Chapter 3
Malfoy Manor
It should have ended there. She should have thanked Draco for his help and never spoken to him again- or even should have foregone the “thank you”- it wasn't as if a Slytherin would expect civility anyhow. If only Ginny had been able to listen to her own better judgment none of it would have ever happened.
Of course, she hadn't listened. Like so many Weasley's before her, the prudent course was the least appealing. So it happened that, bright and early June 24th, more than a year later, she found herself walking toward the gates of Malfoy Manor, bound for her luncheon with the Lady of the House.
Ginny was grateful that she had decided to Apparate to Wiltshire instead of flooing. She had only just received her license, and she wasn't confident enough to travel directly to the house (assuming that the Malfoy's protective wards wouldn't prevent such an entry anyhow). In retrospect, however, she was grateful for the short walk from the center of Porton Down to the Manor on the hill beyond. She had time to collect thoughts and to give appearance a bit of final scrutiny.
After hours of agonizing in front of her mother's less than helpful mirror (“You really should cut a fringe, dear. I can hardly see your eyes under that lot of curls!”) she had decided to wear her hair down. It hung in thick, if somewhat unruly waves down her back, contrasting nicely with her Kelley green robes.
Ginny smoothed her skirt with her palms. The outfit wasn't new, but it was well tailored and was easily the most stylish thing she owned. It had been a present from the twins (who had argued, unsuccessfully, that she might prefer a dragonskin suit instead). Buying the robes (new!) in a boutique hidden away in Kensington had, heretofore, been the most glamorous experience of her life. She hoped that they would serve her well for this, her second peek into “how the other half lived.”
Chin up, shoulders back, and wearing a look of fierce determination, Ginny paused at the Manor's gates. In spite of her desire to appear unimpressed by the Malfoy riches, she had to catch her breath as she peered through the iron bars. The grounds went on as far as her eyes could see, comprised of a perfect blend of manicured lawns, walled gardens and surrounded by a suspiciously picturesque wilderness.
Ginny frowned. This wasn't how she had pictured the Malfoy seat at all. In her mind, she had envisioned bare rock and straggling shrubs, bats screeching overhead and, possibly a storm. The simply loveliness was surprising. “But then, why should that be?” She wondered. It ought to match her experience of the Malfoy's perfectly: an ugly picture in a pretty frame.
Forcing the frown from her lips, Ginny reached for the knocker on the gate. Before she could reach it, the heavy barrier swung open of its own accord. She stepped inside. Following a gravel path, she made her way to the house.
An elf was waiting just inside the front door, which opened for her immediately. He was holding a silver tray that, she realized after an embarrassing silence, was meant to receive her card. Having none, she turned her eyes to the elf. “Please tell Mrs. Malfoy that Miss Virginia Weasley has come to call.” She said in her most commanding tone. Then, when the little creature did not move immediately, added, “I was to meet her for lunch.”
“Of course, Miss.” The elf chirped in an almost comically dignified tone, “Mrs. Malfoy is in the garden, please follow me.”
Ginny clung to her resolution of refusing to gawk as they moved through the sprawling house. It was difficult. The furnishings in the entryway alone would have fetched a sum more than twice that for her parent's entire house. She managed her goal for one reason alone. Her attention was distracted by something else- the sickening certainty that Draco was close at hand.
After what seemed like a long walk, they left the house at last, passing through a pair of French doors onto a wide, airy Loggia. From there, they descended into a walled enclosure filled with every shape and color of rose that Ginny could possibly imagine.
The rich perfume of the flowers swirled around her as they made their way to a charming, vine-covered gazebo at the garden's center. A linen-covered table was set beneath it. Behind that, lifting her eyes at Ginny's arrival, was Narcissa Malfoy.
Ginny had seen Draco's mother only once before, at the Quidditch World Cup four summers before. Her impression of the woman was very vague: slender, attractive, blonde. Those words failed to capture the woman who greeted her now.
With a single glance at the older woman's sleek blue gown and perfectly coiffured hair, Ginny felt instantly gauche. Narcissa's features were as perfect as those painted on a china doll, and her skin was just as flawless. Even her posture seemed more effortlessly posh and refined than Miss Weasley could manage with her best efforts. Simply put, Mrs. Malfoy looked like a fairy queen.
