Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter II

April 13, 1912

The next morning I awoke with a dull headache pounding at the bottom of my skull; my neck was stiff, which meant I had fallen asleep in an awkward position, and now my neck would annoy me with its painful pangs for the rest of the day…

I called on my servant girl to assist me in dressing. As she tightened my corset, I reflected with annoyance on how constricting it was, figuratively and literally, when my mother came in suddenly, and dismissed the servant girl to the other room.

"Rose, dear, are you all right?" she asked me urgently, and from habit, continued the servant girl's task of tightening my corset still more.

"Yes, mother, I'm quite well, if only a little tired," I answered her dryly.

"Don't you dare take on that tone with me, young lady," ma mere admonished me. "You must have respect to be proper!"

I barely resisted rolling my eyes in the mirror, and looked down instead; there was a glimmering wish in me, wanting to break free, to escape this lifestyle of appearances I was currently leading…

"You are right, Mother," I conceded. "I apologize."

"That's better," she responded, "now remember, child, you must go express your gratitude to the man who saved you. It is important not to appear to be condescending to the lower classes, even if it is commendable that they be avoided by us."

"Yes, Mother," I said, rising up to put on my dress. "As a matter of fact, I'll depart right now."

"Alright, and please return quickly."

My mother strutted out of the room, and I took the opposite direction towards the decks on the front of the ship, to look for Harry.

It did not take long to locate him - as it happened, he found me, rather than I him.

"Hey," a voice called behind me, and I turned; there he was, waving at me.

"Mister Potter," I acknowledged his presence as I approached closer. "It's good to see you."

"Miss Granger," he observed the formalities on his own turn. "Likewise…it's great to see your propeller-seeking self."

"I attempt to kill myself, and yet, you tease me," I said, affronted. "Have you no decency, sir?"

"See, I have plenty of decency," he observed without being insulted, "and also the sense to know that committing suicide in the ocean is not the way I would go about it, if I wanted to end my days quickly."

"Then what would you do?" I asked him testily.

"There are plenty of other options, Miss," he continued on casually, "such as shooting oneself, or swallowing a fast-acting poison."

The ease with which he spoke of such horrid matters, unsettled me a little bit and I decided to voice my thoughts.

"Are you not disturbed by this discussion of death and suicide?"

"No miss, I'm more worried about your vivid interest in these matters - after all, you're the one who tried to kill yourself."

I looked at him with incredulity. "How dare you say that?"

"I'm only observing the facts," he answered, casting his gaze at the horizon.

"Humph," I miffed, "then why did you offer to jump in after me?"

He stopped walking and turned to me with a thoughtful expression. "Because I knew you wouldn't do it," he explained simply.

"Who are you to know what I will and won't do?" I exclaimed. "I could have very well jumped!"

"Yes, but you hesitated," he answered challengingly, "else you wouldn't have waited at all."

Alright, so he had a good point. "Are you really a good as swimmer as you claimed?" I continued my forceful interrogation

"Certainly," he replied. "I grew up in Wisconsin, if you know where that is. Biting winters we have there; and one such winter when I was a child, I fell through the ice. I tell you, it was as if knives drove right through your flesh - all I could think about was the pain, and nothing else. My swimming practice saved me, believe it or not."

"Really?" I said with interest, but then checked myself, and returned to my affronted tone. "Then why aren't you back in…Wisconsin?"

"My folks passed away some years ago. I've been on my own since I was fifteen - going where life takes me."

"So you live without a plan, but day for day?" I observed, shocked. "How do you live with yourself?"

"Yes ma'am and it's not very difficult," he smiled at me. "By the way, why did you do it?"

"Excuse me?" I was confused.

"Why did you try to jump off the back of the ship?" he repeated his question casually.

"Excuse me!" my tone rose sharply again. "You have no right to ask such a question!"

"Oh, I don't?" he smirked. "And you do?"

"Well, ah…" I faltered, "you are being very conceited, Mr. Potter. I cannot stand your company, and therefore I am leaving!"

Strangely enough, I didn't budge.

"So why did you do it?" he asked me again. "It's only fair that you answer my question."

"No, it is far from fair, demanding such an answer from me, Mr. Potter. Good day to you!"

I continued to stare at him with a murderous gaze, not daring to move, challenging him to retaliate.

"All right, then," he replied as calmly as before, "but had you meant your threat, Miss, you would have already left."

The nerve of him! I needed a diversion, quickly. My eyes landed on the sketchbook Harry was carrying under his arm, and seized it from him. You know, the sketch of myself wearing only that necklace came from the pages of that sketchbook.

"Are you an artist?" I asked him irritably.

Sitting down on one of the lounge chairs, I flipped in agitation through the first few leaves, and he looked on at me, smirking all the while.

"Oh, my, these are really good," I admitted quietly, as my senses finally interpreted what I was seeing. "Where did you draw these?" My eyes searched out his for an answer.

"Paris," he told me at length. "There are plenty of ladies there who don't mind taking their clothes off for me," he added furtively.

