Saturday 13th August 1994
Harry was relaxing in the Malfoy library on Saturday evening with one of his new birthday books, Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed. He'd promised Narcissa he would stay still and do nothing to upset the line of his robes, so was quietly reading when Draco finally finished fussing with his own robes and hair and came and found him.
"The guests should begin arriving soon," Draco announced, "and mother wants you to join us in the receiving line."
"Who's invited that I know?" Harry asked, laying his book aside obediently. "I know a few of our friends are coming, thank Merlin."
"Apart from Ministry people and the like? Basically, everyone in our year from Slytherin, and a few extra people, like Luna. Neville cannot attend. From the upper years there's Flint, and Derrick, since you've taken him under your wing. Percival Weasley-"
"Percy's your token Gryffindor?" teased Harry.
"He is not the only Gryffindor invited," Draco said defensively. "We asked Neville too, remember. There are some Ministry people too who I think were Gryffindors."
"Uh huh," Harry said sceptically. "All the Slytherins though? How about Zabini?"
"Yes, he's coming. We get along alright, even if we're not especially close. He's better friends with Nott. And he's from an Ancient family, of course. There's also a handful of father's friends who are in the Ministry or on the Hogwarts Board, and some people from the St. Mungo's Board since mother makes a lot of donations, and a friend or two-"
"How is that in any way a 'small' dinner party?" Harry interrupted.
"Uh… well basically mother has been blatantly lying about that all along," Draco admitted. "She is just trying to stop you from panicking. It started small, but then everyone just kept adding more people onto the guest list. Father cannot risk offending one person by omitting them if another of similar rank and familiarity is invited, and he must invite his patrons and his most helpful clients of course. Mother had people to add too, and then I suggested we should invite some more of your friends and potential clients. I tried to get Hermione an invitation, but they said no-"
"Thanks for trying, at least. I do appreciate that."
"You're welcome!" Draco said, with a pleased expression.
"Of course, we also ran into problems like how we couldn't invite Percival Weasley without inviting his boss since we are inviting other Ministry figures – though his boss declined his invitation so that is one less at least. We are not allied or friends with the Crouch family. So, after that we obviously couldn't snub the Minister if we're inviting a handful of his senior staff. Of course, the Minister accepted for both himself and a guest. Then Madam Bones got the Minister to get herself and another Auror invitations as well, since the Minister wanted security along as the Azkaban escapees are still on the run."
Harry whistled softly. "Merlin. That's… way more complicated than I imagined."
"Come on, we have to go wait for the guests," Draco urged, leading him downstairs.
Harry waited with the Malfoy family in a receiving line in the atrium in front of the massive marble fireplace as a succession of guests arrived – most of them via the Floo. A small handful of guests walked in, having presumably Apparated outside the manor or travelled via the Knight Bus or by broomstick, and were escorted inside by a Malfoy house-elf in a crisp new toga. The large crystal chandelier glittered brightly, lit by an uncountably large number of candles which thankfully were enchanted not to drip wax on anyone's fine robes, just like Hogwarts' candles.
Harry had been introduced to a lot of people by Lucius as "Harold James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter, and my dear wife's cousin", and similar introductions by Narcissa who also proudly claimed their family relation. He'd shaken a lot of hands and kissed some others and was getting right royally tired of bowing and smiling to people he didn't recognise. He also felt awkward receiving people like he was part of the Malfoy family (being only a second cousin), but Narcissa assured him that as her recognised relative and current houseguest, he was right where he was supposed to be according to etiquette.
His friends and other recognisable acquaintances were a relief to meet, in contrast. He was even happy to greet Rita Skeeter, the evening's "social reporter", who wore a chartreuse green gown which was so virulently bright it reminded Harry vaguely of radioactive waste. It was also nice to see Master Snape (unaccompanied by a date) who wore plain black buttoned robes that looked barely better than the everyday version he used to wear when teaching at Hogwarts.