“Miss Weasley?” Narcissa asked, her accent employing the same drawling vowels and clipped consonants that her husband favored. “I'm so pleased that you could come.” She smiled faintly, but the look did not reach her velvet blue eyes, both of which were fixed upon the girl appraisingly.
“Thank you very much for the invitation, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm grateful for any guidance you can offer,” Ginny meekly parroted her prepared speech. “I'm very excited about the prospect of attending the ball.”
“No doubt.” The blonde murmured, but with no trace of sarcasm in her voice.
The women stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Narcissa broke it, making a twirling gesture with her hand and saying: “Well, let me have a look at you.”
Feeling extraordinarily self-conscious, Ginny did as Mrs. Malfoy indicated, turning very slowly to permit a thorough scrutiny of her form. She could feel Narcissa's pale blue eyes raking critically over her skin. It was almost as if it were a physical touch.
When she had revolved completely, Ginny stopped, her brown eyes seeking a verdict from her hostess.
“Too plump.” She answered candidly, “But it's mostly in the right places. We have time, in any event. The skin is good, assuming we can do something about the freckles.” She gestured for Ginny to step closer, smiling faintly when the girl instantly obeyed.
“Your hair is darker than your mother's.” Narcissa remarked, in a tone that indicated that this was a good thing. She picked up an auburn lock and twisted it around her finger. “It's striking, actually. You'll want a yellow dress.”
Her lips pressed together in a frown as she considered. “or…no…green.”
She let the curl slide abruptly from her fingers. Ginny noticed that the woman's attention had suddenly directed somewhere else. A smile touched Narcissa's lips- the first real one that Ginny had seen, and then Mrs. Malfoy said. “Ah, Ginevra. I believe you've met my son? He'll be joining us for luncheon this afternoon.”
-----
Narcissa's eyes narrowed shrewdly, capturing the identical looks of horror that flickered briefly on the faces of her guest and her son. “Unless you are uncomfortable with the arrangement?” She added.
Ginny wasn't sure if the question was directed at herself or Draco but she replied with a nervous nod. “Uh, sure.” She mumbled, even as her interior monologue hissed at her. She noticed that Mrs. Malfoy's eyes had lingered and she saw, to her horror that her hand had involuntarily reached to the chain around her neck touching the outline of the ring that hung there beneath her robes. Worried, she jerked her hand away. “That is, I'd be...charmed.” She amended in her poshest diction.
Mrs. Malfoy pursed her lips slightly, giving her face the appearance that Ginny remembered from the World Cup- a look like she had something smelly under her nose, but the expression evaporated as she turned to her son and gestured that both he, and Ginny should take a seat.
“Draco, darling.” She practically purred to her son, “This is Miss Ginevra Weasley- you know the Weasley's, “the insinuation in her tone was too faint to justify reaction. Accordingly, Ginny stared fixedly at her napkin. “Ginny's debbing at the ball. Isn't that excellent news?”
“Of course, mother.” Draco replied, evenly. Ginny had the urge to raise her eyes, but stifled the impulse with her sense of absolute certainty that his serene gray eyes were fixed directly on her face.
Narcissa waited a moment, as if expecting an additional response. When none was forthcoming, she chatted on. The pleasant enthusiasm in her voice was an obvious attempt to diffuse the awkwardness that had settled around the table. “I believe Draco was the year ahead of you at school, Miss Weasley? Didn't you attend with one of her brothers, darling? A...Donald, was it? Robert?”
“Ron.” Draco answered flatly. He was still staring. She could feel it.
“Ah, yes. Ron.” A note of curiosity had crept into Narcissa's voice. She reached forward for a bone china teapot and began to pour as she continued, “Draco's been working in London, haven't you, dearest? With our Agent. He's been ever so helpful in straightening out the Black accounts. Things got so muddled while my cousin was away.”
Ginny was forced to admire how Narcissa euphemized Sirius Black's incarceration in Azkaban. To hear her speak, he might have been on extended holiday those many years. “He's been such a help; invaluable really. Lucius and I are so proud. We-”
“Mother...” Draco truncated the expression of motherly pride. “I'm sure that Miss Weasley isn't interested.”