"How dare you suggest such a thought!" Somehow, I could not muster the strength to make those words sound as diminutive as I wanted to.

"I have suggested nothing," Harry replied simply. "I'm only saying how I obtained these drawings."

"Well, you clearly have a talent," I observed awkwardly, torn between my admiration and frustration for this man; for an unknown reason, the corners of my mouth tugged of their own accord, and I looked down to conceal it, but -

"Would you look at that," Harry said grandiosely, "Miss Ice Queen herself cracked a smile."

"Be quiet," I replied quickly, "It is not true! I am still quite mad at you." Who was I fooling, I told myself - something attracted me to him right then, at that moment.

"Hermione," he knelled down beside me, "have you ever tried to…you know, let loose?"

"Why would I do that!" my appalled tone reasserted itself, "I am much too proper to degrade myself with entertainment of such low quality!"

After these words, I involuntarily gasped; the sudden realization hit me that I was speaking exactly as if my mother had uttered the same sentence.

"Miss Granger," Harry whispered to me. "Hermione, I mean, excuse me. You know, I can see it in your eyes…you want to break free."

The proximity between him and me made me feel both nervous and scared. I tried to collect my fleeting thoughts. "Mister Potter, I do not think this is such a good idea. It would be dreadful, if my mother spotted me in this position."

"Is that so, ma'am?" he asked me cheekily, standing up. "Well then, we better make haste to remove us from this place," his mocking formal tone continued. "Will you accompany me, ma'am?"

Despite my agitation, a squeal of laughter escaped me. "Yes, yes I will!"

"So," Harry said, as we made our way along the deck of the Titanic. "Why did you want to jump?"

A part of me wanted to admonish his personage for meddling in my personal life again, but it was quickly overpowered by what seemed to be a more rational side of my mind.

"I don't quite know you," I said reasonably, "and there is a good chance I will not see you again when we disembark in New York, so I do not think there would be harm in telling you."

"Lady, look," he rejoined, "I am an honest, poor guy. There is nothing I have to hide from you. I take life one day at a time, and try to live it to the fullest - which makes me genuine and trustworthy."

Needless to mention, he had read my thoughts. Especially the casualness, with which he showed me those drawings of his, I was more convinced in him being a reliable confidante.

"All right, I will tell you," my reply came, and then I asked, "Do you remember mentioning freedom a little earlier?"

"Yes, I do," Harry affirmed, and waited for me to continue.

"Well," I said, "it is that which freedom which I desire so painfully. You see, my life is fit to a mould; it is pre-determined, already cast in stone! And I want to see the world, experience it and then, perhaps, consider settling down, on my own means and terms."

"Rich girls can't move about as they want to," Harry observed, "but come on, I want to show you something."

"What?" I inquired urgently, but he only took me by the hand, and dragged me behind him to the railing of the ship; looking down, I could see the waves crashing into the hull.

"Can you spit?" he asked me suddenly, with a peculiarly enthused tone.

"Excuse me?" I exclaimed for the consecutive time that day. "That is not something a lady would do!"

"Watch me," Harry warned me, and noisily gathering about whatever moisture he had in his mouth, and nose I might add, he looked at me mischievously a moment before he unleashed the disgusting substance.

"Look at the range on that!" he quipped. "Come on, you must have spit at some point."

Giving up all restrain, I meekly did an imitation of what he wanted of me.

"That's downright pathetic," he did not fail to criticize me, "It's all in the back of your mouth. You just collect you spit, and suck in hard from the nose," and, despite myself, I performed his instruction. "That's it. Now lean back, as far as you can…you hafta give it leverage."

And so I did - to my amazement, my first attempt at long-distance spitting did not turn out badly at all. Only, I did not notice a small group of first class ladies coming up behind me, and harrumphing quite loudly, that I finally acknowledged their presence.

"Whoa, impressive!" Harry complimented me, in full view of our newly arrived company.

Their scorns burned me; awkwardly trying to appear as innocent and proper as possible, I waited until they shared disapproving gazes between themselves, shook their heads, and drifted away rather miffed.

"Impressive!" I hissed, "You have absolutely no idea how embarrassing that was!"

He seemed perfectly untroubled. "And what is your point?"

"That I lose their respect, is all," I snapped, and turned on my heel, preparing to go back inside the ship, and towards my cabin.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he apologized, "but wouldn't you say that that was great!"

I most certainly did not want to admit that I agreed with him. "I will see you tonight, Mr. Potter."

And with those words, I carried myself with dignity away from this most intriguing personage…

That evening, my fiancé and I were alone in mine and mother's flat. I was placing my hair in an elaborate arrangement for tonight's dinner, and he was rummaging inside the safe box he had brought with him.

"Ah, here it is," he rejoined in satisfied tones. In the mirror, I directed my eyes at him.

"What were you looking for, dear?" I asked simply. He showed me a thin, velvet box, about as long as his hand, and sewn in with gold thread.

"Hermione, love, you know I care very much about you," Ronald answered. "So, I decided to arrange a small gift for you."

