FicWad

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously... don't.



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Harry Potter had arrived at the Weasley'smanor, prepared for the subtle remarks of the gentlemen regarding his business, and the meaningful glances that the women would be too generously providing his way.

He knew that no disguise in the world could ever mask him away from the people who seemed to have made a living out of annoying the hell out of him with their constant praises and direct match-making.

And he was right.

Everyone who had been near the entrance had greeted him without hesitation.

Their compliments such as "good evening, your grace" or"welcome, your grace" were merely replays of what Harry had received 5 years ago, when Sirius had announced him to the entire ton for the very first time.

It would have been much appreciated, were it not for the fact that before his business mergers outside the city, this same group of sycophants had treated him as if he didn't belong in their circle.

As he walked up the front porch steps of the manor, he ignored the stares of the people he passed by. When he entered the crowded ballroom, he merely looked with indifference at the sight that greeted him.

Smirks had never been flashed too quickly and fans had never been fanned too fast.

He didn't mind, to say the least. He was used to that kind of reaction.

Besides, what could he do?

The ton had its own way of thinking, and they stuck by each other no matter how rotten things got. It would always be them and the outsiders.

Harry may be accepted now because of his status, but still, there were others who considered him a trespasser.

But that was not something he dwelt in. Petty was what it was. He didn't need to be accepted. He had his own world, and for him, it was enough.

After paying his respects to the hosts of the ball, he made his way towards the ballroom's corner and stayed there, discouraging any attempt of his acquaintances to approach him with a bored face and a smoky stare.

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After two hours of hearing conversations that didn't seem to stop in the least, Harry became bored and completely worn out.

Detaching himself from the wall he had been leaning on, he crossed the dance floor, dodged greetings with a slight nod, and finally made it out of the crowded room.

All by himself with neither servant nor a guest in sight, Harry made his way across the hall and ended up at the other end where an exit led to the balcony.

Disregarding the phrase "breaching of territory", he walked out and looked around.

`Thank God.' He thought as silence came upon him.

His footsteps barely making a sound, he slowly trudged his way to the ledge, careful not to trip on his feet.

It was nearly impossible to see anything without even the moon's light.

As he took a step forward, the makings of a marble ledge began to form.

His glass in hand, he leaned over the ridge and took in the familiar taste of the brandy he was sipping. After what seemed like infinity, he found himself gripping the round glass quite tightly as he felt recognizable constrictions forming in his throat.

Nine years had passed, but still, his emotions showed no sign of ever becoming stable.

Ever since he took over his parents' estate, he had lost the feeling of being carefree and living on his own. It was replaced by constant worrying and stress.

How could he not feel these things?

The burden of hundreds of people who were all depending on his puny knowledge on how to run an estate was suddenly cast upon him. Everyone had expected him to continue the work of his parents on the estate, which he didn't even know was his until he was 20 years old.

And even though he managed to uphold the family title and let it become even more than that, he neither felt pride nor happiness.

For him, the reason for living had ended even before he became the Duke of Godric's Hollow.

Sirius knew about Harry'smisgivings, of course.

In the beginning, Sirius understood him and let him take his time. But after having met success and still feeling the same way towards life, his dad's best friend insisted that Harry's lack of awife and a child of his own had become the main reason for his depression.

He, of course, waved this idea away.

It was a silly notion.

The last thing he wanted was to have another life to be responsible of.

And that "love" Sirius was talking about was not what Harry wanted now or ever again.

There had been a time when Harry could think of nothing else, though.

He once loved greatly...

But he lost as deeply as he loved.

Too much pain had been involved in his past that to take that risk of feeling it again gave Harry the will to never let love worth risking for.

Loving will never be possible for him because a man with a past like his could never learn to forgive nor forget.

"Augh!"

Someone hissed at the far corner of the balcony, the sound shifting his attention towards it.

Certain that he was not in any form of danger, Harry turned towards that direction, wondering if he had just imagined what he heard.

Then he heard the rustling of cloth.

As if it had been choosing the perfect time to reveal itself, the moon suddenly appeared and light was instantly cast upon him and his "troubler."

His brow lifted at the sight that greeted him.

