Dance with me, Malfoy

Part Four

"Have you noticed how quickly dreadful events seem to approach as compared to other things that one actually looks forward to?" Hermione complained as she joined her mother by their library's fireplace.

"I believe Einstein called this phenomenon relativity, sweetheart," her mother said calmly, looking up from her book. "Am I correct in guessing this is about the fact that in a couple of hours we will have to go over to MP Baker's home for the party?"

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "What is the name of my school, again?"

"The Ministry made it so that all your paperwork says you graduated from Loretto School in Edinburgh," her mother reminded her with a soft smile.

"Right," she nodded and tried to recall all she'd learned about the school when she was younger. "Mum?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" she asked softly looking up from her book once again.

"Do you ever wish I had gone there, instead of Hogwarts?"

"Yes and no," she said abandoning her reading altogether. "It would have been a dream to have you attend Loretto and see you go on to Oxford, Cambridge, or St. Andrews if you had been born a muggle. That, obviously, was not the case; so, as reality stands, no. I do not wish for you to have gone there because I love you and I want you to be happy, and a witch cannot truly be herself outside of the magical world. I came to terms with that reality a long time ago. That said, if I had the choice to do things again, I would have sent you to that other school in France, where you would have been safe."

"Godric, no," Hermione shuddered. "Hogwarts was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Then there is nothing to discuss, is there?" her mother smiled. "Go get ready, sweetheart, you will need to fight those lovely locks of yours into submission and that takes time."

"I blame you for marrying dad and his unruly hair!" Hermione accused as she left the room amidst peals of mother's melodic laughter.

***

"David and Helen Granger!" an enthusiastic man in his sixties and his statuesque wife approached the Grangers as soon as they entered the festively decorated house. "We are so delighted to have you here tonight!"

"Thank you for the invitation, Alex," her father said in greeting. "Ainara, you look lovely as always."

"Not as lovely as this beautiful young lady," despite being into her late fifties Ainara was so gorgeous that it made Hermione wonder whether the woman in front of her was part veela. "Is this the famous Hermione?"

"Indeed, I am," Hermione greeted with a blush on her cheeks and a smile on her face. "It is very nice to meet you."

"the pleasure is all mine," Ainara smiled, and then turned to the whole family, "please go drink, eat, enjoy, and be merry. Happy holidays to you all."

"Isn't she gorgeous?" her mother said conversationally as they walked into the room.

"So nice, too," Hermione commented back as a she took two champagne flutes from a passing waiter.

"And it is not an act, either," her mother said accepting the bubbly, "I have known her for years now and that woman does not have a single mean bone in her body. That, however, is not the case for Mrs. Cunningham or her daughters," her mother waved from a distance at the women, "be careful."

"Any other advice as to who and what to avoid?" Hermione asked taking a sip from her glass.

"Shall we dance, love?" Her husband asked.

"I'd love to," she nodded and, turning to Hermione to pass on her glass to hold, she added, "Just avoid a public spat with my father."

"I'll try my best."