He walked right up behind my chair, and placing his arms in front of me, opened the box carefully. When I saw the object inside, it took my breath away - an exquisitely beautiful sapphire pendant in the shape of a heart, rimmed in a golden frame. A very fine chain, made of the same metal, extended from the top of the heart.

"I want you to wear this during tonight's reception," Ronald told me quietly. He took the pendant from its case, and unclasped it. Placing it around my neck, I felt the cold gem against my chest and watched it fall slightly, as he fastened the clasp on the back of my neck. Raising my hand, I felt it with my fingers, still awestruck at the site in the mirror.

"It is called The Heart of the Ocean, and I thought, since we are going to be married soon, it would be suitable to give it to you on this voyage."

"Th - Thank you, Ronald," I managed to utter, "You are truly a gentleman."

He smiled rather mechanically, but I dismissed it. "I will see you at the reception," he said, and kissed me on the cheek, before leaving in the direction of the First Class dining hall.

**

"Harry," his aunt, Mrs. Evans, was saying fervently, "this is your first introduction to high society, so be sure to make the appropriate impression!"

She adjusted the white necktie a little more, and fussed over the specks of dust covering the jacket of the impeccably black suit.

"Believe me, auntie, I'm as excited as you are about it," Harry replied shakily.

"Do you remember what I told you about etiquette and conversation? Start from the outside and work your way in, when the dining commences. And please, use more formal language tonight, none of the slang you young'uns use these days," she continued lecturing him very rapidly.

"Well, in any case, you reminded me again. Now I have to go, or I'll be late!" Harry tried to disengage himself from his aunt. "I promised Hermione I would be there at six o'clock."

The hands of the clock on the mantelpiece indeed showed he had a mere fifteen minutes to traverse the length of the liner, in order to arrive in the first class dining hall.

"You seem very anxious about young Miss Granger," his aunt said conversationally, seemingly unperturbed by the urgency of the situation. "Are you attracted to her?"

"This is certainly not the time to think about, or answer on such matters, Auntie," Harry snapped. "Leave me be, it is only a snobby dinner we're talking about here…"

On that note, Harry forestalled any further interrogation by bidding his aunt goodbye, and hurried off to his destination. His hasty walk was accompanied by the curious glances, and from some, the braver catcalls, which his dashing appearance caused to be excited.

At length, he did arrive, slightly disheveled and out of breath, at the bottom of the Grand Staircase, which had been advertised as a special attribute to the Titanic's design. Around him, other respectable gentlemen were calmly looking dignified, glancing around themselves, and also in expectation of the even more respectable ladies they were waiting on to be escorted. Harry, largely unaccustomed to the formal air of the surroundings, employed his utmost in the effort to resemble the men around him; calm and collected in outward appearance, he stuck his hand behind his back, as a gentleman close to him was doing, and started slowly walking back and forth at the bottom of the stairs, to fit in as best as he could…glancing sideways on occasion, he took note of the mannerisms associated with actually meeting and escorting the respectable ladies towards the first class dining hall, and thought himself most inadequate in replicating the smoothness, with which those gentlemen conducted themselves in the venture…

"Mr. Potter?" a heavenly voice came from above, startling him from his preoccupying worries.

He looked up, and saw her. Dressed in a stunning black and red dress, with her hair formed in an elaborately beautiful arrangement, Hermione Granger's appearance was simply…magnificent; thinking of himself as little better than a simpleton, Harry could not cogitate enough words to describe her, let alone think himself worthy of accompanying such a creature tonight…

"Are you feeling alright?" Hermione asked him, approaching him curiously.

"Yes!" Harry found his tongue finally, and broke into an unintentional smile. "Yes, I am. Good to see you, Hermione." He took her hand, and kissed it in the most gentlemanly of manners.

"I agree," she responded mysteriously. "Shall we?"

"Certainly," he proffered his arm, and she took it. "On to the incredibly awkward affair that is first-class dinner parties…"

His sense of humor did not fail in impressing Hermione, and she was forced to stifle a laugh, as to not appear conspicuous in the surrounding milieu of respectable and important ladies.

They made their way through the doors, and the attendants bowed politely as they entered; on Hermione's subtle indication, Harry returned the gesture.

"Welcome to tonight's affair, sir," the attendant closest to him recited.

"Yes, thank you very much," Harry said with dignity, surprising himself even.

Admittedly, I was impressed more than he was; a strange feeling arose within me, as we made our way towards the arranged table, full of my associations. It was oddly comforting, and the prospect of dinner suddenly did not seem as dreadful as before, that is, in the presence of my newly acquired acquaintance…

"Hermione, dear, you are here," Mrs .Weasley simpered in her familiar tones. "And your…saviour, I hear. It is such a delight!"

My mother turned at once in her chair to look at me. "Lovely to see you, Hermione," she told me pointedly. My mother always seemed to have a hidden intent or meaning, signified in her eyes or expression, every time she addressed me.

