Chapter Eight: Haute Couture.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.
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Gossamer sat inside of Gamp Townhouse the morning of Garnet Fawley's Charity Gala. Watching with no small amount of envy as Coco was fitted for the event. Even though they were not inside of a fashion house, and instead in the privacy of their own home, the girl still could not express how unfair she found it all. That she could already dance an effortless waltz, tango, and samba in order without cracking a single breath at eleven, but was still not allowed to attend. The pretty seamstresses might have been tipped a pretty coin by House Potter for their troubles, yet the Daily Prophet would surely tip more for any childish protestations which might slip from the heiress's mouth. So, she reclined quietly on her aunt's sunny balcony in a lounge chair. Uncommonly long legs soaking in the golden hue of summer.
Peeking inside occasionally the young witch would catch glimpses of Coco billowing about in flattering gowns. The flapper was praised often by the fashion columnists of British newspapers for her unique style. From what Gossamer could see that evening would be no exception, with her aunt embracing that same 1920's flair which dripped with modern panache. Then in the blink of an eye Coco would dance back behind the changing screen prompting the girl's attention back to her daily chore. Several weeks after the fact she was still sending letters of thanks to the guests of her Wand Choosing Ceremony. Both for their mere attendance and the pile of presents she and Glimpa were still struggling to sort. Always present in the back of her head was the nagging reminder that such tedious courtesy paled in comparison to some of the other ceremonies which awaited her. A coming-of-age ball and her seventeenth birthday chief amongst them.
She allowed a finger to dangle so it could gently caress the wand holstered to her left wrist. Perhaps, the Girl-Who-Lived conceded mentally, she would be pleasantly surprised when push finally came to shove. So with a gentle smile Gossamer decided to ignore the desire she harbored to attend Garnet Fawley's Charity Gala. One day she would be able to go to even fancier social extravaganzas, and then Gossamer would prove herself a worthy heiress. For an hour more the Potter girl worked on her pile of letters prior to finishing.
By the time Coco was done purchasing her expensive, new wardrobe the girl was buried deep in a book of American Herbology. Gunnhilda had noted long ago that the girl had a natural gift, well beyond a talent, for Herbology. According to the older witch Americans were far more advanced in Potions and Herbology. So a steady stream of books written by Herbologists from across the pond steadily flowed into Gossamer's personal library. The girl already anticipated that she would do the same sort of thing when it came to her other subjects. Britain was very much a shade of its former prestige in the realm of magical innovations. Mostly because brilliant muggleborns, sickened at being treated like second-class citizens, had been immigrating steadily to other countries.
"Darling," Her more motherly aunt announced after reentering the room from sending the army of seamstresses back to their various fashion houses. "Don't you want to see the dress I am going to wear this evening?" Gossamer shut the hefty book eagerly prior to slipping back inside of her aunt's luxurious chambers. She would have released a squeal of excitement if such behavior were not what Gunnhilda would disapprovingly labelled, 'Unbefitting of an heiress to two Houses.' Coquelicot Potter stood before the vanity squeezing a spritz of her trademark narcissus oil perfume. Clad in a pastel-green gown of the airiest silk the girl had ever seen. A pair of Gucci heels were revealed slightly as her aunt moved to wrap a cloak, of the same color and fabric as the dress, about her elegant neck. It swept about the floor in a manner reminiscent to a train.
Glimpa appeared without even being summoned, such was her typically efficient style. Cradled in the House Elf's arms was the massive chasset of Potter jewelry. "Thank you Glimpa," Coco smiled earnestly at the Gamp family servant. Much to Gossamer's relief her aunt had professed a disliking for the enslavement of House Elves several years earlier. Without pause the gorgeous woman reached inside for a slight amount of time before turning around again. Now a necklace of pink diamonds glittered about that lovely neck while thickly banded silver bracelets dangled strikingly on her aunt's slender wrists. "How do I look, girls?" The flapper queried in a confident manner, "Will Astor Tugwood have a heart attack when he sees me?"
Gossamer was far too gob smacked by the impressive scene to answer in the affirmative. "Yes," Glimpa answered articulately, "Astor Tugwood will certainly be impressed, Madam Potter." They all then made their way together down the steps to the luxurious fireplace meant for travelling. The Girl-Who-Lived was drawn into a swift hug before Coco pressed a sweet kiss to her head. Then in a flash of emerald-green she watched her enviably beautiful great-aunt disappear for a night of dancing and passion. Both Glimpa and the young witch would have spent the night staring at the empty air left behind by Coquelicot Potter if Gunnhilda had not appeared from behind.