Percy Weasley was eager to be reacquainted with Harry and to be introduced to the Malfoys, who seemed politely receptive and welcoming. He wore stiff, new purple formal robes and was accompanied by the trainee Auror Tonks, whom Harry had met in Lutetia. She winked at him when the Malfoys weren't looking. Harry noted that Tonks didn't seem to be greeted either as a trainee Auror, or as a relative. She was introduced as "Miss Nymphadora Tonks" by Percy and received a minimal nod of greeting from the Malfoys. Draco didn't seem to even recognise her name or face. If anything, Percy had been greeted more warmly by the Malfoys than she had been, and Harry could've sworn that the Weasleys still had an ancient feud running with the Malfoys. He wondered if Narcissa thought Tonk's mother's banishment from the Black family was still socially important to uphold, even if her daughter had been permitted to attend the Malfoy's dinner party. Perhaps Percy had simply answered his invitation with 'and guest', rather than mentioning his date by name. Maybe the Malfoys just hadn't wanted to cause a scene once she'd already arrived. Harry also wondered what person in their right mind named their daughter "Nymphadora". Star-themed names seemed a blessing in comparison.
Minister Fudge clearly thought himself the most important guest of the evening judging by his pompous attitude and how he greeted the Malfoys. He wore a long purple robe that was left open to display the tailored suit underneath, and had invited along a guest, Madam Umbridge, who wore formal robes of pale pink. Harry mentally blamed Daphne and Pansy's regular bright chatter about fashion for his ability to instantly tell that the high-necked cut of Umbridge's robes was considered stuffy and old-fashioned, at least by younger witches. The Minister oozed flattery about Malfoy Manor, and how he was looking forward to seeing them all at the World Cup. Judging by the sour expression that briefly crossed Madam Umbridge's face, she hadn't been invited to sit in the Top Box with her partner of the evening.
After the Minister and his guest had left the atrium and headed further inside towards the ballroom, Harry overheard Lucius whisper to Narcissa, "Did you invite any werewolves in the end? We cannot have them seated near her, it would be a social disaster. At best."
"No, dear. It was too awkward with Aurors coming too," she replied softly. Madam Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt had arrived shortly before the Minister had.
"You're pro-werewolf rights, then?" Harry whispered curiously.
Lucius turned to him in surprise. "Yes, of course. We support greater rights for vampires also."
"It is a great social challenge to invite members of either group to a dinner party, however," Narcissa added. "I deemed it impolitic on this occasion, which is more about friendly socialising than political manoeuvres."
"As if there's a difference, my darling," Lucius said with a smile, planting a small kiss on the knuckles of his wife's gloved hand. "You will confuse the boy – he needs to learn, just like Draco."
"How about house-elf rights?" Harry asked.
Narcissa exchanged a look with Lucius, then fielded that question. "We have embraced the new renaissance in fashion of outfitting our house-elves in togas, and as always accord them the customary social courtesies. However, I see no reason to alter their status – they are happy as they are."
They paused their conversation for a round of bows with the Greengrass family, who had broken their holiday in Wales especially for the Malfoy's dinner party. Being able to Apparate certainly made such exceptions a lot easier.
Daphne was wearing the long satin evening gown she'd worn to Harry's birthday party at McDonalds, but with the addition of a floor-length cloak and long satin gloves that went up past her elbows. She looked much less out of place in her outfit in the grander surroundings of Malfoy Manor. She checked her appearance quickly after arrival in the large gilded mirror above the fireplace and was evidently pleased to see her clothing was free from soot, and that the complicated piled-up hairstyle of blonde coils secured with jewel-studded silver hairpins was still in place. Her little sister Astoria had a less complicated hairstyle, with most of it flowing free and only a few tiny braids secured with silver ribbons into cute loops.
"It is so good to see you both again!" Daphne cooed to Draco and Harry, holding out her satin-gloved hand for their dutiful kisses. "Cantre'r Gwaelod has been simply marvellous. We've spent a lot of time at the beach, blissfully unbothered by any Muggles, and we've seen three venationes."
Draco stared at Daphne for a moment before he gathered himself and remembered to reply. "What was your favourite venatio? Did you see one with the Welsh Greens?"
"I had to since they are your favourite, Draco! It was a great show - they lured one old bull dragon in with a live goat, which it devoured in a trice, then the dragon keepers surrounded it, Stunned it, and bled it."