Harry and I diligently took our seats. Mine was between Ronald and his father, while Harry sat down by my mother's side. From that moment, the air became thicker than ice.

"So, Mr. Potter," Mr. Weasley decided to re-introduce the concept of communication by voice, "please, do tell us how you saved young Miss Granger here?"

Harry, visibly relaxed, grabbed a bun from the basket at the center of the table, and bit into it, before chewing thoughtfully for a few seconds.

"You see," he mumbled, his mouth not quite empty of the soft bread, "I didn't do a whole lot. Hermione `ere was just looking to see the propellers, and she slipped…I only pulled her back on board."

Among others, Mr. Andrews, the Titanic's designer, was also present at our table. His grace to join in for dinner certainly helped alleviate the tense air to an extent.

"Harry, my friend," Ronald suddenly said loudly, "I have a question for you."

Coincidentally, however, I knew the glint that had come into his eyes - it was that of a hawk, ready to pounce upon its prey with merciless force and determination.

"Fire away," Harry said easily, and looked on calmly at my excited fiancé.

"Well, actually, there are two questions I meant to ask," he went on slyly, picking his words carefully; I had the feeling he had rehearsed this beforehand. "Firstly, what do you plan to do with your life? And my second question is of a more philosophical nature - what do you think life's meaning is?"

He had been reading into the whole matter of philosophy recently in fact, but he was not not nearly an expert, nor did it give him license to torment Harry so, I thought with hidden bitterness.

"Well, sir," Harry handled the attack with envying confidence, "I think I can give you answers to both your questions."

My mother, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, and Mr. Andrews himself, were raptly paying attention to this most intriguing exchange, not daring to even utter one word of protest.

"Well then," Ron's tone of superiority continued, "let's hear what you have to say, shall we?"

I saw Harry narrow his eyes at his adversary, ever so noticeably, and I realized he had caught on to the whole scheme.

"I'll admit that my life is that of a vagabond," Harry answered freely, without hesitation. "I live for each day to enjoy it to the fullest. Planning is not in my habit - I prefer a lifestyle that lets me be free, and have an unpredictable life, to deal with it as it happens, not as it is planned, ah…Mister Weasley."

"Mister Potter, thank you very much," Ronald answered somewhat pompously. "And your free-spirited life…how do you cope with not having security...surely, you must be miserable, Mr. Potter."

"On the contrary," Harry rejoined with a laugh. "I am very much satisfied with my life. I am not slave to some repressive master plan, but I shape my life as it progresses, according to my desires, and not anyone else's. The truth lies in making each day count."

"Are you suggesting an insult upon my honour, Mr. Potter?" Ron's voice became a little more tense, though he contained himself - I, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly impressed and dare I say it, attracted to Harry, as I sat, listening and watching him.

"Not at all, Master Weasley," he emphasized. "You required an answer, and I gave it to you."

"Very well then," my fiancé responded curtly. "What of my second question?"

"What is the meaning of life?" Harry echoed him, and Ronald nodded. "Hopefully, you know that people have been trying to answer that for thousands of years, and I can only afford you with my view."

"Of course, I realize that," Ron said impatiently.

"Right then," Harry looked around the table, and his gaze lingered on me for a second longer, "Life is a sum of experiences, on which you reflect and think about…sometimes life can surprise you, suddenly and unexpectedly, without notice. Other times, it can make you fly, or crush you under its weight."

I listened to him intently, amazed at the depth of his reasoning, despite his otherwise fleeting lifestyle…

"But," he continued, "The ultimate question is why? Well, I think the answer is because we can, because we have the ability to interpret life, to think about it and ponder, to make choices in the different situations; in other words, our ability to make choices. That is the meaning of life - at least, in my humble opinion." He raised his glass, and called, "A toast to making it count!"

Voracious laughter echoed all around the table, and everyone joined in and echoed the toast; the easiness, with which Harry managed the affair, greatly impressed me for the consecutive time.

My most definitely furious fiancé tried to think of a suitable answer; the murderous expression of rage on his face, for having been out-thought by a mere member of the steerage class, incensed him.

"Well said," I did not hesitate to compliment Harry. Simultaneously, I received a livid glance from Ronald, and a subtle smile from Harry. Inexplicably, I disregarded the first and focused my attention on the second, wondering what that smile meant…

The waiters had already brought our dinner, during Harry's narrative on the meaning of life, and I was anxious to finally begin my meal. As delicately as I could muster, I pierced a potato with my fork, and brought it to my mouth with dignity, chewing as slowly as my manners would allow.

The discussion had now shifted to Mr. Andrews, with the praise he was receiving for building such a marvelous ocean liner. As pretense as I found the remarks of my familiars to be, I still thought Mr. Andrews deserved the credit - after all, he was the one who designed the Titanic, and there was nothing in the world to match its ingenuity, size and class. That last thought suddenly triggered another question in my head, and experienced a strong urge to voice it.