"Glimpa," The crone somewhat dismissively addressed the House Elf, "You will help my niece dress swiftly for another event this evening." Gossamer now spotted that her other aunt was dressed in elegant garb. A headdress of feathers spouted off of the witch's silver head and she looked every bit the matriarch of a pureblood dynasty. Without prompting the Gamp woman swept forth gracefully to where her baffled niece struggled to formulate words. Vestiges of the beauty Gunnhilda once possessed flickered about against the marble entry chamber. She paused and reached upwards to gently caress Gossamer's astonished face. "Coquelicot will be too preoccupied with Astor Tugwood to protest what we must accomplish tonight. As we speak Cassiopeia is no doubt already welcoming Rita Skeeter, and many other guests, into her residence for an intimate fete."
"The interview!" Gossamer exclaimed suddenly, already comprehending her aunt's plans. Recalling how Gunnhilda had already arranged some sort of interview with the Daily Prophet. She, along with Cassiopeia and Lucretia, were plotting to spirit her away to some luxurious event. One filled with cameras and prominent society columnists like Rita Skeeter. A move that would certainly provide them with the support of wizarding Britain in securing House Black's full inheritance. "I knew you gave in too soon to Coco," Her voice was uncertain, as going along with such a cunning scheme would break the promise she made to her other aunt.
"We will, of course, one day host an official societal debut for you like nothing ever seen in Britain before," Gunnhilda grinned sneakily. "But you are too talented, too ambitious and clever to be locked away entirely until that moment. I refuse to let an heiress of your worth, my heiress, wither away beneath anonymity. Tonight we will catch the eye of Britain, and you will fight for what is rightfully yours." All the acquiescent contentment Gossamer had mentally embraced while watching Coco dress in those ravishing outfits flooded away easily enough. She would go to Cassiopeia's extravaganza, and all of Wizarding Britain would be forced to take note. Sensing that her niece would go willingly along with this turn of events, Gunnhilda called for Snitty.
He appeared a split second later carrying a delightfully green gown. So deep a green that it almost matched the vibrancy of Gossamer's eyes. "Snitty has altered Madam Gamp's Givenchy evening gown to match Miss Potter-Gamp's measurements." The Elf looked absolutely tickled at this turn of events as well. No doubt he simply enjoyed that they were defying Coco's orders.
"Excellent," Gunnhilda returned to her haughty, dignified self, "Now you shall get ready for the evening. I want her looking perfect Glimpa, not a hair out of pla-." Thankfully the House Elf apparated them upwards to Gossamer's Gryffindor-themed chambers right as Gunnhilda started to snap in their direction.
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Coco giggled sharply as Astor Tugwood jerked her about sharply to a jazzy tune. They were the fastest, most talented pair on the floor which was certainly no surprise. Almost as soon as they stood to dance a competition started between them. Both silently trying to prove themself faster, more coordinated than the other. Unsurprisingly even that challenge almost proved itself to also end with a stalemate given that Astor had been a top Quodpot player in school just like Coco had been Quidditch Captain. At least until a vicious kneecapping attack by a bat-wielding Slytherin ended any professional dreams. That dormant injury now also resulted in the Head Unspeakable losing her match of dancing talent with the American diplomat as well.
"What's wrong, Potter," He smiled charmingly as they scuttled back to their prominent seating arrangements, "Did my rumba leave you feeling breathless."
"You always leave me breathless," The flapper admitted easily enough, secretly somewhat happy for her wonky kneecap. Men liked to feel confident, powerful, and influential. Cat-and-mouse games were always fun, but Coco knew well enough that she lacked the corresponding weakness. At least the injury, for all the disappointment it had caused, reminded her to escalate the level of intimacy at which she flirted with the handsome suitor. She swept into the seat which Astor gallanty pulled out for her, admiring his expensive robes as he himself sat down.