Miss Weasley. He made it sound so cold! At last Ginny succumbed to temptation, and let her eyes drift up.
She was right. He was staring. Actually, glowering was, perhaps, more apt. His irises were like gray clouds radiating with all the intensity of a building storm.
“Of course she's interested, Draco.” Narcissa answered for Ginny, but nevertheless changed the topic of conversation.
Ginny was only vaguely aware that lunch was being served.
She picked at her salmon salad as Narcissa took up the conversation again. She was saying something about preparations for the Ball. It was, apparently, being held at the Manor itself....florists...caterers.....As she had feared, Ginny couldn't tear her eyes away and was gazing back at Draco surely as if he had placed her under a trance.
“Don't you think so, Miss Weasley?”
Ginny had the impression that this was not the first time that Narcissa had voiced the question, and she blinked rapidly, pulling herself back to consciousness. “I-er, of course.” She replied, then flushed. “That is, uhm...what did you ask?”
“I asked if you thought the girls would prefer replacing the first waltz with a quadrille.” Narcissa repeated patiently. “It might make things a bit looser to start the evening off.”
“I, uhm...” Ginny was only vaguely aware that the waltz and quadrille were both dances and, mired as it was in thoughts of Draco, her mind couldn't begin to formulate and answer to the dilemma regarding which dance might be better suited for the beginning of the ball. She couldn't help it. Instinctively, her eyes sought Draco's looking for a guide. He did not provide an answer, however, but merely continued to watch her with a level gaze.
“I say!” Narcissa added, a bit sharply. “Is there something going on that I should be aware of? You know, staring really isn't polite.”
The remark was ostensibly directed at Draco, but Ginny knew that it was equally applicable to her. Flushing, she dragged her eyes from his once more and mustered her resolve to ignore him for the rest of the meal. She could not afford to be in Mrs. Malfoy's bad graces. It was astonishing enough that she would extend her charity to a Weasley as it was. She would not let Draco ruin this.
He had ruined too much already.
Malfoy Manor
It should have ended there. She should have thanked Draco for his help and never spoken to him again- or even should have foregone the “thank you”- it wasn't as if a Slytherin would expect civility anyhow. If only Ginny had been able to listen to her own better judgment none of it would have ever happened.
Of course, she hadn't listened. Like so many Weasley's before her, the prudent course was the least appealing. So it happened that, bright and early June 24th, more than a year later, she found herself walking toward the gates of Malfoy Manor, bound for her luncheon with the Lady of the House.
Ginny was grateful that she had decided to Apparate to Wiltshire instead of flooing. She had only just received her license, and she wasn't confident enough to travel directly to the house (assuming that the Malfoy's protective wards wouldn't prevent such an entry anyhow). In retrospect, however, she was grateful for the short walk from the center of Porton Down to the Manor on the hill beyond. She had time to collect thoughts and to give appearance a bit of final scrutiny.
After hours of agonizing in front of her mother's less than helpful mirror (“You really should cut a fringe, dear. I can hardly see your eyes under that lot of curls!”) she had decided to wear her hair down. It hung in thick, if somewhat unruly waves down her back, contrasting nicely with her Kelley green robes.
Ginny smoothed her skirt with her palms. The outfit wasn't new, but it was well tailored and was easily the most stylish thing she owned. It had been a present from the twins (who had argued, unsuccessfully, that she might prefer a dragonskin suit instead). Buying the robes (new!) in a boutique hidden away in Kensington had, heretofore, been the most glamorous experience of her life. She hoped that they would serve her well for this, her second peek into “how the other half lived.”
Chin up, shoulders back, and wearing a look of fierce determination, Ginny paused at the Manor's gates. In spite of her desire to appear unimpressed by the Malfoy riches, she had to catch her breath as she peered through the iron bars. The grounds went on as far as her eyes could see, comprised of a perfect blend of manicured lawns, walled gardens and surrounded by a suspiciously picturesque wilderness.
