Chapter 12
Surprises
It was little over a week after her first visit to Malfoy Manor that Ginny once again found herself standing in front of a mirror in Narcissa’s sitting room.
“Too dark.” Narcissa fussed, swishing her wand at the robes draped across Ginny’s body. Obligingly, the fabric lightened several shades. “Too clingy.” There was another adjustment. “Too loose.”
The fabric once again modified itself to suit Ginny’s figure, but Mrs. Malfoy merely rolled her eyes in disgust. “Not that one Abreyenne…what about that peach silk?”
A tall, reedy witch in plain black robes and a pair of small horn-rimmed glasses nodded her head silently. With a flick of her wand, Ginny was standing in her shift again, as the two other women moved to a trunk of garments and began quibbling over the next selection. Ginny ignored them, choosing instead to regard her own reflection in the mirror, not wanting to allow herself to get too interested in what was going on.
When Narcissa had suggested “helping Ginny pick out something to wear to the Greengrass’s luncheon” she had envisioned a shopping trip to Diagon Alley. She anticipated that Narcissa would want to patronize the chic shops near the Glass Slipper, and she knew that she could never afford them. However, she had concocted a plan. There were some lovely dayrobes at Malkin’s- a bit pricey, but she could manage. She would browse in the boutiques, announce that nothing suited her, and then make her purchase at the more familiar store. Never, in her wildest dreams had she considered that Narcissa’s designer would make housecalls- or that Narcissa would toss quite so many garments into the “must have” pile. At the rate they were going, the Burrow and all its contents would be sold at auction and she STILL wouldn’t have enough money to pay for them- a fact that she was waiting to bring up until the last possible moment.
“Don’t you have anything in sage?” Narcissa queried, sounding rather amusingly like Molly on market day when the produce didn’t suit her preferences.
“Perhaps at the shop, Madame.”
“Well then, go and fetch them.” Narcissa said rather tersely. The dressmaker nodded serenely once more. Then, with a pop, she Disapparated, along with the discarded robes.
Pulling on the yellow dress she had worn to the house, Ginny stepped down from the stool and began fingering through the pile of gowns that had been selected.
“You know…” she began nervously, “I really don’t need quite so many…”
“Of course you do.” Narcissa’s voice sounded slightly amused at the assertion. “There’s the luncheon next week. The society dinner. The debutante meetings. The pre-ball ball, the awards dinner, the meeting teas, the Parkinson’s house party….” She let her voice trail off when she say Ginny’s jaw hanging slightly ajar. “You wouldn’t want them to see you in the same robes twice!”
“Them?” Ginny asked, then said in a self-depreciating tone. “I hardly think that anyone is going to be paying much attention to me.”
“There’s where you’re wrong, sweeting.” Narcissa said. Very gently, she put her hand on Ginny’s shoulder and turned her back toward the mirror. “Don’t you know how pretty you are? And, Weasley or not-” By this point, Narcissa had used the qualification so many times that her young guest barely flinched, “You do have some of the purest blood in England- and that counts a lot with these people….and yes, I know that it doesn’t matter to you!” She sounded like Molly again- telling her children something that they didn’t want to hear. “But, if you’re going to impress their mothers, you have to-”
“Their mothers?”
“The men sweeting.” Narcissa shook her head and sighed. “You don’t think that I’ve gone to all this trouble to see you end the season without a husband, do you?”
“But-”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of the first to get engaged, actually. Its true that you don’t have much money, but that doesn’t seem to be what men are looking for these days.”
Ginny had the uncomfortable feeling that the last remark had been directed to her breasts.
“There’s going to be a lot of them at the Parkinson’s.”
“Mothers?”
“Men!” Narcissa laughed. “Rich men. Lots of men and lots of unchaperoned activities. If you don’t come back with a ring on your finger and your reputation heartily compromised I will consider myself a failure.”
“Talking strategy, are we mother?”
Ginny stiffened as a familiar drawl met her ears and Draco’s pale head poked into the room.
Narcissa flicked her gaze toward Ginny, but remained cool and unruffled. “Always, dearest.” She answered airily, walking forward to place a peck on her son’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re home. Now, run along and tell Lolly to fetch some tea.”
“But-”
“And some scones and biscuits dearest. The ones we ordered from America. Don’t let Lolly get them. She can’t reach the shelf.”
“But-”
”Good-bye, darling. Hurry back.”
