mp | royalty at play [hermione]

let's put on the fancy clothes
and let's while our woes away
let's live in the land of yesterday

edinburgh, the magical midlothian museum
may fourth, 2004

Hosted by Rosyn Hayes and Astoria Malfoy, with the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, the invitation had said, embossed on the invitation in silver. One of the senior solicitors had plucked the invitation from its place deep in the pile of paperwork on Tony's desk and circled the last five words in red ink, just in case Anthony Goldstein thought that being in court earlier that day was an excuse to beg off.

It was criminal, is what it was, to have an event like this so close to the anniversary, and on a Tuesday. What a beastly day for it too, what with the rain moving from London in the morning, where it assailed Anthony on his walk to work, to Scotland in the evening, where it now kept testing the integrity of Anthony's repelling charms in his cloak.
 
He was dressed in his wizarding best -- which was to say, in the stuffiest outfit he owned. His dark navy dress robes felt oppressive in the atmosphere lighting of the event, though every so often a light would reflect off the silver thread trimming. His cravat was a another silver affair, the intricate crosshatched design lost to anyone who wasn't staring directly at the too-tight knot around his neck. Even with his cloak deposited in the coat check (no doubt to torn to shreds by kneazles, given his luck,) Tony felt rather like he was going to drown under all the layers of fabric.

It was early still, yet Tony had done about half of his total hobnobbing for the evening and had loitered for far too long around the bidding list for a book he had his eye on. He forced himself to tear away from it, taking a glass of champagne he didn't intend to drink just for something to do with his hands.

His eyes, now unoccupied, drifted unerringly to the erumpet in the room –– Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy, making their way through the hall. Tony resisted the urge to either roll his eyes or dry heave. Instead, his eyes drifted further, catching a certain Brightest Witch Of Her Age in a similar stare.

She seemed too focused on Malfoy-watching to notice Tony at first. He took the opportunity to move to her side. "You look like a niffler what found a necklace," Barrister Goldstein said, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "You think he's up to something?"

@Hermione Granger

Hermione fidgeted with the button on her opposite sleeve, pushing it until it nearly popped from the buttonhole, pushing it back. She shouldn’t be fidgeting, or nervous, or doing anything less than looking like she was at least moderately enjoying herself. She certainly shouldn’t be obviously staring at Draco Malfoy, but it was like trying not to stare at a gnome in a party dress. Maybe she should grab a drink, try to blend in. Or actually blend in by finding literally anyone to talk to, actually attend the gala.

But galloping gargoyles, it was a Malfoy gala. To benefit war orphans. With books. She was more than a little conflicted.

She could pass it off as working, at least, the staring. There was an air of corruption here, right? And Malfoy worked at the Ministry now, so it was an internal issue. This was ICU business, for sure. Someone had to do it; Hermione glanced away very briefly to find Mary and Alex in the crowd; neither of them seemed to get the memo that Hermione decided they should be working. Typical.

“Gah--” it was halfway between shock and terror-- no, Anthony had genuinely scared her, popping up seemingly out of nowhere. Hold those ICU hippogriffs, she supposed. “What?” Hermione blinked, turned her head to look at him, smiling smally and hoping to look a little less obvious about things. But did she think he was up to something? Ah-- she was being obvious. “Cat’s among the pixies,” she said, tapping the side of her nose twice before she looked back to the crowd, her gaze going straight for Malfoy again.

G-d above, Hermione Granger was fidgetting. Tony's gaze dropped briefly to the button on her sleeve, dangling by a now-very-loose thread. he raised his gaze back to her before speaking up, resisting the urge to smirk when she started. Felt like a small crime of his own, taking Hermione by surprise. She wasn't the most vigilant of her age, maybe.

Hermione smiled at her, the feeling not quite reaching her eyes. Tony raised an eyebrow back at her. "Cats among the pixies," he repeated, slowly, so Hermione could hear how mental she sounded. Not that she was looking -- her attention slid off of Tony like water off of a duck, swinging back to Malfoy. The world's most predictable pendulum, Tony thought uncharitably as his own attention went back to the man.

It wasn't his fault, really; it was Draco's fault for organizing this whole affair to begin with. This wasn't teshuvah, or repentance, or appropriate, for a known fascist sympathizer to be hosting a benefit for war orphans. It all reeked of responsibility shifting, of an Overton Window shifting irreversibly rightward away from the truth.

Least there were good books for auction. Astoria could throw a party.

Anthony Goldstein watched Draco for a minute, him and Hermione looking almost like birdwatchers in fancy dress. Unfortunately, he was terminally incapable of keeping his mouth shut. They stayed like that for a moment longer before he couldn't hold it in any longer -- "Do you think he's going to try anything?" Tony asked, not moving his gaze. "Or is it just covering his tracks, like?"

Cat’s among the pixies. It sounded silly when Anthony said it, but Hermione didn’t try and correct herself or try to change tact. She continued watching Malfoy--and Mrs Malfoy, she reminded herself with a lazy roll of her eyes--who was acting perfectly normal. Perfectly annoying.

“Hmm?” She didn’t look at Anthony but she had heard him perfectly well. Did she think he was going to try anything? He would be stupid to try anything in public, but she had given him the benefit of the doubt before and had been proven wrong. (She could hear Harry asking since when has Malfoy been one of the world’s great thinkers? and she did her best to ignore it.)

Hermione didn’t answer him, didn’t look at him until he asked his follow up question. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly, her brow furrowed (though not as furrowed as it could go). She glanced down at her hands, noticing the button on her sleeve she had worked until it hung by a thread. She passed her hand over it, repairing it (so she could fidget it with it some more later).

“It’s been three months,” she said, looking back up and over again. Three months of working at the MInistry, as if Malfoy would have already done something if he was planning to do anything. The most likely scenario was that this was just a good opportunity for the Malfoys to show off, but she was paranoid, and rightfully so.