I was always under the impression that purebloods had very Victorian ways about them, and it seemed entirely appropriate that their courtship rituals would follow. Every flower mentioned in this story has a particular meaning within the context that they are mentioned.
He is watching her as she moves about the floor, her long hair floats like gossamer as she spins. Clad in all in black, she is grace personified and the sinewy muscles of her long limbs rippling beneath her leotards remind him of a panther moving effortlessly through the forest. He is spellbound by her moves. They are at once beautiful and erotic, and he is filled with the need to touch her. She looks to him, her eyes holding him in their spell, and begins to move in his direction. Her long, lean legs extend into a running leap and he reaches out for her. When he looks at her in his arms, her eyes are wide with shock and pain. His hands are bloody, and he pulls a knife from her ribs. The darkened room echoes with familiar laughter.
Épiphanie woke with a start, Draco's horrified face swimming in her subconscious. She shuffled, half-awake, through her cottage in the players' village at Dragon Grove Arena and pulled open her front door just as Draco apparated into the garden. He is wearing yesterday's clothes, his long platinum hair disheveled.
"Did you see it?" he asked, a discomfited expression on his face.
"No. I only felt you awaken." She opened her arms and he stepped into them, pulling her close, and clinging to her as if she would disappear if he let go. She took his hand and led him into the house where they climbed into her antique wrought iron bed and held one another silently. Épiphanie dropped off to sleep within minutes. Draco's eyelids did not fall until the first orange rays of morning touched the sheer curtains at her bedroom window.
Épiphanie opened the box and gazed at the ring sitting between the two halves of a velveteen pillow. The stone and setting were ringed with diamonds. Draco laid his hands upon her shoulders and leaned over, touching his cheek to hers.
"What's that?" he asked.
"My class ring. Tante Celeste sent it." She shrugged. "I had actually forgotten all about it. Maman had ordered it as a birthday gift for me before I came to the UK."
Draco gingerly took the ring from the box and examined it. It was white gold with an oval pearl, encircled with the carved words, Joseph N. Clark. The setting was ringed by diamonds. On one side, there was an English bulldog beneath the word BULLDOGS. On the other was carved the year 2000 along with a majorette wielding a baton. He'd never seen a ring like it. Hogwarts didn't have any symbolic items other than uniforms and house jumpers, hats and scarves, all of which were perfectly practical to life in the Scottish highlands. He was certain that of those items, the only thing he'd clung to in the year since they'd completed their education was his Slytherin scarf and the first game snitch he'd ever caught. Draco took Épiphanie's hand and slipped the ring on her finger.
"Seems kind of dumb to even have it now. I didn't graduate from Clark Prep." She held up her hand and examined the ring.
"Do you regret that?" he asked. "You did attend school there for two years." Épiphanie shrugged.
"I don't know. No, I guess not. It wasn't necessarily one of the best schools in the city, but we did okay. I had friends and stuff, but even though I was popular, I didn't really feel like I fit in. Of course, now I know why." She smiled vacantly.
Draco pulled her into an embrace and played in the soft waves of her long hair. Since she wore it braided most days for Quidditch, the mass of curls had softened and straightened somewhat; less resembling that of her friend, Hermione Granger, whose bushy mane always looked as if it had a current of electricity running through it. Draco kissed her forehead.
"You don't have to wear it, you know. I don't think your aunt meant to upset you by sending it. I think it's rather nice, however. Hogwarts doesn't have any such thing. Although, I must say I honestly don't believe that any of the recent alumni would particularly cherish a reminder of our school years—particularly those in our class." He grimaced. Épiphanie nodded sympathetically. "That doesn't mean we don't have our mementos."
"Yeah, I've heard that stupid snitch buzzing in the case on your desk." She gave him a smirk. Draco's ears turned pink and he smiled back at her.
"And I seem to recall a certain witch twirling a baton and dancing by herself down by the lake when we were in school." He winked and glanced briefly to the collection of majorette batons neatly arranged in a corner of her parlor. She smiled broadly.