What was surely going to be a suave retort cut itself short of his lips as they both began to snicker at a most unfortunate sight. Eros Goyle, spinster great-aunt of the Gregory Goyle Sr., wore a monstrous gown that looked as though it belonged from the Regency era. While that style of clothing was still popular enough in Wizarding Britain, it was mostly the plunging, plaid neckline which set them to laughter. "Those Goyle women love to think themselves more cunning than they actually are." Coco remarked quietly to Astor, "She approached me at a Ministry Ball several years ago. Had the audacity to suggest that my niece be betrothed to her nephew's youngest son. 'As fitting a match as any halfblood could hope for'."
The Tugwood heir snorted derisively at that. "From my dealings with the Goyles I wouldn't wish a marriage to their bloodline upon my worst enemy." His grey eyes zoned away from the embarrassing spectacle to a recently arrived Amelia Bones. "Blegh," Astor leant forth to whisper into Coco's ear, the action causing a pleasant shiver to roll over her spine. "Some American businessman mistook a few Hags for prostitutes in Diagon Alley yesterday. The damage was unbelievable. I never want to argue with that one again." A duo of Banshee performers moved to the center of room as the pair spoke. The beautiful noises which followed left Coco feeling warm and safe.
Pausing mentally for a moment on the thought of the American businessman's questionable sexual preferences, she turned to him. "Was her temper truly that foul?" Many influential Ministry employees had proven quite disenchanted with the news of Coco's promotion in the past week. The potentiality of a new rival vying for the Ministership was an obvious reason to sink into the fogs of misery. Especially when that rival happened to be a world famous, time travelling intellectual with many enviable accomplishments beneath her belt. Coco simply found it surprising that the morally sound DMLE Head would prove so sullen about such a development. Though it always could have been a mere coincidence. Beautiful ballerinas appeared from what seemed like thin air. Streams of silvery light followed the group as they danced around the singers.
"Immensely so," He sighed miserably, "She almost killed me with that glare of h-." The blood splattered almost before Coco even recognized what had even happened. Hot, red, and staining her previously gorgeous gown. A stranger, some nameless socialite, slumped headfirst against the circular table while an arrow composed of magical energy fizzled to nothingness from her awkwardly bent neck. "Aqua eructo!" Astor bellowed whilst leaping to his feet nimbly, Coco watched a jettison of fearsome flames matched his tidal wave of water head on. The table cracked to blackened cinders. Loud screams replaced the lovely music which had been playing only moments earlier. Five of the ten ballerinas were directing a powerful barrage of attacks in various directions.
Guests dying left and right, Coco watched with horror as one of the few Aurors assigned to the high-profile event was struck by a Killing Curse. Fingers reaching desperately up her dress she withdrew her wand swiftly enough to deflect a Smashing Hex sent in Astor's direction. Across the ballroom Amelia Bones used some obscure spell to cause a ballerina-assassin's head to explode into jagged bits of skull. What followed was a fierce duel between her and two more of the four remaining foes. In what was clearly a lucky moment they managed to send the DMLE Head flying backwards at least twenty feet onto the polished flooring. Coco wasted no time filling in the vacuum left by Bones in the duel.
With a nonverbal swipe of her wand the wooden planks about the ballerinas all began to violently shred themselves upwards. One of the less proficient duellists out of the group stumbled in response. Astor quickly hit her with a Cutting Charm in response prompting the woman's side to explode outwards at a sickening speed. Coco followed his expert choice of spell up with an Entrail-Expelling Curse. Every single innard the ballerina could offer was blown sideways upon the broken floor. Unfortunately the remaining, incredibly angry, three were not as easy to catch off guard. A loud series of whizzing pops and bangs were exchanged as Coco and Astor fought in tandem. She finally managed to skewer another one with a barrage of the scattered silverware summoned from the floor when Astor fell.
Another arrow spiralled through the prior to ripping into the American's right side. In her fury Coco shot a powerful stunner right into the face of one of the last two ballerinas. Overturning the burnt table so that it would act as a temporary barrier she began to tend desperately to Astor's wounds. Looking at him now the Potter witch realized with dread that he also had an awful cut on his midsection as well. Every bit of flesh around the severe wound was blackened by Dark magic. The tainted blood was rushing so fast, far too fast for her to handle. She might have been one of Britain's top Charm's Mistresses, but Coco's specialty had mostly ignored Healing Magic. Only one vague fail-safe approach to dealing with such severe blood loss popped into her head, yet it was risky. A Stasis Charm could be applied like a bubble to the wound though it required the patient to have a specific heartbeat.
