Chapter 17
Possessions
Draco hoped he hadn’t said those words out loud, but it quickly became all-too-obvious that he had. Lucius Malfoy’s face reminded Draco of a traffic light switching rapidly, first to green, then yellow, then red as he slammed his glass of bourbon hard against the desk.
Narcissa’s eyes flashed in panic, but like an animal trapped in lights, she seemed frozen in place.
Draco’s salvation came from an unlikely source: the high, forced laughter of Genevieve Fougere.
“Oh Draco, darling you’re so droll!” She said as she strolled into the study. Genevieve was flanked by her mother and a man he didn’t recognize, and followed by an extremely apologetic looking elf.
“Henri.” Lucius said, dipping his chin, his jaw twitching with the effort it took to regain his composure enough to respond.
“Isn’t Draco funny, papa?” Genevieve asked her father with a simpering smile. Her eyes were gleaming with manic energy. “He likes to tease about the littlest Weasley.”
“Yes, he likes to…joke.” Lucius repeated in an awkward tone- as if he was trying to comfort himself with the words.
“Well, how are you feeling Miss Fougere?” Narcissa stepped between her family and her guests, assuming control of the situation, “I hope you’re not hurt? We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“Papa has some business with Lucius.”
Narcissa scowled at the casual use of her husband’s first name. “I wasn’t aware that Mister Fougere had an appointment with Mister Malfoy until the morning either.”
“Cissa…” Lucius interrupted, “It’s fine. He’s not interrupting.”
“You were speaking with Draco.”
“I don’t think that we have anything left to say.”
Narcissa watched with disapproval the look that passed between her husband and her son, both recognizing the double meaning of the words.
“Cissa, dearest, could you ring for some tea?”
“Yes, of course.” She tore her eyes away, focusing her attention on the female visitors. “If the gentlemen are discussing business, perhaps we’d be more comfortable in the parlor?”
“I wanted to see your dressing room.”
“My…my what?” Narcissa’s mouth gaped. For the second time in the brief moments since Genevieve’s arrival she was struck by the girl’s shocking lack of manners.
“Your jewelry,” Odile explained, petting her daughter’s hair as if she were a favorite cat, “Ginny Weasley was talking to her about your tiara…and your necklaces. She wants to see theem.”
“And the gown.” Genevieve gave Narcissa a pointed smile, and then said, while looking at Lucius, “Ginny Weasley was talking about it at our meeting- that you let her try it on, I’m mad to see it.”
Mrs. Malfoy found herself gritting her teeth behind her megawatt smile. The fact that Genevieve would dare to make such a personal and forward request demonstrated an appalling lack of breeding.
Unfortunately, refusing it would be even worse. “Very well.” She said tightly, then turned to give Draco and Lucius a quick nod, “Draco…darling, I’ll have Lolly send tea.”
Narcissa led Mrs. and Miss Fougere out of the study, toward the spiral staircase in the hall. The Frenchwoman moved very slowly as they entered the private areas of the house and, ‘friends of the family’ or not, Narcissa couldn’t shake the feeling that the women were appraising what they saw as they went.
“Here we are.” Narcissa said at last, reluctantly opening the door. It led to a sitting room. Double-doors on the left wall went to a bedchamber. A smaller door, on the right, was also open. “The dressing room is over there.” Narcissa said, “I’ll have the elves bring down the gown. She frowned to notice that the Fougere’s weren’t listening. They were both peering into the other room with interest, “A shared bedroom, Narcissa?” Odile said in an oily voice, “How continental!”
This time Narcissa simply ignored them. “In here.” She said curtly, leading them into the pink-papered room. It was lined, with shelves and racks of garments, skirted by neat lines of tiny shoes. A shelf overhead held hats and handbags. Finally, along the inside wall of the house was a case filled with glittering gems.
Genevieve gasped.
“Mon Dieu!” Odile exclaimed softly, fingers curling reflexively toward the glass.
Genevieve was not so subtle. She pressed her nose against the glass doors of the display, leaving a breathy print. “They’re worth a fortune.”
Narcissa wrinkled her nose at yet another display of poor taste- why hadn’t she noticed Genevieve’s manners before? Outside of the debutante functions, she seemed barely capable of conducting herself in polite society. Nevertheless, Narcissa let her guests look around. She imagined this was how farmer’s felt, leading wolves on henhouse tour.
“There eet ees! Zee tiara!” Odile gushed, directing Genevieve’s attention to the center of the case. “And zee Necklace…” She breathed rapturously, “But perhaps…? No- you wouldn’t let my Genevieve borrow one for zee ball.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Narcissa snapped, then felt guilty. “I’m saving them for my own daughters.”