A woman was bent over the ledge of the balcony where asmaller one was jutting out as a place to hold pots of plants, with only her bottom half visible in the awkwardness of her state.

She was trying to look for something, he surmised.

Harry was generally not surprised to see her, but he was astonished to see the position he least expected her to be in.

He watched silently, curiosity eating at him, and postponed announcing his presence, despite knowing it was improper to be with a lady who looked to have no chaperone.

"Ah..." He heard her say in a voice that held triumph.

He wondered the reason for her tone, but even more so when she did not straighten immediately.

He decided to end his thoughts and whatever it was she doing.

He stepped closer and cleared his throat...

"I fear that I would not be able to compliment you on your choice of robe, mademoiselle, if I were to continue looking at it askew."

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Hermione Granger, the Countess of Ravenclaw, gasped at the sound of a deep voice echoing behind her. She immediately straightened, only to have her stepping on the back hem of her and then losing her balance.

She was prepared to hit the cold, hard floor of the balcony, but when she felt two strong arms close around her waist, she momentarily felt relieved.

But when the man didn't release his hold on her immediately, her ease was short-lived.

She graciously stepped away from him as soon as she had righted her position.

He continued his scrutiny as he stepped back and shoved his hands into the pocket of his robes.

She challenged his gaze, more annoyed than intimidated. She knew she should leave him because society rules beckoned so, but she had nowhere else to go.

"If you're expecting a thank you..."

"I'm not."

She stared at him, taken aback.

Hermione couldn't make out the expression beneath his mask, but his eyes were bright. Although whether it was positive or not, she couldn't tell.

"Why is that?" She asked. "Because you don't care for one?"

"You'd just be wasting your time. I don't do well on gratitude." He shrugged.

His grave tone drew her in despite its underlying message telling her to back away.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Hermione inclined her head to the side, gazing up at the enigmatic man with curious eyes.

He, in return, stared back at her with a speculative look.

"You don't recognize me?" He asked, more like stated, vaguely.

"Should I?" She asked in return.

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Harry looked down at the woman standing in front of him in that flamboyant costume of hers and lifted a brow. "I've never encountered someone who didn't."

She chuckled as if finding his indignation amusing. "And would I step on your pride if I tell you I have no idea who you are?"

He turned around. "Fear not, my pride is quite lenient."

"Is that so?"

"I find it very refreshing." He answered lamely.

He glanced around and noted for the second time that she was without a chaperone.

"Where is your duenna?"

"I do not have one."

"A husband, then?"

To his surprise, she gave a sharp toss of her head and said."I have no such thing."

Harry couldn't suppress a snicker. "You are not in favor of such thing, I gather."

"No, I am not." She answered truthfully.

"I have to say, that's quite surprising."

"Why? Because you think every woman is either an opportunist or a romantic, but not independent or capable?" Hermione said decorously. "Not every female grows up with fantasies of marrying, if you must know."

"I didn't ask for an explanation." Harry regarded her with amocking gaze. "Just out of curiosity, how did you spend your youth if you didn't visualize yourself with the man of your dreams?"

"Man of my dreams? You're such a romantic, if only such aphrase weren't a cliche." Hermione countered smoothly.

"A romantic?" He scoffed. "Hardly. So, what did you do? Rebelled?"

"If you would call reading books that have more than manners and fashion within their pages as rebellion, then, yes, I did."

"More than manners and fashion..." He repeated dryly. "If you think that you had the right to leave out manners, somebody ought to tell you to read them again."

The lady's brows crossed and he saw her stiffen. "If your concern is propriety, sir, you are welcome to leave."

"If I had the intention of leaving, I would have done so already."

"You're going to ask me to leave, aren't you?"

"Will you?"

"No. Why should I? I was here first."

"Because I'm bigger."

Hermione blinked at him, his response throwing her off guard.

"Is that how you get your way? By threatening people with your size?"

"No. Usually, they cower when I look at them." Harry said.

"I wonder why." She replied sarcastically. Then she gave him a pointed look and crossed her arms. "I'm still not leaving."

"If I didn't know better, you'd want to be found here...with me." He wagged his eyebrows at her, enjoying himself vexing her.

"And what? Be shunned into marriage with you?"

"That's the plan, isn't it?"

"The plan for what? A lifetime of hell?"