Ginny frowned. This wasn't how she had pictured the Malfoy seat at all. In her mind, she had envisioned bare rock and straggling shrubs, bats screeching overhead and, possibly a storm. The simply loveliness was surprising. “But then, why should that be?” She wondered. It ought to match her experience of the Malfoy's perfectly: an ugly picture in a pretty frame.
Forcing the frown from her lips, Ginny reached for the knocker on the gate. Before she could reach it, the heavy barrier swung open of its own accord. She stepped inside. Following a gravel path, she made her way to the house.
An elf was waiting just inside the front door, which opened for her immediately. He was holding a silver tray that, she realized after an embarrassing silence, was meant to receive her card. Having none, she turned her eyes to the elf. “Please tell Mrs. Malfoy that Miss Virginia Weasley has come to call.” She said in her most commanding tone. Then, when the little creature did not move immediately, added, “I was to meet her for lunch.”
“Of course, Miss.” The elf chirped in an almost comically dignified tone, “Mrs. Malfoy is in the garden, please follow me.”
Ginny clung to her resolution of refusing to gawk as they moved through the sprawling house. It was difficult. The furnishings in the entryway alone would have fetched a sum more than twice that for her parent's entire house. She managed her goal for one reason alone. Her attention was distracted by something else- the sickening certainty that Draco was close at hand.
After what seemed like a long walk, they left the house at last, passing through a pair of French doors onto a wide, airy Loggia. From there, they descended into a walled enclosure filled with every shape and color of rose that Ginny could possibly imagine.
The rich perfume of the flowers swirled around her as they made their way to a charming, vine-covered gazebo at the garden's center. A linen-covered table was set beneath it. Behind that, lifting her eyes at Ginny's arrival, was Narcissa Malfoy.
Ginny had seen Draco's mother only once before, at the Quidditch World Cup four summers before. Her impression of the woman was very vague: slender, attractive, blonde. Those words failed to capture the woman who greeted her now.
With a single glance at the older woman's sleek blue gown and perfectly coiffured hair, Ginny felt instantly gauche. Narcissa's features were as perfect as those painted on a china doll, and her skin was just as flawless. Even her posture seemed more effortlessly posh and refined than Miss Weasley could manage with her best efforts. Simply put, Mrs. Malfoy looked like a fairy queen.
“Miss Weasley?” Narcissa asked, her accent employing the same drawling vowels and clipped consonants that her husband favored. “I'm so pleased that you could come.” She smiled faintly, but the look did not reach her velvet blue eyes, both of which were fixed upon the girl appraisingly.
“Thank you very much for the invitation, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm grateful for any guidance you can offer,” Ginny meekly parroted her prepared speech. “I'm very excited about the prospect of attending the ball.”
“No doubt.” The blonde murmured, but with no trace of sarcasm in her voice.
The women stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Narcissa broke it, making a twirling gesture with her hand and saying: “Well, let me have a look at you.”
Feeling extraordinarily self-conscious, Ginny did as Mrs. Malfoy indicated, turning very slowly to permit a thorough scrutiny of her form. She could feel Narcissa's pale blue eyes raking critically over her skin. It was almost as if it were a physical touch.
When she had revolved completely, Ginny stopped, her brown eyes seeking a verdict from her hostess.
“Too plump.” She answered candidly, “But it's mostly in the right places. We have time, in any event. The skin is good, assuming we can do something about the freckles.” She gestured for Ginny to step closer, smiling faintly when the girl instantly obeyed.
“Your hair is darker than your mother's.” Narcissa remarked, in a tone that indicated that this was a good thing. She picked up an auburn lock and twisted it around her finger. “It's striking, actually. You'll want a yellow dress.”
Her lips pressed together in a frown as she considered. “or…no…green.”
She let the curl slide abruptly from her fingers. Ginny noticed that the woman's attention had suddenly directed somewhere else. A smile touched Narcissa's lips- the first real one that Ginny had seen, and then Mrs. Malfoy said. “Ah, Ginevra. I believe you've met my son? He'll be joining us for luncheon this afternoon.”
-----
Narcissa's eyes narrowed shrewdly, capturing the identical looks of horror that flickered briefly on the faces of her guest and her son. “Unless you are uncomfortable with the arrangement?” She added.