"Touché." Épiphanie wrinkled her nose. "Meh, I think I'll wear it—at least for now. We should get going or we'll be late." She gave Draco a chaste peck and pulled out of his embrace. He offered her his arm so they could disapparate.
Seconds later, they were stepping out of a disused public restroom in the Underground. Draco checked the soles of his expensive shoes for any signs that the fetid and stagnant water that seemed to cover the room had soiled them. Épiphanie tugged on his sleeve and they moved through the terminal and boarded a train to Leicester Square.
Loud music filtered to the hallway outside the loft in a tony building just off Charing Cross Road, and they were unsure anyone could hear them knock, as several minutes passed before the door was opened by Dean Thomas, who looked surprised to see them, despite having invited them himself days earlier. A nearly imperceptible grin tugged at one side of Draco's face.
"Come on in!" Dean gestured for them to enter, waving his wand as he did so. The volume of the stereo lowered drastically, and several items leaped into a chest which quickly closed and locked itself. "Have a seat, and let me see if I can move Seamus along!" He disappeared up a metal staircase, his bare feet barely making a sound.
"You get the feeling that we might have interrupted something?" Épiphanie gave Draco a look as they sat on the modern-looking divan in the center of the large, open room. The loft was long and retained much of its original design, with walls of exposed brick and wood plank floors which had been stained and finished in a golden hue. There was a sculptural divider, which served as a large wine rack for an impressive collection of vintages, separating the sitting and dining area from a well-appointed galley kitchen. The walls were adorned with fantastic works of art, many of which bore Dean's signature. Taking advantage of the natural light that poured through the large windows, one corner had been set up as an art studio. There was a work table and a collection of easels where they saw at least one canvas covered with a drape. A number of drawing pads were scattered about the room.
Épiphanie and Draco looked upwards at the myriad sounds of thumps—which sounded almost as if a wrestling match was going on above—and muffled voices before Dean and Seamus appeared on the stairs, smiling genially.
"Sorry, about that!" Dean said, joining them in the sitting area. "Some of us seem to have found ourselves chained to the bed this morning and simply could not get up."
Seamus snorted as he made his way into the kitchen. "Wine?" he offered.
"Thank you," Épiphanie replied.
"Yes, please," said Draco.
Seamus joined them a moment later, levitating a tray laid with Young Cheddar, Havarti and Tomme d'Alsace cheeses, with water crackers, and another with glasses and a bottle of Merlot.
"I stumbled upon this label practically buried in th' back of a wine merchant over in the Royal Opera Arcade. It's th' first Tuscan I'd tried—Fuoco Serpentino—that's the vineyard. One taste and I was in love!" Seamus poured glasses for everyone. "Wait til you try the Sauvignon blanc; it's deliciously crisp!"
Draco eyed the bottle and a slow grin spread across his face as he lifted his glass, swirling the contents. "I'm quite flattered that you like it. I'll have the master vintner send you a case or two," he said, taking a sip.
"Beg yer pardon?"
"Fuoco Serpentino—it's the label produced by the Malfoy vineyard in Tuscany. Good to know that even Gryffindors have some level of good taste in wines." He smirked and lifted the glass to his lips.
"Figures!" Dean scoffed good-naturedly. "Malfoys have their hands in everything!"
"Aye! Well, I had been wonderin' if we should add it to our cellar at th' club. We hadn't yet found a really good wizard-produced label."
"Well, if you've done your research, you'll know that Fuoco Serpentino is certainly among the finest of labels. Fortunately for me and my financial interests, Lucius was not so foolish as to tangle the Malfoy business interests in his political dealings. Of course, having little interest in the goings on of the winery, beyond increasing the bottom line and snagging a few vintages for the cellar, he never noticed that his vintners had no qualms supplying muggle distributors and collectors. Since our name is not on the label, sales have continued at a steady pace in the wizarding world as well." He smirked wickedly. "Orders from muggle wine merchants currently far outstrip wizard collectors. The Sauvignon blanc has been widely respected throughout Europe for decades."