Harry threw back his head and laughed out loud.

"I do not want to leave because I want privacy and I came here first. So if one of us has to leave, I daresay, it should be you."

"It just so happens, my lady, that I also want isolation, and the only place in the manor where I can have that, is here."

"If you want, both of us can stay here, and have a decent conversation."

"Or we could just mind each other's business." He suggested matter-of-factly.

She opened her mouth to retort, but no reply came.

Harry figured he got her there, because her eyes suddenly lost their spark and the only sound that he heard next was her deep shallow breaths.

After a sharp moment of silence, she turned around and did what he told.

Even in the dim light, he could tell that she was embarrassed.

Annoyance washed over him.

Why couldn't she just leave?

Hell, why couldn't he?

Maybe it had something to do with guilt or fascination, but either way, he didn't want to name anything as he stepped closer to her to offer a truce, if not an apology.

"Perhaps, it's all right to talk."

Her eyes darted to him, piercing his own.

The hair at his nape suddenly prickled.

Damn, there was something about her that was warning him to stay away.

But he had never been a man known to cower against warnings.

"My lady..."

"Actually," She cut him off. "Now that I think about it, Idon't have anything to say to you. Nor can I think of anything you could say that would interest me."

Harry knew he ought to leave it at that since it was obviously clear she didn't want to talk to him anymore.

But as usual, his tenacity got the better of him.

"How about if I ask you questions and you answer them?"

"If you're trying to make up for the insult you have tossed in my face, don't bother." She shook her head indignantly. "You don't need my thank you, fine. I don't need your sorry. And certainly not your company."

Ignoring her last statement, he asked. "What were you doing here, anyway?"

"I thought we were minding our own business?"

"You owe me an explanation."

"I don't owe you anything."

"I caught you."

"Hardly a heroic deed."

"You were going to say thank you, which was a sign of gratitude. And gratitude means that I did something good."

"It was petty. And you didn't earn it."

"Course I did. I saved you from some pain and dirt, didn't I?"

"I'm not going to melt just because of those. You're treating me as if I'm fragile. Is it because I'm a woman?"

"I am not discriminating you because of your sex. I am just trying to bait you into telling me why you are here."

"You didn't have to be so blunt."

"You wanted the truth, I gave you the truth."

"And now you're expecting me to return the favor?"

"That's the plan." Harry shrugged. "Did it work?"

"No." She shook his head. What was with him and plans?

"Okay, then." Harry shrugged. Then walked past her to bend over the ledge where she had been leaning over when he had found her.

Above him, he heard her take a sharp breath.

But she didn't stop him, knowing that her effort would be futile, because he was, as he stated earlier, bigger therefore stronger than she.

When Harry straightened from his position, he nearly tripped himself out of disbelief after realizing what he was holding in his hands.

Harry had been prepared for a lot more dire explanation. But this one had him shaking his head in helpless curiosity despite his foul mood.

"You mean to tell me that you were bent over there just so you could hide your cards?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding him with so much irritation that Harry couldn't help but reach out and ruffle her already mussed hair.

"After talking to you, I am no longer surprised."

She paused then looked at him, her gaze boldly traveling from his head to foot. "You are inexplicable."

He chuckled as he remembered the term his godfather said earlier. "I gather I am. But you should know, that does not concern me."

He gave her a look of pure malice before looking down at the cards, his lips quirking.

She frowned when he began reading the names from each one.

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Hermione took a deep breath and then faced her inquirer with flushed cheeks as he quieted.

"Are you done?"

He looked up and spread the cards in front of her, revealing the number. "Seven cards. Impressing."

"I don't recall asking for your opinion." She said, reaching out to snatch them back, but he held onto them.

Because of this, she was yanked forward, and she found herself inches away from him.

Even with masks on, Hermione could feel something burning within her as she gazed up at him, noticing for the first time, how his eyes were shining with mirth.

"Forgive me for asking, but shouldn't you be flattered that that many gentlemen would like to escort you home?" His voice was husky as he whispered, his breath fanning her face.

"Not in the least." She shook her head, silently confronting herself for being so honest to this man. "I have a very comfortable chaise waiting to transport me home and a trustworthy coachman to see to my safety."