“But you don’t have any daughters!” Genevieve protested.
“Well we’re very continental,” Narcissa retorted, “I haven’t abandoned hope.”
“But surely, surely you would loan them to a daughter-een-law?” Odile simpered.
Narcissa softened, remembering her manners, “Of course…but I don’t have one of those either.” She flicked her wand and the inside of the cabinet went dim.
“Don’t forget to put the wards back up.” Genevieve reminded, still staring through the darkened case.
“There aren’t any wards.” Narcissa said impatiently, “If an intruder in this house got as far as my bedroom closet I hardly think I’d be worried about my jewels.” She said crossly, marching them back out of the dressing room without the promised glimpse of her dress.
The Fougeres lingered behind her. For the second time that evening Narcissa noted that they both looked…odd.
~*~
“Ginny dear, there you are!”
Ginny flinched as she heard her mother’s voice. She had been hoping to return from the Manor unnoticed. However, long years of experience had taught her that pulling one over on Molly Weasley was difficult, if not damned near impossible. “I flooed your brothers. They’ve gone back to London. You ought to have been home an hour ago.”
“I…got hung up at the Malfoy’s.” Ginny said, sheepishly raking her fingers through her rain-soaked hair.
“Nothing the matter, I hope?” Molly said in a terse tone. Ginny felt a little pang at her mother’s tone. It was unspoken, but implied, that she was hurt by her daughter’s seeming preference to while away her afternoons in the presence of Narcissa Malfoy rather than at home with her mum.
“Everything’s fine.” Ginny said, quietly resolving to take her mother out to tea as soon as she got a chance. “We just took the long way home.”
“I can see that.” Molly chided. She flicked her wand at a mop and set it to wiping up the muddy footprints that her daughter had tracked into the house. “I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon…It’s finally finished!”
“It?” Ginny frowned, unsure what her mother was referring to.
“Your gown!” Molly said excitedly. “I finished it this evening.”
Ginny felt her stomach drop. She had been reluctant to broach the issue of a gown with her mother. She had planned initially to simply transfigure something she already had, but the horror stories she had overheard at the luncheons- of girls with similar ideas being humiliated by a spiteful finite incantateum- had convinced her not to try. Genevieve would like nothing more than another chance to humiliate her in public.
As soon as it became clear that Draco’s statement about Ginny already having a dress was untrue, Narcissa had been making inquiries among her own designers about pulling something together at the last minute- nothing so elaborate as the other girls, but elegant and lovely all the same. Abryenne had brought over a pale ivory confection two days earlier that would make due.
“Er…mum, you shouldn’t have.” She said in a wavering voice, all too aware that Molly Weasley was a devotee of the “lumpy sweater” school of fashion. “I’ve…I’ve already got a dress.”
Ginny’s stomach dropped in perfect tandem with her mothers face. She was ashamed of the hurt she saw there. Of course she’d wear the dress. Even it if was knitted white wool, perhaps embellished with a off-center “D” for debutante, she knew that she would wear it all the same. “Where is it mum?” she asked, trying to project enthusiasm into her voice. “I can’t wait to see.”
Molly looked a bit uncertain, and then took her daughter’s hand. They climbed to the attic, where the ghoul was doing ironing. Mrs. Weasley nodded to it, and it drifted behind a screen, returning with a muslin-wrapped bundle.
“If you really don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it. It won’t hurt my feelings.” Molly lied, eyes flicking nervously over her daughters face as she waited for Ginny to peel the cloth away. “Well, open it…” she nudged.
Ginny pulled up the cloth, and then she gasped, feeling the dampness of tears on her cheeks. “Oh, mum!” She breathed softly, reaching into the folds to withdraw the gown.
It was exquisite- and Ginny knew, although she would love it no matter what- that an unbiased opinion would conclude the same. It was a rival even for Narcissa’s dress. The full skirt was watered silk and then bottom- a full five inches from the hem- had been painstakingly hand-embroidered with tiny beads and crystals. “Oh, mum,” She said again, her voice, “How did you ever?”
“It’s just my old gown made over.” Molly said with a self-depreciating shrug, but her eyes were shining. “I had nearly forgotten that it was up here. I thought I might add a bit- just to freshen it up…and I’ve had plenty of time on my own.”
“I love it!” Ginny threw her arms around Molly’s neck. “I’ll be the luckiest girl at the ball!”
It was true. There were some things that money couldn’t buy, and Ginny had those in spades.
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