"I wish they would omit that last part," Draco muttered. "Dragon's blood is squandered so thoughtlessly. Oven cleaner! Spot remover! That dotard should be thrown in Azkaban for promoting such things, not lauded for his research. Honestly, it is such a travesty – a tremendous waste."
"Well, you should be pleased to hear the dragon survived quite nicely – they have plenty of blood to spare. I did enjoy the show with dragons, but my favourite was the one with the dogs – the Cŵn Annwn," Daphne continued, turning with a smile for Harry as she ignored Draco for the moment. "Have you heard of those creatures?"
"It doesn't ring a bell. I'm pretty sure they're not in our textbook unless it's the Welsh name for the Grim? I know there's Grims all throughout the UK," Harry said.
"No, Grims are known as Gwyllgi in Welsh," Daphne said with a shake of her head. "The Cŵn Annwn are white, with red ears. And they are so cute, Harry! We got to see a pack hunting a deer, and then they brought out some soft little puppies for people to hold. I do declare, they are the most adorable things you have ever seen! One really loved me too – he licked my face. They simply adore wizards and witches, just like Crups. But you cannot buy them without a special licence, and father says we are not likely to get one as we have Muggle neighbours who might be attacked, and our yard is not big enough for them to hunt on anyway, and they prefer to live in packs." She let out a wistful sigh.
"How about the Welsh Fair Folk?" Harry asked. "Are they real too? Are they like a large fairy or house-elf?"
"Harry," Daphne said slowly, "the Fair Folk – the Tylwyth Teg – they are us."
Harry blushed faintly pink at that. "Oh, yes. Of course. Obviously."
Daphne brightly farewelled them as her family gathered to move onwards to the ballroom.
The Parkinson family arrived not long after, and Draco immediately dove into quiet gossip with Pansy while the adults greeted each other. "Daphne had her hair up! She is out!" he whispered.
"No!" Pansy gasped.
"Yes! She is fourteen now, so I suppose she managed to convince her mother at last."
With a jealous scowl, Pansy patted her own dark flowing hair which had a few flowers attached in it somehow. Harry couldn't see how they were staying put – it was probably a charm.
"I am going to look like a girl next to her," Pansy complained.
"You still look lovely," Draco reassured her. "I hope you will save me a dance or two this evening? Perhaps the first and the supper set, if you have those free?"
"Of course," Pansy promised. "I would be delighted."
Harry seized on his friend's example before he lost his nerve. "And one for me too, cousin?" he asked. "A waltz?"
"Just one," Pansy agreed, writing down notes on a tiny card. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. One dance booking down, one to go.
-000-
Harry stood awkwardly with Millicent and Luna at one side of the ballroom during the first dance, as they too seemed to have failed to attract or choose partners for the opening "quadrille". Harry had no idea what steps were required and was waiting for his waltz later on with Pansy – the only dance he felt even vaguely confident of trying. As four sets of couples arranged themselves into squares and started gliding around and swapping partners with graceful timing, Harry was very glad he'd decided to sit this one out.
"Cousin Narcissa promised me a dinner party," he muttered unhappily to Millicent, whose attention was only partially focused on listening to Harry as she watched the dancefloor with an avid assessing gaze to spy on who was dancing with whom. "A dinner party shouldn't require opening up a massive ballroom for a crowd to dance. And a live chamber orchestra. She made it a ball."
"Well of course it is a ball, and that requires musicians. Squibs do need employment," Millicent said in absent-minded rebuke, still watching the dancing. "It is a kindness to them. I thought you liked Squibs, Harry? Not counting Filch, of course."
"Oh! Well, I do. It's just… a lot. Very fancy, that's all. How can you tell they're Squibs?" He looked over at the group of musicians on a small raised dais. They all seemed to be wearing plain black clothes, so they matched in tone if not in style. The pianist and cellist both wore suits, while a couple of the violinists wore robes. There was also a witch sitting at a harp wearing a long black dress, who wasn't one of the performers for the current song.