She tried to step back, but his arms suddenly locked her in an embrace. All she could do was look up at him in helplessness.

Being that close to him gave her the time, and although she would not admit, the pleasure, of seeing what his mask revealed.

From what it did, she could see an aristocratic nose, not crooked, not narrow, not pointed, but just the right shape. His jaw was firm, its line strong, and wrought in a way that she found attractive and mysterious.

And the way his lips were formed, it was scandalous. It was outrageous for such a mouth to be molded into a chiseled face that promised no softness. Yet there it was, close enough for her to taste.

She shook her head.

What was she thinking?

When her gaze flew back at him, she saw one corner of that sensual mouth of his, lift, as if he had heard every thought in her head.

"So what would you say when it is time for you to give your card?" He asked, his voice taking her thoughts and gaze away from his face.

"I would tell them that I had given it to someone else." She shrugged, unsure of what to make of her own descriptions of him.

"Would you?"

"Would I what?" She asked, confused.

"Give it to someone?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no intention of giving false hopes to that gentleman that I would be entertaining his suit." She countered.

"And is your lack of effort to be freed from my embrace asign that my suit would be entertained?" He sought her eyes for an answer, while she gaped at him, unsure of what to say.

"If I tried, would you actually let me go?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether I want to let go."

"And?"

"I don't know. It depends again."

"On what?"

"On whether I decide to do something."

"And that would be what?" Hermione was afraid to hear his answer.

She saw that mouth of his curve before forming two words that made her knees give.

"Kiss you..."

She stared at him.

"You, obviously do not move about the rules of the ton." She whispered, tilting her head back, prepared for his assault.

To her surprise, her words caused him to return to sanity and release her. "I have no intention, whatsoever, to become a leashed dog and let those rules be my master."

"Why is that?" She asked.

"I was not brought up to be that way."

"And what were you brought up to be?"

He looked at her with so much intensity. "Human."

Despite the amused glint in his eyes, Hermione would have wagered her life that the man in front of her had been serious. He was advising her to stay away, to neither feel pity nor concern for him because he was well-off without it.

But not for long did she pretend she didn't care.

Strangely, she felt for him. However, she was not in the place to do so.

He could have a wife for all she knew.

She was taken aback by the revulsion she felt once she realized that he might as well did.

Unable to stop her curiosity, she finally asked. "And what does your wife think about being married to a man who is---unfamiliar?"

"She is quite ecstatic to have someone so unconventional."He chided.

Hermione didn't know that her face showed her emotion, but it did.

What Harry saw just before she looked down had him raising his brow.

"If I had one, I would probably be at home right now, trying to drown myself with hemlock." He said, and then he gave her a teasing grin."Do not look too upset."

Hermione looked flustered.

If she had not been guilty as sin, she would have thought him to be arrogant.

But then, just as the case was, she was guilty.

But he didn't need to know that.

"I was not upset."

"Don't think too much on it." He shrugged and took another sip from his brandy, looking at her over the rim of the glass.

Tucking strands of loose hair behind her ear, Hermione walked over to the ledge to look at the moon.

"Have you ever felt they're just using you for something?"She heard him ask after a long moment of awkward silence.

She glanced at him for a split second before turning her head back to the sky. "That is the way the world revolves around us."

"You mean the society?" Harry asked. When she nodded, he smiled a little. "If that is the world you live in, why aren't you married?"

"It's yours, too, you know. But then, I guess, it's more so for me." She shrugged; bitterness in her voice could be heard through her tone." I grew up learning how to be a proper lady. I was not allowed to be more than I was supposed to be and I grew weary of trying to be perfect. Despite the warnings of my mother regarding women and politics, I began to read books and discovered so much more. My father,"

He heard her voice break, "he thought me to be witty and clever. When I made my debut, I neither had the thought nor the desire to be wed."

"But that does not answer my question."

"It didn't?" She sighed. "Then I'll rephrase it." A deep breath. "My mother died when I was born. My father passed away when I was 18, leaving me no choice but to handle our estate with my own hands because my stepmother just wouldn't want anything to do with something that was not hers. I have learned independence, and now I cannot live without it. Having a husband would only take freedom away from me. I could never live with that."