"I need to ask something important," my voice sounded, attempting to attract attention in my direction, and indeed, every head turned to me with interest; including my mother's gaze, which plainly told me not to embarrass her in front of our fine company. "What," I said, "is to be figured of man's fascination with size? Why is bigger always better?"

Mr. Andrews looked at me curiously, before he took the word.

"Miss Granger," he told me in his deep, calm voice, "size is something which indicates stability, respect and eternity. This ship, frankly, is constructed to be unrivaled in the world, and provide an inspiration for exactly those qualities. If you were to compare the Titanic to a mere wooden boat, well it is impossible to do so. A storm would disintegrate the wooden boat to smithereens, but the Titanic is capable of withstanding the worst of God's wrath."

Needless to say, I was interested by his response, and decided to delve further into it.

"If you know what Sigmund Freud says on the matter of size - "I began, but someone cut me off.

"Freud? That lunatic?" Mrs. Weasley piped up. "Child, those are blasphemous works! Freud was possessed by the Devil, as he wrote those words! They are outrageous and progressive! There can be no good in that!"

"Mrs. Weasley, what are you implying?" I asked, confused by her sudden outburst.

"Miss Granger," Mrs. Weasley's voice entered the proceedings. "There are some readings a respectable lady, such as yourself, has no business in seeking. They are corrupted, degrading, and profess very unholy thoughts and concepts. It is best you part yourself from the temptation of reading them, even if you should gain access to them."

"I believe I will have to mind more closely what she does and does not read," Ronald said loudly, and laughed afterward, joined half-heartedly by the rest.

"Hermione, dear, I do think you have done enough for tonight," my mother leaned in and whispered in my ear. "Please, return to our flat."

However, in that precise second, Harry stood up.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have enjoyed your company immensely tonight, but most unfortunately, I will have to depart for the evening," he declared formally, bowing respectfully all the while.

"We will most definitely miss your refined company," Mr. Andrews offered his parting greetings. "Good night, sir."

"Same to you, sir," Harry replied, and spread this sentiment to the rest of the table in one circular motion of walking around, and bidding goodnight.

However, when he came to me, he stopped for a second longer than usual. "I enjoyed tonight very much, Miss Granger," he told me discreetly; my mother was engaged in conversation with Mrs. Weasley, and the men were involved in their own discussion, so our exchange was not overtly noticed.

Harry took my hand, and in his, I felt a piece of folded paper. I looked up at him, and he returned an imploring gaze, telling me to take the parchment. "Goodnight, Hermione," he told me pointedly, and released my hand carefully - I clutched the folded paper between my fingers as clandestinely as I could manage.

Once he had gone, I opened the paper in my lap, and read it quickly.

Hermione, it said,

If you want to experience a real party, meet me by the clock, on top of the Grand Staircase, in fifteen minutes, at precisely nine o'clock.

Harry

My heart quickened at those words; looking around, I saw no trace of Harry - he must have gone to the arranged spot. It was then I decided to invoke my skills from the acting training I had received in my younger years.

"Mother," I declared, "I do not feel entirely well tonight - I think I shall retire for the night."

Ma mere gave me another of her pointed looks. "A swell idea, Hermione, dear," she simpered, "have a pleasant night. I will see you tomorrow."

"Yes, yes, definitely," I remarked, and after exchanging the obligatory partings with my other associates, I left in a roundabout way, with the intention of going back to the flat, but my feet were apparently set on a different goal. My steps directed themselves towards the Grand Staircase.

I saw him - he was leaning against the rail, his hands in his pockets, and his gaze directed at the watch. I cannot say why this sight made my breath hitch, but with resolute firmness, I ascended the stairs.

"Harry?" I said quietly.

He turned around, and saw me; a smile appeared on his face. "I didn't think you would come."

"Dare you underestimate me, Mr. Potter?" I attempted to challenge him angrily, but my own spontaneous grin revealed I harbored no malice towards the man.

"No, of course, Miss Granger," he answered me formally. "My only intent is to show you what a party is really meant to be. Which actually reminds me…what of your fiancé?"

"Oh, him," I replied dismissively, waving my hand,"as long as the brandy and cigars last, we should remain inconspicuous, and I can assure you that will take several hours."

"In that case, I beg of you to come with me, m'lady," Harry professed his arm, and I took it once more, eliciting a polite laugh in the process.

"You do realize, Hermione," Harry observed, "you're among the steerage class now - you can be yourself."

And so I was, my mind reflected; the thought seemed more liberating than repulsive, I might add.

So, Harry led the way towards the back of the ship, where the Third Class quarters were situated. Admittedly, I was intrigued, as the sounds of clinking glass and chatter from the First Class dining room died away.

Fifteen minutes passed, during which we walked in silence, further and further in the bowels of the ship. At last, we made the consecutive turn, and Harry stopped in front of a door halfway down through the hallway.

"Are you ready?" he whispered in my ear. I nodded, and for yet another unfathomable reason,

Shivers travelled up my spine.

If the thud of music and dancing people was audible through the door, it was nothing to when Harry pushed it open.