Ginny listened to Draco’s footsteps disappear, feeling suddenly unsettled. It seemed slightly too obvious that Draco had just been dismissed. Her fears were compounded when Narcissa hurried toward her, looking suddenly very serious. “Ginny, dearest.”
She started-Narcissa had never called her by anything less than her full, formal name or the friendly but faintly condescending “sweeting”.
“I’m not saying this to be cruel, I’m saying it because it’s a fact- a fact that you need to understand. I’ve seen too many girls end up lonely and unhappy because they were waiting for perfection when something good was right in front of their face. This is a big opportunity. A chance to get the life you deserve. Don’t throw it away just because it isn’t perfect.”
“You make it sound so romantic.” Ginny said sarcastically.
“It isn’t meant to be romantic!” Narcissa snapped. “It’s meant to be life! It’s all very well for men and for Muggles- they can go wandering off to shops and offices and make whatever they want out of life. It isn’t the same for witches, and you know it. We may talk about equality, but when it comes down to it, the wizarding world still has a long way to go. Don’t you want to be able to send your children to the best schools that you can? To see the world? To dress them in nice clothes and never worry about money for books and cauldrons and brooms?”
Ginny was torn between anger and pain. She was mortified that Narcissa would speak so frankly- but achingly aware of the truth of her words.
“You want me to settle then, for something I don’t really want?”
“I want you to settle for something you want, but may not necessarily be your first choice.”
Ginny pressed her eyes closed, trying not to cry. When she finally found her voice, it was scratchy and strained. “Would you?” she asked quietly.
Narcissa looked away.
“No.” She admitted at last. “I don’t suppose I would.” She was silent for a moment. "Well, it appears that our designer has deserted us. Until tomorrow then, Miss Weasley." She said at last, rising to transfigure the stack of dress robes that lay strewn around the parlor into a tiny, neatly wrapped parcel with the flick of her wand and depositing them into Ginny Weasley's hand. She eyed the younger woman carefully as the package changed hands. Would she thank her, assuming that it was a gift? Would she inquire about payment? Would she admit that two of the gowns in the bag were worth more than her father made in a year?
The redhead's face was utterly placid and unreadable as she accepted the burden with a nod of her head. "Tomorrow, Mrs. Malfoy- good day." She dipped her head in acknowledgement, and then turned to the elf that would lead her to the door.
Narcissa watched her guest move away, struggling to keep the evidence of her frustration from marring her lovely face. This was her third visit with the Weasley girl, and she was still utterly at a loss of what to make of her.
She was proud. Narcissa had figured that out very quickly- no doubt that was how her son was able to overlook her less than illustrious origins. She was pretty, but Narcissa was unimpressed. Beauty was common among the purebloods- particularly those wealthy enough to send their daughters to beautification magikcans in France should the need arise. She seemed smart enough, knowing instinctively when to speak and when to hold her tongue, but there was something more- some fire in her spirit that Narcissa couldn't pin down, and the need to figure her out was getting under her skin as completely as it had infected her son.
Draco. Narcissa sighed when she thought of her son, longing for the day when all of his problems had been easily patched and mended with a sprinkle of fairy dust and a well-placed kiss. It had been easier then to see to his happiness. She was big enough to carry him over dangerous ground, wise enough to advise him on childhood spats, caring enough to enforce unpleasant necessities. Now that he was grown, however, he was harder to shelter and mold. He was miserable- it didn't take a mother's intuition to see that- yet she was helpless to intervene.
When Draco had first asked her to help Ginny with the debutante ball, she had felt a wave of intense relief. At last she knew what had some clue to the melancholy that had tainted her son since his final year at Hogwarts. She couldn't honestly say that she was pleased he had chosen a Weasley. The family was comprised of Blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers of the worst sort- not to mention their connection with Potter!- but she of all people knew that one could not always choose who they loved. At last, she felt in command of the situation: She would invite this "Miss Weasley" to tea, dazzle her with an afternoon at Malfoy Manor, tactfully slip away, and leave the rest to young hormones and Fate.
Unfortunately, everything had not gone to plan. Things had progressed beyond simple lust. Narcissa could sense, as soon as her son had appeared at the Tea, an electric crackling in the air. Memories swirled around the lovers- memories and pain, and she wondered if she was wise or foolish to attempt to intervene. It was a waste of time to simply ask Draco what was going on- he would adopt the offended frown that Lucius wielded so well and pretend offense at the very idea that he fancied the girl. Asking Ginevra was also out of the question. Uncovering the truth would be far more painstaking and time consuming than she had hoped.