She turned to him, suddenly blinking in surprise. Up until then, she forgot he was a complete stranger. Hermione grimaced. "Is that so silly to hear?"

"From you, no." He shook his head."But that's not how our world is, bien-aime."

She smiled at his endearment. "I know. And that's why I'm trying my best not to live in it."

He was devious, but he was not immoral. He was a gentleman, albeit quite mysterious and reserved. He was not quite what the ton preferred, but he was just right. "I know that you have the same dilemma."

"Do I?" Harry gazed into her eyes and found himself answering truthfully. "I grew up in a different place. People didn't teach me how to live; they taught me how to survive, to depend on no one but myself. Icame to London and everything changed. My life became different and I'm afraid I would make a mess out of everything, disappoint the people who depend on me. I have no idea how to go about that since all my life, I've been self-sufficient."

"You are not going to make a mess out of anything if you just let somebody take care of the things you can't."

"Are you talking about a wife?"

She shook her head. "Love, before anything else.""

"I do not believe in it nor do I want to get entangled in such a thing."

She looked at him quizzically, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

She was waiting for his reasons, but it seemed that he didn't feel like telling her.

She couldn't blame him.

She was a stranger.

She had no right to know something that appeared to be very personal.

But then, that didn't stop her from caring...

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Harry couldn't tear his gaze away from her.

As she continued to meet his gaze, a feeling in his gut told him there was something he wanted. And he knew right there and then what it was.

He forced himself to remember that complicating things would not be the best way to end the night.

Her spirit may be strong, but her heart was gentle.

He knew he would break it no matter how much he wouldn't try.

But something in the way she was looking at him, told him that this would be the first and the last.

She was too precious to get saddled with him.

But she was glorious and no force on earth would have stopped him.

He bent his head closer.

Her breath got caught in her throat. His hand enclosed her waist and drew her even closer. Her hands clutched his arms in support.

With his free hand, he smoothed away the hair from her face. His lips moved closer, seeking the sweetness of hers.

But before he could taste what she was sweetly offering without protest, her eyes went dark and her breathing became uneven.

He cursed himself for nearly giving in to temptation as he placed an acceptable distance between them.

What just happened? Harry asked himself.

He just met her a while ago, didn't he?

But this was the second time he came close to ignoring his rational thoughts.

He took a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. "I owe you an apology."

"I'm not asking for one." She told him, frowning a bit. "A kiss is just a kiss, were that scene just now meant to be one. It is not wrong to show passion."

"Is that you living out of the world, or living in it?" he found himself asking darkly, torn between annoyance and relief.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"You do not give into the duty of marriage, but you don't hesitate to give one of its luxuries to someone whom you've just met."

"Actually, I haven't."

"What?"

"I haven't met you yet." She said. "I don't even know who you are."

She smiled right there and then, and Harry felt his anger ebb away.

His instincts were telling him to end the night there and then, before he messed it up, but as he had learned one time too many, his will was quite weak.

And so was he.

He presented her with his card.

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"Ms. Parvati!"

Both of them jerked away from each other as a plump woman suddenly appeared at the doorway, her body blocking some light.

"What?" They muttered under their breath.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, standing there with aman you do not know." She charged forward, her stubby finger pointing accusingly at the two of them.

For a moment, Harry couldn't find his voice.

Bloody hell!

What a timing this woman had!

"I apologize, madam." He said, looking from one woman to the other. "I assure you, I did not compromise her in any way."

"It will be a miracle if you did not. What is this?" The lady had her eyes cast upon him, whose hand was still outstretched, in the act of handing out his card.

"That seems a bit unethical, don't you think?" She snorted as she snatched it and held it up to her eyes to read.

Harry wondered how she could have read his name in such adark environment, but that she did.

And he did not expect her to keep quiet about it at all.

Neither did he imagine that she would stagger in his presence.

"Your grace," She handed him back his card and curtsied. "I was not aware that it had been you, please accept my apology."

Harry was disgusted as she scrambled away to give them privacy.

Not with the duenna, though, but with the whole notion.

Was he a prince or something?

Why did everyone treat him with so much regard and fear?

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Beside him, Hermione took a sharp intake of breath.

She snatched the card from the hand of the man she was with and stared in deep shock at the words that unfolded right before her eyes.