Ginny wasn't sure if the question was directed at herself or Draco but she replied with a nervous nod. “Uh, sure.” She mumbled, even as her interior monologue hissed at her. She noticed that Mrs. Malfoy's eyes had lingered and she saw, to her horror that her hand had involuntarily reached to the chain around her neck touching the outline of the ring that hung there beneath her robes. Worried, she jerked her hand away. “That is, I'd be...charmed.” She amended in her poshest diction.
Mrs. Malfoy pursed her lips slightly, giving her face the appearance that Ginny remembered from the World Cup- a look like she had something smelly under her nose, but the expression evaporated as she turned to her son and gestured that both he, and Ginny should take a seat.
“Draco, darling.” She practically purred to her son, “This is Miss Ginevra Weasley- you know the Weasley's, “the insinuation in her tone was too faint to justify reaction. Accordingly, Ginny stared fixedly at her napkin. “Ginny's debbing at the ball. Isn't that excellent news?”
“Of course, mother.” Draco replied, evenly. Ginny had the urge to raise her eyes, but stifled the impulse with her sense of absolute certainty that his serene gray eyes were fixed directly on her face.
Narcissa waited a moment, as if expecting an additional response. When none was forthcoming, she chatted on. The pleasant enthusiasm in her voice was an obvious attempt to diffuse the awkwardness that had settled around the table. “I believe Draco was the year ahead of you at school, Miss Weasley? Didn't you attend with one of her brothers, darling? A...Donald, was it? Robert?”
“Ron.” Draco answered flatly. He was still staring. She could feel it.
“Ah, yes. Ron.” A note of curiosity had crept into Narcissa's voice. She reached forward for a bone china teapot and began to pour as she continued, “Draco's been working in London, haven't you, dearest? With our Agent. He's been ever so helpful in straightening out the Black accounts. Things got so muddled while my cousin was away.”
Ginny was forced to admire how Narcissa euphemized Sirius Black's incarceration in Azkaban. To hear her speak, he might have been on extended holiday those many years. “He's been such a help; invaluable really. Lucius and I are so proud. We-”
“Mother...” Draco truncated the expression of motherly pride. “I'm sure that Miss Weasley isn't interested.”
Miss Weasley. He made it sound so cold! At last Ginny succumbed to temptation, and let her eyes drift up.
She was right. He was staring. Actually, glowering was, perhaps, more apt. His irises were like gray clouds radiating with all the intensity of a building storm.
“Of course she's interested, Draco.” Narcissa answered for Ginny, but nevertheless changed the topic of conversation.
Ginny was only vaguely aware that lunch was being served.
She picked at her salmon salad as Narcissa took up the conversation again. She was saying something about preparations for the Ball. It was, apparently, being held at the Manor itself....florists...caterers.....As she had feared, Ginny couldn't tear her eyes away and was gazing back at Draco surely as if he had placed her under a trance.
“Don't you think so, Miss Weasley?”
Ginny had the impression that this was not the first time that Narcissa had voiced the question, and she blinked rapidly, pulling herself back to consciousness. “I-er, of course.” She replied, then flushed. “That is, uhm...what did you ask?”
“I asked if you thought the girls would prefer replacing the first waltz with a quadrille.” Narcissa repeated patiently. “It might make things a bit looser to start the evening off.”
“I, uhm...” Ginny was only vaguely aware that the waltz and quadrille were both dances and, mired as it was in thoughts of Draco, her mind couldn't begin to formulate and answer to the dilemma regarding which dance might be better suited for the beginning of the ball. She couldn't help it. Instinctively, her eyes sought Draco's looking for a guide. He did not provide an answer, however, but merely continued to watch her with a level gaze.
“I say!” Narcissa added, a bit sharply. “Is there something going on that I should be aware of? You know, staring really isn't polite.”
The remark was ostensibly directed at Draco, but Ginny knew that it was equally applicable to her. Flushing, she dragged her eyes from his once more and mustered her resolve to ignore him for the rest of the meal. She could not afford to be in Mrs. Malfoy's bad graces. It was astonishing enough that she would extend her charity to a Weasley as it was. She would not let Draco ruin this.
He had ruined too much already.
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