The noise shocked me at first, and I gasped - never before had I been exposed to such a disorganized affair.

"Harry!" someone called out from the crowd; I bravely followed Harry inside, and was nearly forced to fight my way through the mess of people.

"Dean!" Harry shouted back, and waved at his friend. "How's it going, mate?" he asked, when the two had approached one another finally.

"Oi, not too good, mate. Francesco's furious…he lost the bet!" Dean answered and laughed heartily. "Who is your friend?" he asked, directing his curious eyes at me.

"This is Hermione Granger," Harry introduced me. "She's a fine gal."

"So I see," Dean shook my hand, and winked at Harry, "Good to meet you, ma'am."

"I am glad to make your acquaintance," my good manners manifested themselves. I silently cursed myself because of it.

"Loosen up," I heard Harry whisper to me. "Remember, here you can be yourself."

"Alright," I snapped back. "You don't have to pester me about it."

"Hey, Dean, pass me a shot, will yeh?" Harry called on over to his friend.

"Here ye are, mate," the latter slid a glass along the wooden surface of the table.

"Watch this," Harry smiled at me, and mocking me silently, he drained the glass in one quick gulp; he smacked his lips, and a glint came into his eyes.

Anxious, I looked quickly around me, and saw another young man, very much drunk already, shakily carrying a similar glass to his lips.

"Give me that!" I shouted, and he turned to me blearily, scrutinizing me with an unfocused gaze. Without hesitating, I snapped the glass from his grasp, and in one breath, it disappeared down my throat.

"Oi, mate, she's not half bad at it!" a voice called over the assembled crowd, and someone else clapped Harry on the shoulder. "She's a keeper, mate!"

"Don't tell me that," Harry grinned at the person next to him. "Tell her fiancé."

"She's gonna be married? Well, why didn't you say so!" Harry's drunken compatriot declared, and turning to the ramshackle band that was playing in one end of the room, he shouted his directions. "Hey, boys, play something more livelily, eh? We have a lady that's going to be married here! Whoo!"

The request was immediately obliged, and the tempo increased.

"Come on, I want to show you something," Harry told me, and taking me by the hand, led me through the crowd.

At another table, two other men were engaged in an arm-wrestling contest. They were sweating profusely, had turned as red as crabs, but were as determined as ever - they seemed to be deadlocked.

"Give it up, why don't you," one grunted, exercising yet more effort to beat his opponent.

"Keep dreaming, pallie," the other sneered, and his face contracted even more with the exertion.

The table shook violently, as the first man managed to outlast the second, and slammed his hand onto the wooden surface.

"Ha! Next round is on you!" he shouted, and I cheered along with everyone else. It might have been under the influence of the shot I had taken earlier, but my decision to humiliate the loser further by drinking his glass of beer in several large gulps might not have been the wisest one. He lunged furiously at me, but Harry moved deftly in between me and him to prevent an escalation.

"Oh, yer `ginst me too, are yeh?" he slurred, attempting to rise unsteadily. "Well, come on then!"

"I told you a lady can handle her liquor," I grinned widely at Harry.

"Sit down before I knock you out for good, damn it, you git," Harry told the poor drunkard carelessly, and then turned to me. "Let's dance!"

I could feel my resistance weaken along with my judgment. "But in these shoes?" I mumbled.

"So take them off," Harry said, and dragged me towards the center of the room. "You can dance, can't you?"

"Of course," I replied, affronted. "In fact, I can dance better than you can!"

"Are you challenging me this time, Miss Granger," Harry asked me over the loud music.

"Believe it!" I shouted back, and without hesitating, I jumped on top of the table. "Are you coming, or d'you plan to be a wallflower all night?"

I saw a devilish grin break out onto Harry's features, and in one deft motion, he was standing next to me.

The band must have seen us jump onto the table, and immediately picked up with another quick-paced song. The tempo permeated my body, but Harry indicated to me that I watch him first. And I did - he was an incredibly skilled tap dancer, and his feet started moving, soon turning into a blur. Around us, the crowd cheered him on, and everything from catcalls to shouts of the most profane nature accompanied his performance. To be honest, I did not mind the wild atmosphere at all, and was enthralled in watching him dance.

It is my belief that it was precisely that moment, in which I fell irreversibly in love with him, after knowing him for merely two days…

The last note sounded with a high pitch, and Harry accompanied with a final tap of his shoes on the table. He looked at me, triumph present on his sweaty, red face, which quite plainly told me I couldn't possibly outperform him. However, I was determined to prove him wrong.

I made a sign to the musicians to start playing slow, and then slowly escalate. And so they did. As a young girl, I had taken ballet lessons, and one of the feats I remember learning to do, was standing on my toes for longer periods of time. So, despite my rather befuddled and spinning mind, I decided to attempt it, hoping Harry would catch me when I fell.

Closing my eyes, I let the music wash over me, and envisioned my one-time ballet teacher, who was a rather stern woman, instruct me one how to perform my desired feat. I enclosed my arms in a circle, and slowly raised myself. My head was still spinning, as I felt myself stand on my toes at last.