Hissing nervously Coco worked some of the darkest magic she ever considered casting. A foul incantation, an equally foul action, and a wicked waving of her wand made it possible to in turn cast the Stasis Charm. As it surrounded like a bubble across his damaged torso the witch realized something. The sounds of battle were significantly quietened. Peering above the table she noted that the psychotic ballerinas had finished off the last of their opponents. Any Aurors and guests who had posed a threat were lying incapacitated on the blood-slickened floors while all of the other guests were long fled. She watched the two send Killing Curses into the prone forms of their fallen comrades. Doubtlessly it was to ensure no torture methods employed by the Hit Wizards could obtain any useful information.
Steeling herself mentally she glanced at Astor's pale face. Allowing a soothing hand to caress his now stoney, freezing cold cheek. He was perhaps the best man that Coco had ever involved herself with. Handsome, intelligent, ambitious, funny, and even willing to fight alongside her against a botched assassination attempt. Fingers tightening around the wand her hazel eyes narrowed as she prepared one of her signature duelling moves. A bolt of wild electricity screamed towards the wary foes. Only one managed to produce a sufficiently encompassing shield while the other was sent into a violent seizure. The final assassin launched the remaining cracks of electricity flying back in Coco's direction before moving to flee. Teeth grinding in rage at such cowardice the woman struggled to dissipate the conjured, miniature storm of lightning.
Then she launched into a swift pursuit. Her cumbersome heels dissipated to nothingness with the briefest flick of a wand. Soon enough Coco had her prey cornered just outside of the entrance to Garnet Fawley's ballroom. A cowering crowd of formerly haughty aristocrats pinned the bitch on one side, while Coco stood on the other. The ballerina released a massive, powerful variant of the Banishing Charm which sent the crowd behind her scattering backwards violently. With the greater threat handled the assassin lashed out at Coco with a rapid Leg-Locker Curse which caught the woman off guard. Hobbling gracelessly the Head Unspeakable watched with horror as her wand was wrenched high into the air.
"Ready to finally die? You time travelling whore?" The ballerina asked in a booming, venomous tone. Coco watched as that wand started to slash downwards angrily across the air. Preparing to end her life. In that moment a girl named Gossamer flashed into her devastated mind's eye. She was most assuredly not prepared to leave her precious darling, daughter in all-but-name, for the cold embrace of death. Not with such dangerous foes lurking in every corner.
That stream of thoughts were what allowed Coquelicot Potter to twist her fingers in a flowery, desperate series of motions. Snarling animalistically at the effort of such a feat she summoned the magic forth. "CONFRINGO," The former duelling champion watched as that extraordinary Blast Curse roared forwards loud as a jet. Any pain from the consequent blistering of her hands faded away in favor of glee. Her would-have-been assassin was thrown backwards into the floor by a brilliant blast of blue light. Exhausted from her efforts Coco fell backwards with both legs twisting awkwardly. Hazel eyes forced to stare forth into the formerly elegant ballroom which now seemed to be the seventh pit of hell.
"I owe Garnet Fawley royally," She groaned exasperatedly, already wondering how big of a donation would be required to compensate for such grandscale carnage.
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For only the second time in her life Gossamer cavorted about a beautiful, sprawling home while tittering elegantly with all manner of individuals. Compliments abounded profusely over her newest dress while the two photographers present incessantly snapped blindingly bright photos. Despite the dancing black spots which refused to go away she whirled about endlessly. The girl kept in mind, however, that things could have been far more uncomfortable. Cassiopeia and Lucretia only until quite recently kept themselves firmly entrenched in the company of blood purist circles. Now that they had been partially excommunicated for challenging Cygnus's claim it seemed as though the guest list were much exclusive than it might have been.
Gossamer was also quite clever enough to recognize that she was the main draw. Wizards and witches who typically defaulted to Dumbledore's side in Wizengamot matters were there to see the Girl-Who-Lived. Influential muggleborns who might previously have not contemplated fraternizing with anyone from House Black eagerly shook her hand by the dozen. Even some celebrities with reputations which rivalled her own were present. All packed tightly together inside of an ancient, Black-owned manor that sat upon a beach on the Isle of Wight. A luxurious abode which served as a constant reminder that if she managed to yield the Black cousins new allies it might one day be her own residence. Inspired by this realization Gossamer Potter-Gamp, Black would also be tacked on that lengthy surname soon enough, practically exuded charisma. Leaving a group of old wizards cackling in uproarious laughter, socialite gossip mongers tittering approvingly, and intellectuals hmm-ing approvingly. This effortless socialization carried her through the entire first hour of the party.