So, while she waited for epiphany, Narcissa concentrated her efforts on Plan B- to discover whether Ginevra was worthy of her son in the first place. So far, the results seemed mixed.
Money was the obvious reason for a girl to fancy Draco. Of course, Narcissa was impressed with her son's good looks and sharp wit, but she conceded that she was a mother and, therefore, perhaps partial to his case. Others she was aware of had described Draco's personality with less affection, and his appearance with less grace, but no one could argue with a bank balance totaling more galleons than a dedicated fleet of shoppers could ever spend. What's more, Ginny's own poverty made the attraction all the stronger. While Narcissa had admitted herself no more than an hour before that money was an important consideration in choosing a mate, she wasn't prepared to relinquish her own son to a woman who cared more about his pocketbook than his heart.
Happily, Ginny didn't seem to fit that bill. She had allowed Narcissa to pay for the gowns- or at least she had never mentioned payment- but she hadn't been greedy or grasping or begging for more. She had appreciated the fabric and construction of the gowns, but she hadn't shown herself to be overly impressed with names. Ginevra had handled the conversation about marriage deftly as well- lobbying more for love than money, and seeing through Narcissa's own weak protestations...but if the loved him- if she really wanted Draco and his galleons, why didn't she take what he offered?
Why didn't he make her take it? Narcissa sighed with frustration again.
Draco was fighting his feelings- and for no reason that she could understand. Was he simply uncertain of, or was it something more? She was serious about the debutante ball. If Draco didn't make his move, someone else would. How could she convince him to act before it was too late?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“The Greengrasses always greet in the foyer. It’s ridiculous. The is tiny, but Maddy can’t stand the thought of someone getting into the house without her knowing and missing her chance to make a catty comment about their dress.”
Reflexively, Ginny looked at her own dress- a charming, cerulean two piece robe that was virtually impervious to cattiness. Nevertheless, she smoothed them nervously.
“They’ll be at the base of the stairs. Luncheon will be served in the parlor and drawing room on either side. We’ll want the left one. Be careful not to get separated. Stay just to my left, and a little behind. I’ll introduce you. If we lose each other, ask for the powder room and wait for me outside the door…”
Ginny bobbed her head as Narcissa barked off instructions, her head already swimming with all of the things she was meant to remember: Maddy was Lucius’s fourth cousin, thrice removed; the Kettlebottoms earned their fortune in the cauldron business; start with the outside fork and move in; don’t curtsey; speak softly; never mention chocolate-covered cockroaches around Ariana Tavington…
“You should only speak after you’re spoke to, unless the person you’re addressing is of lower social standing than you- and you came with me, so that’s everyone, so don’t bother remembering that one…napkin in your lap to eat, on the table when you’re finished- but, of course, a lady wouldn’t actually eat anything in polite company.” Narcissa continued drilling Ginny as they strolled slowly up the drive to the front of Brambleby House, her voice so intent that she reminded the young Weasley intently of a pre-NEWT Hermione Granger study-session. “Chin up, shoulders back, don’t look too happy- but don’t forget to smile. Remember, that you are a Malfoy, you bow to no one!” Narcissa ended, apparently confusing her instruction with her own internal monologue as they finally reached the door.
Ginny was certain that the house elf had seen them approach- the door had opened and closed only a few seconds earlier to admit Millicent Zabini and her mother-in-law, but it remained closed until Narcissa lifted her gloved hand and tapped lightly with the knocker against the black-painted door. Presently, it opened.
“Your card Madame? Mademoiselle?”
Ginny panicked, realizing again that she had no card, but Narcissa was prepared for this eventuality as well, producing two elegant ecru rectangles of linen paper and depositing them on a silver tray. She glided past the servant, indicating that Ginny should follow.
Brambleby House was certainly of no scale to match Malfoy Manor, but Ginny nevertheless found herself momentarily struck dumb. The “tiny” foyer was thirty feet across, backed by a broad marble staircase that spiraled four floors overhead. A heavy crystal chandelier hung down between the levels, sunlight from high windows glinting on the glass and casting tiny rainbows around the room. In her awe, she must have stopped walking, because she felt a sharp prod in her lower back, as Narcissa led her toward their hosts.
Maddy Greengrass was just the sort of woman that Ginny had envisioned from Narcissa’s earlier description. She was a broad and fleshy. It was clear that she had once been extraordinarily beautiful, but her fine, even features seemed to have sunk into the flesh of her face. She seemed not to notice, or at least account for the increase in her age. Her hair was styled in girlish curls atop her head, and the fit and style of her robes were better suited to her daughter, Daphne.