Harry James Potter, Duke of Godric'sHollow.

She had almost kissed a duke, and not just any other duke, but the most sought after and wealthiest duke among the ton.

Somehow, she knew she should be thrilled, but she was not.

"Your grace." Hermione curtsied.

"Why the sudden politeness?" He asked.

She looked up at him.

What she saw in his eyes intensified the coldness in her own.

"You are a duke, and propriety beckons me to do so."

"You don't expect me to believe that, do you? You're not someone to follow rules. You told me so yourself, I am not senile, Parvati." He said.

She was about to correct him regarding her name, but figured it would be better if he didn't know. Things would only get difficult.

She didn't want that to happen.

"I must now return inside. My duenna is obviously displeased with me." She said, picking up her skirts.

"But you do not have one. You told me." He regarded her quizzically.

"I was pretending that I didn't have one."

"She does not seem to mind, though." Harry said, his amusement returning.

"It's because of you, your grace."

"Perhaps." He shrugged.

"Even so, my absence is probably questioned as of this moment. I should go."

Harry merely nodded.

If he found something odd about the way she was suddenly trying to set as much space between them as possible, he chose to ignore it.

He thrust his card at her.

"Please consider my company when you feel you have just about enough dancing for the night."

He bowed.

Hermione barely gave him a response as she took the card.

She turned around and made a hasty exit.

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Hermione removed her mask as soon as she was in the hallway and her hair came unbound. Heavy tresses of it falling over her back and her front.

She was walking back to the dance hall, when she heard heavy footsteps coming after her. She thought it was Harry, but it was the plump lady that had ruined an enthralling evening for her, yet saved her from a suffering like no other.

"Ms. Parvati." The woman had caught up with her.

Hermione wondered how much longer it would be before for the old lady realized her charge was in some other place.

With a pleasant smile plastered on her lips, she turned around to face the woman.

"Oh my goodness! You are not Ms. Parvati." The shock that went to her face was comical enough to startle a laugh out of Hermione.

"No, I am not."

She didn't even bother apologizing for her intrusion or her mistake.

"Such a loss. I thought our Ms. Parvati already had the duke." She then looked away to search for her missing Carolyn.

Hermione's heart felt an ache creeping in it as she took in what the woman said.

The comment about having Harry in their grasp was such pitiful evidence that he was being treated as some kind of pawn in the marriage mart.

But her pity was not enough to diminish the hatred she felt for him.

For all the wrong reasons, she thought him deserving to have such treatment.

She quickly sauntered inside the dance hall.

After a few minutes, she summoned for her coachman and left the party, wishing she had never accepted the Weasley'sinvitation, never stepped out into the balcony, and never gave in to the hunger she had seen in the eyes of the Duke of Godric'sHollow.

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Seated behind his desk, Harry was drinking whiskey, thinking about the woman he met.

Back at the Weasley's Ball, he had returned in the dance hall to be present just in case Parvatiwas to accept his offer to accompany her home.

He didn't know why, but somehow, she had managed to creep into his thoughts during the latter part of the evening. And although every bit of nerve in his body insisted he forget about her, he couldn't let go.

Hell bent on getting to know much more, he hoped against all hopes that she would materialize at the end of the night.

But she didn't.

No matter where he looked, he couldn't find her.

And he knew that she had made sure he didn't.

He found out how the moment Parvati'sduenna approached him with an apology, explaining that she had mistaken the woman he was with for her charge who had been wearing almost the same costume.

He wondered how she could have mistaken her for Parvati, but successfully read his name on his card.

But that was nothing compared to the confusion he had been in as he recalled that his mystery woman pretended she did have a duenna, when in fact, she didn't.

Yet, she had told the truth before the lady had interfered.

Before she knew who he was...

As soon as he realized that she did not want anything to do with him, Harry refused to feel a certain loss.

She had done the right thing, he assured himself. She saved herself from him.

Now, as he took the last sip of his drink, he was certain that the feeling in his gut was not because of his liquor.

This was different...and it had him believing he would do well to let the night go.

Or perhaps, it was just telling him that he would see her again.

He chuckled humorlessly.

And if he were to choose which would happen...

He was afraid he would choose the latter...

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