Millicent shrugged. "Well, in truth I cannot be sure. But they probably are. Or mayhap they are untalented or impoverished wizards and witches, since they are in service roles. There's a waiter or two circulating around somewhere with drinks – they are probably Squibs too.
"Look!" she hissed in distracted excitement. "Anthony's parents have spotted him dancing with Tracey! Did you see his mother's face?"
"No?"
"Oh. Well, she didn't look impressed. The Parkinsons look happy to see Pansy dancing with Draco, though."
"I think she likes him," Luna said with a dreamy smile. "Do you think he likes her?"
Millicent shrugged. "Perhaps. It is a good match. They are both pure-blood and with no close relations within three generations. They get along well, and their families do not have any feuds to worry about."
She glanced out over the couples again. "Zabini and Roper might make a match, but I do not know much about their families. She is very Light aligned for a Slytherin, and thinks herself above our company, the snooty harpy – I think that is probably just a courtesy dance."
"I wish I was dancing," mused Luna. "Everyone looks like they're having a lovely time. What about you, Harry?"
"Oh no, I'd stomp all over someone's feet," Harry averred. "I don't know those steps at all. I'm waiting for a waltz to do my duty. How about you, Millicent? Do you want to dance?"
"Was that an invitation?" she asked, looking startled.
"No! I mean, that is… I suppose we could later if you want to, but not for this particular dance," Harry stammered awkwardly. "I was just wondering if you wished you were dancing, like Luna."
"Well do not ask me to dance," Millicent said. "I know I am not pretty enough – no-one will ask me except as a gesture of courtesy. I do not need you to add insult to injury – or vice versa really – by stomping on my feet. I have a couple of dances on my card and that shall have to suffice for the evening. You should ask Daphne – she will appreciate the attention since she is officially out with her hair up, wearing her daring Muggle-style gown again."
"I don't know…" Harry said hesitantly.
"Are you ever going to grow your hair out, Harry?" Luna asked, brushing her gloved hand over his short dark hair and ruffling it slightly. "It is only a few years until you are of age. You could start now, you know. When did you last have it cut?"
Harry smoothed his hair back down nervously, shuffling closer to Millicent and away from Luna. He thought "maybe when I was eight or something" probably wasn't the right answer for how often a normal wizard got their hair cut, and he tried to remember how often Dudley visited the barber. He was pretty sure it was at least a couple of times a year – he had never really paid attention.
"Some months ago? I don't remember exactly," he volunteered eventually. "Do you think I should grow it long like Lucius, or your dad, Luna? I know some wizards grow it long, but not all do. The Minister hasn't, for instance. Mr. Weasley hasn't, but his son Bill Weasley has though his mother didn't seem to like that – I overheard her tell him off about it at their garden party. Is there a reason why? A normal pattern?"
"Oh yes! You really should grow it out," agreed Millicent, though thankfully unlike Luna she kept her hands politely to herself as she looked thoughtfully at his short, tidy jet-black locks. "Wizards usually grow it out as a mark of status and distinction. Men's hairstyles usually denote their rank rather than their marriageability – it signifies that they're the Head of their House, or the Heir. It can be used for other ranks too – if they are a Warlock, or have a Mastery in a field of magic, or an Order of Merlin. Even if they just hold a high position in the Wizengamot – that is also an acceptable justification for growing one's hair out. The Minister arguably could, but he likes to pretend he's too humble even though it is more about not being qualified. He would look pretentious to traditional pure-bloods if he tried, and someone would probably get offended.
"Some men grow it out to be rebellious – some like to act like they are important, while others might want to show they scoff at the Old traditions. Aurors and Hitwizards often keep their hair short to show that they are warrior witches and wizards above all else – that is a very Old tradition. I do not know where from. It was probably Roman. Most things are," Millicent finished, with an uncertain shrug.
"They're finishing up!" Luna said brightly, as the music trailed away with a few final chords, and partners bowed to each other.
"Go ask Daphne for a dance, now," Millicent ordered Harry.
"I don't really want to-"
"The supper set would be good."
"I don't know, Millicent," he said evasively. "Not the supper set."
"I shall agree to owe you a minor favour if you just ask her to dance – any dance at all," she said, sounding exasperated.