Ginny turned her attention to the young Miss Greengrass only reluctantly. She knew of the other girl, one year her elder, from their time at Hogwarts, but they had not been friends. Daphne was Ginny’s clearest stereotype of a Slytherin girl: sharp, cunning, and cruel. A bit of those traits were on display as she surveyed their unexpected guest with a sneer.
“Ginny Weasley?” She gasped incredulously, “What in the world are you doing here?”
A hundred sharp, indignant answers presented themselves in Ginny’s mind. Unfortunately, her tongue refused to cooperate. It felt swollen and dumb, failing to move in spite of her efforts, so that she was only able to croak out,” I…I….”
“Lunching, I hope!” Narcissa intervened. “That is what the invitation said. Surely you haven’t lured us here under false pretenses?” Mrs. Malfoy’s tone was light, but shaded with a vague threat that Madeline Greengrass seemed to notice- even if her daughter did not. She shot Daphne a chilling gaze.
“I believe you know my cousin, Miss Weasley?” Narcissa said with forced brightness.
“Cousin!” This time it was the elder Greengrass’s turn to cry out in disbelief.
“Oh yes, her mother’s mother was a Black. Great Aunt Denebia.” Narcissa smiled cherubically, almost daring the Greengrass women to deny her claim.
Ginny felt the panic slowly drain from her body, replaced by a faint rush of pride as Narcissa wielded her maiden name with the precision and devastation of a rapier.
Maddy regained her composure first. “Of course.” She said smoothly.
“Welcome. Such a lovely dress.”
“Where’d you get it?” Daphne chimed in, still baiting Ginny.
“Eva Slinks.” She replied, feeling almost giddy with pleasure at the reaction the designer name elicited. She relished the sensation for a moment, before her solid, middle-class Weasley conscience began to pang and she added. “Your dress is very pretty too.”
Narcissa, apparently, felt no such compulsion toward niceness. “Yes.” She purred. “It looks even better than LAST year when you wore it to the Edgecroft’s picnic. You’re finally filling out a little I think.” She gave another pearly smile. Then, with practiced elegance she turned, sweeping Ginny after her into the parlor.
The walk to the tables appeared deceptively short. It took nearly half an hour to reach them, however, as they were stopped no fewer than a dozen times by Narcissa’s “friends” and “acquaintances.” Truthfully, Ginny was uncertain how to divide them between the categories. She had been slightly shocked by Narcissa’s casual treatment of their host, and was even more so by the conversations as they moved toward the table. They were all variations on a theme: dry, cutting comments delivered with a blinding smile. It was only after several such exchanges that Ginny began to understand. The words were unimportant. It was the ritual that mattered- the Malfoy dominance being reasserted, almost comforting in its cruelty as it reaffirmed the status quo.
“Here we are, Ginevra.” Narcissa swept toward two seats that were obviously being saved for someone else. Rather than looking annoyed, however, their tablemates beamed, as if they had just been traded a Galleon for a knute.
Ginny studied their companions warily. They were two more mother-daughter pairs. The first Ginny vaguely knew- former Ravenclaw Jemima Spellman and a woman she assumed to be her mother. The second set were utter strangers- though they seemed to known Narcissa. Except for the minor changes wrought by time, they were mirror images of one another- sleek, olive-skinned beauties with glittering black eyes and chestnut hair. They chattered together in rapid French, then the mother stood to greet Mrs. Malfoy, kissing her airily on both cheek. “Ah, Narcissa!” She gushed in heavily accented English. “Comme c’est bonne!” She pecked the air again. “We had hoped to see you here. Comment es-tu? Et ton mari? Et leetle Draco.” She turned toward her daughter, arching her eyebrows in a manner that Ginny found distasteful. “Not so leetle now, eh?”
She smiled.
Ginny didn’t like her teeth.
“Lovely.” Was the only answer that Narcissa offered. She deposited herself in the chair, smoothing her robes carefully before returning her attention to the Frenchwoman. “Odile, this is Ginevra Weasley, Ginevra, this is Odile Fougere, and her daughter, Genevieve.”
Ginny dipped her head politely, as she had been taught while Narcissa continued, “Odile and I were together at school.” She paused, her eyes flickering carefully to Ginny’s face. “Genevieve, is my son’s fiancé.”