I endured for several long seconds, at which point the pain became unbearable, and I lost my balance, and collapsed backwards. Just as I had expected, Harry prevented me from injuring myself.

The people were clapping and shouting approvingly. So, I figured, I had managed to impress them - that wasn't bad for a first class girl, such as myself.

Harry helped me off the table, and I gathered my shoes, which had miraculously not disappeared in the time they were carelessly flung aside.

By now, the band had entered into another lively piece, and the people around us continued to dance in groups or couples. Suddenly, a girl of about ten, or eleven, came up to Harry and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, and looked down at her.

"Yesterday, you promised you would dance with me tonight!" she piped up.

"Did I?" Harry knelt down, so he could hear the child better, "Oy, I did! Come on then!" and he took her to the floor; he glanced back at me, and mouthed that the girl would only occupy a few minutes of his time. I only grinned at him warmly, and watched him lead the dance - I noted he was just as good dancing off the table, as he was on it.

The few minutes he spoke of indeed passed, and he knelt down again to exchange a few words with the child. He pointed at me, and she raised her eyes, regarding me curiously - I smiled and waved at her. But as Harry was standing up, and coming towards me, she did not seem very satisfied.

"Marietta, remember, you're still my best girl!" Harry told her warmly, turning on his heels as he approached me. Right then, she smiled, and skipped off into the crowd.

"How are you so good with children?" I asked Harry, as he took me in his arms.

"Pure talent, I assure you," he told me. "Hang on!"

Again, the band picked up the speed of the music, and I took hold of Harry's hands as hard as I could. He in turn grasped mine, and spun me around, faster and faster. I shrieked, as the world blurred, and I became increasingly dizzier, but I did not release his hands. Around and around we spun, and I dared to squint - I couldn't think, but just saw his smiling face, and laughed myself, in a way that seemed not strained for the first time in ages. Dare I say it; I was enjoying myself, at last! This had been the very escape I had searched for so long, where I could release myself, without the worry of conforming to etiquette…here, I was free and liberated, which I had so long yearned for…

­­"Harry," I said at length, after him and I had danced for a while, "would you be much objected, if I asked a favour of you?"

"No, not at all," he bent his head to hear me better, "what is it?"

"Come with me," I told him, and taking him by the hand, I made for the hallway outside.

Once we were out of sight, and incidentally, earshot, I took a small pause to gather my thoughts.

"Do you see this pendant on my neck?" I asked carefully, growing more restless with each word.

"Yes, I do," Harry observed, glancing down to see my sapphire. "It's very nice."

"I want you to do something for me," I continued, but my nervousness was becoming evident to him.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned.

I took a deep breath. "Draw me, just as you drew your French girls, but wearing only this pendant."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Wearing only the pendant?"

"Nothing, but the pendant," I affirmed more resolutely.

"And…you are confident you want to do this?" he asked me again in disbelieving tones.

"Most certainly," I repeated with the same firmness.

"Alright," he agreed. "Where would you prefer me draw you?"

"My quarters, in twenty minutes," I offered. "Do you think you can manage?"

"Hermione, I only need my sketchbook and a piece of charcoal, nothing more."

"Excellent then," I said brightly. "I want you to arrange the surroundings in the living room of my apartment to your preference. Pick up your necessities, and wait for me there, in twenty minutes."

"Will do," Harry consented, and turned back further in the corridor, while I made my way back to the lavish surroundings of my first class suite.

Passing through the atrium of the Grand Staircase, I caught the sight of my mother and Mrs. Weasley talking absorbedly to one another, while the men in my life were gathered separately, predictably sipping brandy and smoking cigars, no doubt discussing important world affairs. All of which, however, I received very well - I did not desire to be interrupted.

Hastily walking inside the suite, I had only ten minutes to prepare. I only managed to close the door to my private quarters, when I heard Harry come in after me through the main doors of the flat. He walked around the living room for a bit, and the scraping of furniture against the floor sounded, as he no doubt moved the duvet to a more favourable position.

I disengaged the ornaments, holding the complex arrangement of my hair in place, and permitted to fall free in waves around my shoulders. I regarded myself in the mirror for a second, and decided that I looked more beautiful, when my hair was indeed unrestricted.

Then I pulled down the zipper of my dress, and mind you, there were not many dresses with zippers these days, and I let it pool around my feet.

What was I doing, I suddenly asked myself - what power had willed me to bare myself, only to be drawn by a near-complete stranger! I took the sapphire between my fingers, thinking…The Heart of the Ocean…could it be? That my heart actually belonged…no, it was a ridiculous thought, a ludicrous one even! My life had already been set, planned, and that is how I was going to live it! Once we reached dock, Harry and I would take our separate paths, and I would never see him again!

Then why did that thought depress me so? Would it be possible, perhaps…it was a far-fetched plan, but what would be there to prevent me? Abandon my current life, and meet land once again, hand in hand with Harry…him and I, run away together, to a new life, with new possibilities!

