome on 13th century stone craft. He gave me a peculiar glance and took a step toward the rest of the room before reaching into his coat pocket to withdraw his wand. With a quick incantation, hundreds of candles suddenly illuminated the space around us and I looked up, gawking at the room in its entirety.

It was breathtaking. And wasted.

"Please, allow me to show you around." Draco offered his arm to me, and I stole a weary stare.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" My tone came out as more of a challenge than I'd anticipated, and, would I have been able, I'd have plucked the words from the air around us and drawn them back into myself.

When he realized I would not accept the offer of his arm, he lowered it and turned to me. Though previously cold, aloof, and blatantly uncaring, his features now appeared softer amid the warm light and our quiet solitude.

"I - don't know," he replied, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Oh?" I replied. "You don't know?"

"I shouldn't be," he reiterated. His eyes avoided mine, glancing around the room as though seeking answers in the centuries-old words that had been written, printed, and bound to act as ornaments in his palace.

"Shouldn't be - kind to me?"

Draco responded with a quiet shrug of his shoulder, his hazy eyes glossed and distant, as he seemed to consider me. My existence. My status, in his home, no doubt.

I felt a sudden rush of illness as though he had reached in with his perfectly manicured, soft, unworking hands and gripped at my core, squeezing with his perpetual look of indifference.

"I did not mean to offend you earlier," his blue eyes rose toward me once more, taking the sight of me in as though hearing the crack of my heart at his prior words. I could feel my brows lift, a sorrowful stare lingering on his features. I took a step back, breaking the entrancement.

"Ah, yes."

I fought to steady the shake of my words as I turned to glance at the fire which had returned to its tired state as it prepared to take its last breath.

"Yes, well," I continued, swallowing the tight lump that had formed in my throat, "I'm afraid you have offended me, Sir. Twice, now, in fact."

His eyes regarded me curiously, watching, allowing me to speak and making no effort to protest.

"My apologies," I continued, "for confusing you on such matters - of why you should be kind to me. I shall do you the favour of never eliciting such confusion again. Thank you, My Lord - for such a delightful party."

With a swift turn of my heel, I turned and fled - from the party, from the palatial estate, and from him.

As I ran toward the carriage, casting a thousand apologies to Ginny and feeling the warm stream of tears that spilled down my face, I made a promise to myself: I will never forget my stature nor seek the frivolities of aristocracy.

Despite their wealth, and power, and land, and despite their beautiful parties of dancing and limitless gossip, they had nothing they could offer me.

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Author's Note:

Hello darling,

Thank you for taking a look at my work.

This is my first oneshot - and realistically if people like it enough

I may post another chapter or two to tie up the tension from the end of this chapter.

Please let me know if you would like that, and please share your thoughts.

I've never written an AU before and this deviates drastically from my type of work and writing

(I tried to sound Austen-esque, hopefully I didn't fail miserably), so please share your thoughts, especially if they are encouraging.

All my love,

Syren

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UPDATE!

Thank you for your generous feedback and requests that I continue this fic. I am happy to do so!

Please continue to share your thoughts and feelings, it brightens my day.

Thank you,

Syren