Surprises
It was little over a week after her first visit to Malfoy Manor that Ginny once again found herself standing in front of a mirror in Narcissa’s sitting room.
“Too dark.” Narcissa fussed, swishing her wand at the robes draped across Ginny’s body. Obligingly, the fabric lightened several shades. “Too clingy.” There was another adjustment. “Too loose.”
The fabric once again modified itself to suit Ginny’s figure, but Mrs. Malfoy merely rolled her eyes in disgust. “Not that one Abreyenne…what about that peach silk?”
A tall, reedy witch in plain black robes and a pair of small horn-rimmed glasses nodded her head silently. With a flick of her wand, Ginny was standing in her shift again, as the two other women moved to a trunk of garments and began quibbling over the next selection. Ginny ignored them, choosing instead to regard her own reflection in the mirror, not wanting to allow herself to get too interested in what was going on.
When Narcissa had suggested “helping Ginny pick out something to wear to the Greengrass’s luncheon” she had envisioned a shopping trip to Diagon Alley. She anticipated that Narcissa would want to patronize the chic shops near the Glass Slipper, and she knew that she could never afford them. However, she had concocted a plan. There were some lovely dayrobes at Malkin’s- a bit pricey, but she could manage. She would browse in the boutiques, announce that nothing suited her, and then make her purchase at the more familiar store. Never, in her wildest dreams had she considered that Narcissa’s designer would make housecalls- or that Narcissa would toss quite so many garments into the “must have” pile. At the rate they were going, the Burrow and all its contents would be sold at auction and she STILL wouldn’t have enough money to pay for them- a fact that she was waiting to bring up until the last possible moment.
“Don’t you have anything in sage?” Narcissa queried, sounding rather amusingly like Molly on market day when the produce didn’t suit her preferences.
“Perhaps at the shop, Madame.”
“Well then, go and fetch them.” Narcissa said rather tersely. The dressmaker nodded serenely once more. Then, with a pop, she Disapparated, along with the discarded robes.
Pulling on the yellow dress she had worn to the house, Ginny stepped down from the stool and began fingering through the pile of gowns that had been selected.
“You know…” she began nervously, “I really don’t need quite so many…”
“Of course you do.” Narcissa’s voice sounded slightly amused at the assertion. “There’s the luncheon next week. The society dinner. The debutante meetings. The pre-ball ball, the awards dinner, the meeting teas, the Parkinson’s house party….” She let her voice trail off when she say Ginny’s jaw hanging slightly ajar. “You wouldn’t want them to see you in the same robes twice!”
“Them?” Ginny asked, then said in a self-depreciating tone. “I hardly think that anyone is going to be paying much attention to me.”
“There’s where you’re wrong, sweeting.” Narcissa said. Very gently, she put her hand on Ginny’s shoulder and turned her back toward the mirror. “Don’t you know how pretty you are? And, Weasley or not-” By this point, Narcissa had used the qualification so many times that her young guest barely flinched, “You do have some of the purest blood in England- and that counts a lot with these people….and yes, I know that it doesn’t matter to you!” She sounded like Molly again- telling her children something that they didn’t want to hear. “But, if you’re going to impress their mothers, you have to-”
“Their mothers?”
“The men sweeting.” Narcissa shook her head and sighed. “You don’t think that I’ve gone to all this trouble to see you end the season without a husband, do you?”
“But-”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were one of the first to get engaged, actually. Its true that you don’t have much money, but that doesn’t seem to be what men are looking for these days.”
Ginny had the uncomfortable feeling that the last remark had been directed to her breasts.
“There’s going to be a lot of them at the Parkinson’s.”
“Mothers?”
“Men!” Narcissa laughed. “Rich men. Lots of men and lots of unchaperoned activities. If you don’t come back with a ring on your finger and your reputation heartily compromised I will consider myself a failure.”
“Talking strategy, are we mother?”
Ginny stiffened as a familiar drawl met her ears and Draco’s pale head poked into the room.
Narcissa flicked her gaze toward Ginny, but remained cool and unruffled. “Always, dearest.” She answered airily, walking forward to place a peck on her son’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re home. Now, run along and tell Lolly to fetch some tea.”
“But-”
“And some scones and biscuits dearest. The ones we ordered from America. Don’t let Lolly get them. She can’t reach the shelf.”
“But-”
”Good-bye, darling. Hurry back.”