"Now, that's funny!" Dean chuckled.
"So where is this club, and when are we going to be invited to check it out? You know I'm down to shake my groove thang!" Épiphanie asked later, as they sat down at the glass and steel trestle table in the dining area. Seamus served a quiche Florentine for lunch, with a bottle of Draco's previously raved about Sauvignon blanc. "That dancehall you were throwin' down when we got here—I love Beenie Man!"
"Aye, dancehall's me favorite. It's a couple years old, but Who Am I, just rocks!"
"The club's just out Charing Cross Road on the edge of Soho," said Dean. "It actually backs against Diagon Alley. How's that for luck? We figure if we do well, we might apply for a portal."
"Ye should see the mural Dean's got planned for behind the bar!"
Dean's dark skin appeared a bit flushed, and he toyed with the silver band, adorned with the single sapphire, on his little finger as he shot Seamus a look.
"I erm—that's kind of why I invited you over—I wanted to get your approval on…" He pushed his chair away from the table with a noisy scrape and went over to the easel containing the covered painting.
Épiphanie and Draco turned to watch him. Dean drew back the cloth that covered the wide canvas and turned the easel to them. Épiphanie's eyes were wide and Draco's lips parted in amazement. She rose from her chair and moved closer to the painting.
"Is that…me?" she asked.
The image stood out against a black background. The stark vines of belladonna flowers framed a likeness of Épiphanie, clad in a lavender hebesha telf trimmed in aubergine embroidery, her jeweled hair covered in a netela. She looked over her shoulder as she reclined on a throne of entwined mahogany tree roots.
"I haven't enchanted her yet, because I wanted to be sure you…I hope you like it."
"Wait—what is that? Is that a—" she reached her hand towards the painting, but drew back before touching the image.
"Dragonfly patronus," Dean replied, his gaze flickering to Draco momentarily. The silvery insect was barely visible among the vines.
"My god, Dean! That's—I have no words! I'm—I'm flabbergasted. Are you sure you want to place my portrait in your club?"
"Well, I had a dream of this image, and she had no face until I started sketching. I was a bit stunned myself when I recognized your face, but it just seemed fitting."
"The club's name is Nightshade," Seamus said.
"The beautiful enchantress," said Draco. He went to her and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I can't think of a more fitting tribute than your visage charming the masses like a siren, my immortal beloved."
He pressed himself against her back, brushing aside her hair and trailing a line of kisses up her neck until he reached her earlobe, where he nipped at the flesh behind the gold hoop in her ear. Épiphanie shuddered, and her brown skin flushed with embarrassment as she realized her friends were watching them.
She wasn't unaccustomed to his open displays of affection. In fact, her mind drifted back to a particularly public lap dance she'd given Draco only a year ago. There was something in Dean's gaze, however, that gave her pause. She suddenly realized that he wasn't looking at her; he was watching Draco with something like thinly veiled amusement and deliberate curiosity. When she turned her mind to Draco's, he suddenly seemed to come back to himself, blocking her out, and returned to the discussion at hand.
"Your work is distinctive, Dean. It's not like anything we have at the Manor, or even that I can recall seeing upon the walls of Hogwarts Castle." He moved towards an abstract hanging on the wall, his fingers lingering in the clasp of Épiphanie's for the briefest moment, encouraging her to join him.
"Well, I'm drawn by more of the muggle artistic influences, which are less romanticized than wizarding art. I prefer the post-impressionist and abstract styles." Dean's voice was proud as he spoke of his passion.
"Perhaps I might commission a portrait," Draco turned to him, and then cast a glance at Épiphanie. "As you seem to have such an eye for capturing The Lady's aura."
"Ah, Malfoy—I don't know. I've never—"
"Then you absolutely must! The Malfoy collection of notable art is surpassed only by Hogwarts itself. I am, of course, prepared to pay you a handsome sum." Draco leveled a persuasive gaze.
"Well, perhaps we can discuss it and see."