"Hmm!" he said happily. Favours were better than gold, amongst the Slytherin and pure-blood set. "Not a minor one, though. A bigger one than that."
"Fine! Medium. Now go!"
Harry went.
-000-
"Whew! Well I'm glad that's over," Harry said with relief as the music ended and he took Daphne's hand in the crook of his arm to escort her back to her coyly giggling group of female friends.
With both of his dances done, Harry was now free to truly enjoy the evening. There was another dance left to watch, then dinner. After that there would be just two final dances which he now felt safe to treat as entirely optional. He was really looking forward to dinner not just because he was hungry after a very light lunch but because earlier that day the Malfoys had tried to be very mysterious about it and had promised an "amazing feast". Draco had immediately started pouting and whining for hints in a rather Dudley-esque fashion, and his parents had quickly caved and hinted that dinner would feature some exotic dishes cooked by professional chefs from overseas skilled at international cuisine (hired specially for the evening), and some particularly spectacular desserts including a "castlette" or "pie castle" which was apparently an old favourite of Draco's.
"Oh. You're glad it's over, are you?" Daphne said frostily, echoing his words.
Harry looked at her nervously. "Because… I'm bad at dancing? It's not you, it's the dancing I'm not too fond of," he ventured in hesitant apology. "Sorry about your feet. I didn't mean any offence - you obviously like dancing more than I do because you're so good at dancing."
"That must be where the difference lies," she said. Her chilly expression eased, but her smile as they rejoined their friends looked a little false to Harry, and he knew he'd offended her. He hadn't meant to, he'd just relaxed once the dance was over and had spoken without thinking. Talking to girls was hard sometimes, and he suspected lately that she expected him to act more like a flattering potential boyfriend, and less like just a friend. That just wasn't something he was interested in doing.
When he'd had a brief quiet moment in a lull between dances, Harry had double-checked with Draco his understanding of what putting your hair up meant for a girl. Draco had explained that it was symbolic of her family and society recognising her coming out as a young woman rather than as a girl. That she was now someone able to date and accept suitors, and was potentially open to negotiating marriage contracts, even though she wouldn't be able to act on those for a few more years (at a minimum) when she would be officially of age at seventeen. According to Draco, long engagements were relatively common, entered into while people studied Apprenticeships or built up a career or business, so that they could enter married life with more financial security.
Draco led Pansy out again for the last dance before supper, while Theodore stopped by to invite Luna to dance, who looked both surprised and delighted to receive such unexpected attention. Greg danced dutifully with Millicent, while Vincent Crabbe led Tracey onto the dancefloor. Peregrine Derrick asked Daphne for her hand for the supper set, which she seemed relatively pleased by.
Stripped of his usual social group couple by couple, Harry stood awkwardly at the edge of the dancefloor wishing he had Storm with him to talk to. Narcissa had promised Harry could have Storm join him once dinner started, and for the final two dances of the evening, hinting heavily that he wouldn't want his pet getting in the way while he danced with young ladies before dinner. He'd gotten the message loud and clear – Storm's presence was held hostage, contingent on Harry's acceptable performance of his social duties.
As had been the case every time he'd skipped a dance that evening, some temporarily unpartnered guests stopped by to chat with Harry. The Minister had already smarmed a greeting earlier and hinted again that Sirius' Top Box Quidditch tickets were due to his influence, which Harry had expressed courteous gratitude for. Snape had stopped by twice to check on him, once introducing him to an old friend of his, Richard Avery. Avery had bowed to Harry, said courteous nothings about the dinner party, and asked superficial questions about how Harry's schooling at Hogwarts was going.
Harry had been a little unsettled to see Snape whirling ladies around the dance floor with carefully precise steps – it just seemed odd to see him socialising. It was only twice – once with Narcissa, and once with the beautiful Mrs. Zabini. Her son Blaise looked even more disturbed than Harry did to see his mother dancing with their former teacher.
Madam Bones had stopped by for a brief chat with Harry about her niece Susan's membership in "Potter Watch", before being courteously whirled out onto the dancefloor by Mr. Mortalem, after his brief shy greeting to Harry. After that, Percy Weasley – who was without a partner for this dance – seized a chance to wander over and say hello.