Ginny listened to Draco’s footsteps disappear, feeling suddenly unsettled. It seemed slightly too obvious that Draco had just been dismissed. Her fears were compounded when Narcissa hurried toward her, looking suddenly very serious. “Ginny, dearest.”
She started-Narcissa had never called her by anything less than her full, formal name or the friendly but faintly condescending “sweeting”.
“I’m not saying this to be cruel, I’m saying it because it’s a fact- a fact that you need to understand. I’ve seen too many girls end up lonely and unhappy because they were waiting for perfection when something good was right in front of their face. This is a big opportunity. A chance to get the life you deserve. Don’t throw it away just because it isn’t perfect.”
“You make it sound so romantic.” Ginny said sarcastically.
“It isn’t meant to be romantic!” Narcissa snapped. “It’s meant to be life! It’s all very well for men and for Muggles- they can go wandering off to shops and offices and make whatever they want out of life. It isn’t the same for witches, and you know it. We may talk about equality, but when it comes down to it, the wizarding world still has a long way to go. Don’t you want to be able to send your children to the best schools that you can? To see the world? To dress them in nice clothes and never worry about money for books and cauldrons and brooms?”
Ginny was torn between anger and pain. She was mortified that Narcissa would speak so frankly- but achingly aware of the truth of her words.
“You want me to settle then, for something I don’t really want?”
“I want you to settle for something you want, but may not necessarily be your first choice.”
Ginny pressed her eyes closed, trying not to cry. When she finally found her voice, it was scratchy and strained. “Would you?” she asked quietly.
Narcissa looked away.
“No.” She admitted at last. “I don’t suppose I would.” She was silent for a moment. "Well, it appears that our designer has deserted us. Until tomorrow then, Miss Weasley." She said at last, rising to transfigure the stack of dress robes that lay strewn around the parlor into a tiny, neatly wrapped parcel with the flick of her wand and depositing them into Ginny Weasley's hand. She eyed the younger woman carefully as the package changed hands. Would she thank her, assuming that it was a gift? Would she inquire about payment? Would she admit that two of the gowns in the bag were worth more than her father made in a year?
The redhead's face was utterly placid and unreadable as she accepted the burden with a nod of her head. "Tomorrow, Mrs. Malfoy- good day." She dipped her head in acknowledgement, and then turned to the elf that would lead her to the door.
Narcissa watched her guest move away, struggling to keep the evidence of her frustration from marring her lovely face. This was her third visit with the Weasley girl, and she was still utterly at a loss of what to make of her.
She was proud. Narcissa had figured that out very quickly- no doubt that was how her son was able to overlook her less than illustrious origins. She was pretty, but Narcissa was unimpressed. Beauty was common among the purebloods- particularly those wealthy enough to send their daughters to beautification magikcans in France should the need arise. She seemed smart enough, knowing instinctively when to speak and when to hold her tongue, but there was something more- some fire in her spirit that Narcissa couldn't pin down, and the need to figure her out was getting under her skin as completely as it had infected her son.
Draco. Narcissa sighed when she thought of her son, longing for the day when all of his problems had been easily patched and mended with a sprinkle of fairy dust and a well-placed kiss. It had been easier then to see to his happiness. She was big enough to carry him over dangerous ground, wise enough to advise him on childhood spats, caring enough to enforce unpleasant necessities. Now that he was grown, however, he was harder to shelter and mold. He was miserable- it didn't take a mother's intuition to see that- yet she was helpless to intervene.
When Draco had first asked her to help Ginny with the debutante ball, she had felt a wave of intense relief. At last she knew what had some clue to the melancholy that had tainted her son since his final year at Hogwarts. She couldn't honestly say that she was pleased he had chosen a Weasley. The family was comprised of Blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers of the worst sort- not to mention their connection with Potter!- but she of all people knew that one could not always choose who they loved. At last, she felt in command of the situation: She would invite this "Miss Weasley" to tea, dazzle her with an afternoon at Malfoy Manor, tactfully slip away, and leave the rest to young hormones and Fate.
Unfortunately, everything had not gone to plan. Things had progressed beyond simple lust. Narcissa could sense, as soon as her son had appeared at the Tea, an electric crackling in the air. Memories swirled around the lovers- memories and pain, and she wondered if she was wise or foolish to attempt to intervene. It was a waste of time to simply ask Draco what was going on- he would adopt the offended frown that Lucius wielded so well and pretend offense at the very idea that he fancied the girl. Asking Ginevra was also out of the question. Uncovering the truth would be far more painstaking and time consuming than she had hoped.