I smiled distantly, as I loosened my corset. Soon, it fell away to join the dress on the floor. I could finally feel myself breathing much easier than the corset allowed me to. Without hesitating, my undergarments were the last to join the pile of clothes in my feet, and I looked up to see myself in the mirror, just as I had come into the world.

Had my mother seen me in this state, she would have had a fit, and very possibly grant me with an infuriating discussions about the merits of being proper, humble, and not being tempted by sins - along with the fact that our high class was respectable, and should aspire to be an example to the inferior echelons of society.

Needless to say, her mindset angered me immensely. Honestly, I was tired of my current lifestyle, being a pawn for a greater purpose, and being treated as a prized possession, rather than a human being. I took my breasts in my hands, and then let them fall in their natural position…it was much more relieving than a corset, in which I barely managed to draw a breath.

Looking at the clock atop the mantelpiece of the fireplace, I realized I had barely a minute to meet my appointment. Quickly hiding the clothes in my travelling trunk, I threw a blanket over my shoulders, and scurried out of my bedroom, and into the next room.

Harry had placed himself on one of the comfortable armchairs. He was leaning forward, the sketchbook propped open on his lap. His attention was absorbed by some thought, and I do not think he noticed me enter.

"Harry?" I spoke up to attract his attention. It worked - his eyes snapped up.

"Good, you're here." He smiled nervously, "are you ready?"

"Certainly," I answered, and then I released the blanket around me, letting it fall on the floor.

With a small sense of satisfaction, I noticed Harry's expression redden slightly, but he quickly found his senses.

"Which artist do you most prefer; Monet, perhaps?" I quizzed him to see how well acquainted he was with the world of art.

"Hermione, Monet draws landscapes, and thus, nothing I would be interested in…Romantic artists are skillful in their own right, but my preference lies with those of the Enlightenment," he explained cordially.

"Oh, I see," I rejoined thoughtfully. "I am impressed with you, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you," he said.

"Now, are there any specific procedures you'll require of me as an artist?" I asked curiously.

"If…if you will lie down on the duvet," he said, gesturing me to do as he asked - so I did, walking over, and lying lengthwise on the duvet.

"Now, just take your arm, and bring it a bit closer to your head," he continued his instruction, and I complied, "yes, that's it…turn your palm out a little more, and open your hand too…good, good."

"Is that all?" I asked, smiling at his flustered countenance.

"Almost," he replied, "turn your head a bit more toward me…just a bit…yes, that's it…perfect."

"All right?"

"Definitely…just don't move, and relax."

My eyes followed the movement of his charcoal on the parchment, and jumped to his concentrated face from time to time. He was really focused, occasionally flicking his gaze towards me, to observe a detail, or to ascertain he was drawing correctly.

The fire burned in the hearth, and the sound of the logs cracking as they burned, permeated the otherwise silent setting. On occasion, I saw Harry use his thumb to smear the sketch in places.

"Hmm, the artiste seems to be blushing," I observed rather flirtatiously, surprising myself even with my boldness. "I cannot imagine Monet blushing."

"He does landscapes," Harry only glanced at me, and smiled mysteriously. "April thirteenth, nineteen-twelve," he said, scribbling the date on a bottom corner of the sketch. "I am finished."

"Does that mean I can walk around and stretch now, monsieur artiste?" I asked grandiosely.

"That decision is at your discretion," he replied humbly. "My job is entirely finished."

Harry rose, and placed his charcoal in a slot in the sketchbook's cover, before closing it and tying the leather strap on top of it. The completed sketch lay on the coffee table in front of him, and he took it in his hand to show me what it had become.

I took the blanket off the ground, and flung it round me again, before looking at the finished piece.

"For you, Miss Granger," Harry declared respectfully, at last permitting me to see my rather private portrait.

"It is beautiful," I muttered at a loss for words. "You have a real talent, Harry…I know I will keep this until the day I die!"

"It really is not that special," he told me, "when you arrive in Pennsylvania, you could commission someone much better than me to draw a similar sketch of you."

"I won't do that," I reassured him. "Oi! I hear someone approaching! You would better leave right away!"

Harry stood, listened, and he seemed to hear the coming steps too.

"I hope to see you soon, Hermione," he parted quickly, "Good-night for now."

"Good-night," I called after him quietly, and watched him slunk away through the door, and down the hallway.

Not a minute later, as I had just managed to place the drawing inside the safe box, Ronald, and my mother came in through the door. They both seemed furious, but did not say a word. Ronald only gave me a contemptuous look, and left for the living room. My mother, rather huffily, also refused to talk to me, and she departed directly to bed. Alas, it was only I, left wondering what the source of their unrest may be.

Deciding to put the matter to rest for tonight, I quickly retreated to my quarters, dressed in my evening attire, and said my prayers. Then, I extinguished my light, and climbed into bed, to the peaceful land of slumber, in the hope that tomorrow would, perhaps, bring me closer to the enigmatic Harry Potter…

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