"Good evening, Harry, lovely night isn't it? I'm so glad I came. Can you believe dad didn't want me to come? He tried to talk me out of it – he said the ball would be full of the wrong sort," Percy snorted in disbelief. "The Minister's here, you're here, and a good handful of top Ministry people – that's definitely the right sort."
"I'm very sorry to hear that you argued over it. Have you made some good connections this evening?" Harry asked politely.
Percy nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes! I got to talk to the Minister – wonderful chap isn't he – and Madam Umbridge, too. I danced the cotillion with Madam Bones – you know, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She's a lovely witch and very light on her feet. We had a chat about the Azkaban escapees – it seems like her mind's on business this evening and she apologised that she might be a bit of a distracted partner but I thought her a very fine dancer all the same. And Macnair from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures shook my hand and said he'd already heard of me as 'a very promising young wizard'. He said people are speaking of me as an excellent addition to the Ministry." Percy looked puffed up and proud as a peacock at the remembered praise.
"Marvellous," agreed Harry. "I'm sure you are, Percy. They're lucky to have you."
Percy beamed happily at him. "Thank you, you're too kind. I'm sure you would have a fine future in the Ministry yourself, if you should ever choose that over Healing. I would be more than happy to assist you in that endeavour if and when the time comes."
"I think I'm quite happy with my current plans but thank you for the compliment. And where's your partner, Miss Tonks? Shouldn't you be dancing with her for the supper set?"
"Oh, Tonks is off dancing with one of her fellow Aurors. We're not dating or courting. To be perfectly frank with you, I only invited her as a political move. I needed a partner since Penelope and I parted ways, and somehow Tonks heard on the grapevine that I had an invitation for this evening, and she promised she'd be in my debt if I brought her along. The Ministry runs on favours and influence, Harry. You never know when having a friendly Auror owing you a favour might be useful to you later on. She's pretty junior in the Ministry at the moment but then so am I, and you never know what the future holds, do you?"
Percy wore a slightly defensive look, seemingly wondering whether Harry would appreciate or judge him for his pragmatism. Harry didn't really see anything wrong with what Percy had said, though, and decided to reassure him by opening up a bit in turn. "I got a favour promised to me by Millicent for dancing with Daphne."
"Not with Miss Bulstrode herself? How very singular."
"I think Daphne likes me, and Millicent didn't want to risk her toes to my inexpert dancing," admitted Harry. "So, she promised a favour to help her friend, who didn't mind a few stray stomps."
Percy laughed. "And do you return Miss Daphne – Greengrass isn't it?"
Harry nodded.
"-Do you return Greengrass' affections? Witch Weekly won't hear about it from me if you want to talk about it," Percy promised.
"No, I don't like her like that. I just like being friends. What about you and Mrs. Zabini? She seemed to enjoy dancing with you," Harry said, redirecting the conversation away from himself.
Percy shuddered. "Certainly not. She's a siren, that woman. She lures men to their doom – she's gone through seven husbands already, you know. All mysteriously dead, though no charges have ever stuck. Luckily, I'm too poor to be of much interest to her. At least my comparative poverty has that advantage."
"Ugh," Harry said disgustedly. Time for a safer topic of conversation than the perils of womankind. "Are you going to the Quidditch World Cup?"
Percy looked grateful for the topic change. "Yes, my family got tickets ages ago. I might be fighting with dad, but my invitation still stands so I thought I'd go."
"Sorry about that."
"It is not your fault," soothed Percy. "Will I see you there?"
"Yes, I'm going with Sirius Black. We have Top Box tickets, thanks to the Minister!"
"Marvellous! Well, I shall look for your tent and shall stop by to visit, if I may?"
"You'd be most welcome to call on us."