So, while she waited for epiphany, Narcissa concentrated her efforts on Plan B- to discover whether Ginevra was worthy of her son in the first place. So far, the results seemed mixed.
Money was the obvious reason for a girl to fancy Draco. Of course, Narcissa was impressed with her son's good looks and sharp wit, but she conceded that she was a mother and, therefore, perhaps partial to his case. Others she was aware of had described Draco's personality with less affection, and his appearance with less grace, but no one could argue with a bank balance totaling more galleons than a dedicated fleet of shoppers could ever spend. What's more, Ginny's own poverty made the attraction all the stronger. While Narcissa had admitted herself no more than an hour before that money was an important consideration in choosing a mate, she wasn't prepared to relinquish her own son to a woman who cared more about his pocketbook than his heart.
Happily, Ginny didn't seem to fit that bill. She had allowed Narcissa to pay for the gowns- or at least she had never mentioned payment- but she hadn't been greedy or grasping or begging for more. She had appreciated the fabric and construction of the gowns, but she hadn't shown herself to be overly impressed with names. Ginevra had handled the conversation about marriage deftly as well- lobbying more for love than money, and seeing through Narcissa's own weak protestations...but if the loved him- if she really wanted Draco and his galleons, why didn't she take what he offered?
Why didn't he make her take it? Narcissa sighed with frustration again.
Draco was fighting his feelings- and for no reason that she could understand. Was he simply uncertain of, or was it something more? She was serious about the debutante ball. If Draco didn't make his move, someone else would. How could she convince him to act before it was too late?
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“The Greengrasses always greet in the foyer. It’s ridiculous. The is tiny, but Maddy can’t stand the thought of someone getting into the house without her knowing and missing her chance to make a catty comment about their dress.”
Reflexively, Ginny looked at her own dress- a charming, cerulean two piece robe that was virtually impervious to cattiness. Nevertheless, she smoothed them nervously.
“They’ll be at the base of the stairs. Luncheon will be served in the parlor and drawing room on either side. We’ll want the left one. Be careful not to get separated. Stay just to my left, and a little behind. I’ll introduce you. If we lose each other, ask for the powder room and wait for me outside the door…”
Ginny bobbed her head as Narcissa barked off instructions, her head already swimming with all of the things she was meant to remember: Maddy was Lucius’s fourth cousin, thrice removed; the Kettlebottoms earned their fortune in the cauldron business; start with the outside fork and move in; don’t curtsey; speak softly; never mention chocolate-covered cockroaches around Ariana Tavington…
“You should only speak after you’re spoke to, unless the person you’re addressing is of lower social standing than you- and you came with me, so that’s everyone, so don’t bother remembering that one…napkin in your lap to eat, on the table when you’re finished- but, of course, a lady wouldn’t actually eat anything in polite company.” Narcissa continued drilling Ginny as they strolled slowly up the drive to the front of Brambleby House, her voice so intent that she reminded the young Weasley intently of a pre-NEWT Hermione Granger study-session. “Chin up, shoulders back, don’t look too happy- but don’t forget to smile. Remember, that you are a Malfoy, you bow to no one!” Narcissa ended, apparently confusing her instruction with her own internal monologue as they finally reached the door.
Ginny was certain that the house elf had seen them approach- the door had opened and closed only a few seconds earlier to admit Millicent Zabini and her mother-in-law, but it remained closed until Narcissa lifted her gloved hand and tapped lightly with the knocker against the black-painted door. Presently, it opened.
“Your card Madame? Mademoiselle?”
Ginny panicked, realizing again that she had no card, but Narcissa was prepared for this eventuality as well, producing two elegant ecru rectangles of linen paper and depositing them on a silver tray. She glided past the servant, indicating that Ginny should follow.
Brambleby House was certainly of no scale to match Malfoy Manor, but Ginny nevertheless found herself momentarily struck dumb. The “tiny” foyer was thirty feet across, backed by a broad marble staircase that spiraled four floors overhead. A heavy crystal chandelier hung down between the levels, sunlight from high windows glinting on the glass and casting tiny rainbows around the room. In her awe, she must have stopped walking, because she felt a sharp prod in her lower back, as Narcissa led her toward their hosts.
Maddy Greengrass was just the sort of woman that Ginny had envisioned from Narcissa’s earlier description. She was a broad and fleshy. It was clear that she had once been extraordinarily beautiful, but her fine, even features seemed to have sunk into the flesh of her face. She seemed not to notice, or at least account for the increase in her age. Her hair was styled in girlish curls atop her head, and the fit and style of her robes were better suited to her daughter, Daphne.