Until she met Horace Slughorn.
"You are so like her," He remarked amazedly from his roost beside the beverage table.
"Pardon, sir?" She asked pleasantly while turning around gracefully to address the stranger.
"Thos-," The man choked with a sad emotion marking his face before pausing as though collecting . Gazing with an odd intensity into her eyes. "Horace Slughorn," He introduced himself with a sudden pompousness prior to shaking her hand, "Former Potion's Master of Hogwarts." Those gooseberry-colored eyes observed Gossamer with what could only have been described as greed.
"You must have taught my parents, Mr. Slughorn" She ventured demurely. Gossamer loved to hear stories of her parents, as it seemed most who knew them were staunchly allied with Dumbledore, or brutally murdered.
He smiled abashedly, "Your mother was my favorite student. I have yet to come across another human being so compassionate, dedicated, and decent. That goes without even mentioning her talents in Potions and Charms. " A thoughtful furrow wrinkled his brow as he peered speculatively at Gossamer. "James Potter was quite the student as well. A Transfiguration prodigy, he was, and I always reckoned he would be the one to replace Minerva McGonagall." Slughorn nodded in her direction, "Do you have any particular interests yet, Miss Potter?"
"Gossamer is a talented Quidditch player," Cassiopeia came from behind, surprising the girl for the second time. "Gunnhilda Gamp has also told me that she has a way with all manner of plants. Quite the Herbologist." The old man standing next to the Black witch seemed quite familiar, and Slughorn recognized him somehow. "Let me introduce my colleague, Newton Scamander, to you both," She nodded at him, "You already know Professor Slughorn, of course." A possessive arm wrapped tightly around Gossamer's elbow, "Let me formally introduce you to Gossamer Potter-Gamp. The newest addition to House Black, our shining star."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss. Potter," Newt Scamander grinned with his widely renowned awkwardness.
"Likewise, Mr. Scamander," She reached forth to shake his hand. "I must tell you how much I appreciate your contributions to the preservation of both magical and non-magical animals. To think my generation could have been born in a world without dragons, or Demiguise had you not shown so much responsibility." That was only half-true. Gossamer was well aware of his failed Werewolf Register which had been allowed to sink into corruption, and resulted in much ostracization of many helpless Lycanthropes.
"An appreciation for magical creatures and Herbology?" Slughorn smiled genially at his former students, "I daresay Miss. Potter-Gamp will be one of the most accomplished witches of her age." He sniffed righteously, "I do happen to have a nose for such things."'
Unsure of what that meant Gossamer felt Cassiopeia's arm tighten closer about her shoulders. The four of them conversing around a sort of invisible topic that the girl could not put a finger on. Then finally she was pulled away to isolation by the Black witch. "You made an excellent impression, girl," Those brown eyes shined, that greying-black hair whipped excitedly about. "I intend to arrange the greatest assembly of internships a child could ever dream of. Newt owes me a favor, Horace Slughorn will be only too happy to 'collect' you, and I could even get Bathilda Bagshot, or some hotshot Auror into the mix!" Gossamer felt her mouth almost drop at the idea of spending a summer with such prodigious intellectuals.
"Of course," The Magizoologist nodded to herself somewhat, "We will have to have another event, even bigger, over your winter holidays." Then that gaze flickered over to where Gunnhilda stood across the room, gesturing sternly at them. "That means Rita Skeeter is ready for you, Gossamer," Cassioepia crossed both arms elegantly, "I would wish you the best of luck with that lying, gossip mongering bloodclaat. But you will be a full-fledged Black soon, and you should know now that luck has a habit of avoiding our ilk nowadays." With that inspiring bit of wisdom she marched away to commingle with all of Gossamer's admirers. Leaving the girl to face her first ever meeting with Rita Skeeter.
An interview which could either win her public support and House Black, or nothing at all.
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Okay, I am literally just doing a ton of rocket science this semester. Just math and science all day long. As a result you can expect that my updates will be slow-coming. Like always, however, I can assure you that they will keep rolling out. One at a time. Please review, and tell me what you think. This was a super long chapter, and it probs has a ton of grammatical errors...