Ginny turned her attention to the young Miss Greengrass only reluctantly. She knew of the other girl, one year her elder, from their time at Hogwarts, but they had not been friends. Daphne was Ginny’s clearest stereotype of a Slytherin girl: sharp, cunning, and cruel. A bit of those traits were on display as she surveyed their unexpected guest with a sneer.
“Ginny Weasley?” She gasped incredulously, “What in the world are you doing here?”
A hundred sharp, indignant answers presented themselves in Ginny’s mind. Unfortunately, her tongue refused to cooperate. It felt swollen and dumb, failing to move in spite of her efforts, so that she was only able to croak out,” I…I….”
“Lunching, I hope!” Narcissa intervened. “That is what the invitation said. Surely you haven’t lured us here under false pretenses?” Mrs. Malfoy’s tone was light, but shaded with a vague threat that Madeline Greengrass seemed to notice- even if her daughter did not. She shot Daphne a chilling gaze.
“I believe you know my cousin, Miss Weasley?” Narcissa said with forced brightness.
“Cousin!” This time it was the elder Greengrass’s turn to cry out in disbelief.
“Oh yes, her mother’s mother was a Black. Great Aunt Denebia.” Narcissa smiled cherubically, almost daring the Greengrass women to deny her claim.
Ginny felt the panic slowly drain from her body, replaced by a faint rush of pride as Narcissa wielded her maiden name with the precision and devastation of a rapier.
Maddy regained her composure first. “Of course.” She said smoothly.
“Welcome. Such a lovely dress.”
“Where’d you get it?” Daphne chimed in, still baiting Ginny.
“Eva Slinks.” She replied, feeling almost giddy with pleasure at the reaction the designer name elicited. She relished the sensation for a moment, before her solid, middle-class Weasley conscience began to pang and she added. “Your dress is very pretty too.”
Narcissa, apparently, felt no such compulsion toward niceness. “Yes.” She purred. “It looks even better than LAST year when you wore it to the Edgecroft’s picnic. You’re finally filling out a little I think.” She gave another pearly smile. Then, with practiced elegance she turned, sweeping Ginny after her into the parlor.
The walk to the tables appeared deceptively short. It took nearly half an hour to reach them, however, as they were stopped no fewer than a dozen times by Narcissa’s “friends” and “acquaintances.” Truthfully, Ginny was uncertain how to divide them between the categories. She had been slightly shocked by Narcissa’s casual treatment of their host, and was even more so by the conversations as they moved toward the table. They were all variations on a theme: dry, cutting comments delivered with a blinding smile. It was only after several such exchanges that Ginny began to understand. The words were unimportant. It was the ritual that mattered- the Malfoy dominance being reasserted, almost comforting in its cruelty as it reaffirmed the status quo.
“Here we are, Ginevra.” Narcissa swept toward two seats that were obviously being saved for someone else. Rather than looking annoyed, however, their tablemates beamed, as if they had just been traded a Galleon for a knute.
Ginny studied their companions warily. They were two more mother-daughter pairs. The first Ginny vaguely knew- former Ravenclaw Jemima Spellman and a woman she assumed to be her mother. The second set were utter strangers- though they seemed to known Narcissa. Except for the minor changes wrought by time, they were mirror images of one another- sleek, olive-skinned beauties with glittering black eyes and chestnut hair. They chattered together in rapid French, then the mother stood to greet Mrs. Malfoy, kissing her airily on both cheek. “Ah, Narcissa!” She gushed in heavily accented English. “Comme c’est bonne!” She pecked the air again. “We had hoped to see you here. Comment es-tu? Et ton mari? Et leetle Draco.” She turned toward her daughter, arching her eyebrows in a manner that Ginny found distasteful. “Not so leetle now, eh?”
She smiled.
Ginny didn’t like her teeth.
“Lovely.” Was the only answer that Narcissa offered. She deposited herself in the chair, smoothing her robes carefully before returning her attention to the Frenchwoman. “Odile, this is Ginevra Weasley, Ginevra, this is Odile Fougere, and her daughter, Genevieve.”
Ginny dipped her head politely, as she had been taught while Narcissa continued, “Odile and I were together at school.” She paused, her eyes flickering carefully to Ginny’s face. “Genevieve, is my son’s fiancé.”
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