Harry smiled as he watched Percy leave. He was a stuffy social climber but so cheerfully honest about it that one really couldn't take offence. Harry wondered if Percy's honesty was what had kept him out of Slytherin - he lacked that touch of subtle cunning that perhaps would've seen him otherwise sorted into Slytherin, the home of the ambitious. You had to be brave to be honest with people and damn the consequences. Or perhaps Percy simply hadn't wanted to buck a family tradition and had argued with the Sorting Hat – like Harry had – to send him to Gryffindor.
Harry still hadn't forgotten how diligent Percy had been as a Prefect and Head Boy, and how much he worried about his family, like fussing over his sister when she was sick, and shooing Ron away from trouble. He really was a kind young man and the sort of person it would be wonderful to have as an older brother – Harry really couldn't understand why Ron didn't appreciate him more. Harry appreciated both kindness and honesty, even if the latter was admittedly rather lacking in himself. He did like to think that he was kind, at least.
-000-
Dinner was amazing, and not at all what Harry had expected. He'd expected French food, given the Malfoy family origins, and the promise of international cuisine. Snails in garlic butter, magical toad legs, roasted peacock, and crepes drenched in liqueur and perhaps set aflame with glittering purple fire. But perhaps that didn't count as exotic enough to impress local palates, for it wasn't to be a French banquet at all.
After the dancing, the ballroom was swiftly repurposed by bustling house-elves and Squib waiters into a grand dining room. The tables were covered with red tablecloths, heavily embroidered across every inch with designs incorporating phoenixes and fruit, and they were set with an odd assortment of bowls and cutlery that had guests murmuring with interest. There were lacquered wooden chopsticks next to the bowls, and oddly shaped ceramic spoons. The Malfoys announced that dinner was to be a Chinese banquet, to a patter of applause at the novelty.
Harry was seated at the main family table with Pansy and Draco on one side, who were talking about their summer homework, and a pair of adult guests he didn't recognise on his other side, who were absorbed in their own conversation. A house-elf popped by to deliver Storm, as Narcissa had promised, who immediately launched into hissed complaints about the whole business.
"I wanted to sssee the dancing and I don't understand why you listened to that woman and put me in my tank. I got out of course, but I couldn't open the door!" Storm whined from atop Harry's shoulders, arching his head around to glare accusingly at Harry's face.
"We are guestss here, remember? We're being polite. You can ssstay for dinner and the last two dances, as she promised."
"I would say a dinner table is not the right place for a pet snake, but it is actually not the first time I have seen it done!" laughed the wizard on Harry's left, leaning past his slightly nervous-looking female partner to talk to Harry. The man's attention had clearly been caught by Storm's sudden appearance. He was a tall, blue-eyed wizard with short dark hair and a thin black moustache. His face had the heavy lines and worn appearance of an older man, and a few small scars marred one cheek. "Walden Macnair, Son of the House of Macnair. May I also introduce you to my wife, Prosperina Macnair, Daughter of the Sacred House of Carrow."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. Harold James Potter, Heir of the Noble House of Potter, and of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Harry responded politely, as a British waiter placed bowls of soup in front of them with an announcement that it was shark fin soup, which was renowned for enhancing one's magic. Harry took his dress gloves off and tucked them in his lap under his napkin, ready to eat. Not that he felt very enthusiastic about eating shark, but food was food and never to be scorned. He certainly wasn't about to make a scene over it.
Macnair gave a low whistle of admiration, looking visibly impressed. "Well now, isn't that interesting news."
"Pardon me, what did you just say?!" Draco said, clearly flabbergasted as he dropped his spoon with a clatter. Pansy was seated between Harry and Draco and had drawn his attention to the juicy gossip with a quick whisper to her friend. "Are you really the Heir of the House of Black, now Harry? Since when?"
"Uh, since a few weeks ago? Didn't I tell you yet?" He could have sworn he'd mentioned it at some point.
"No," Draco said frostily. He turned back to his small porcelain bowl of soup with a very fixed expression, avoiding Harry's apologetic gaze.
"Sorry," Harry said guiltily. "Sirius made me his Heir, and I did mention you as another possibility to him but… well he uh… kind of insisted it should be me." The full truth of Sirius' feelings on the matter wasn't appropriate to share, Harry thought. Especially not in public.
"You're not wearing your rings, Mr. Potter?" observed Mrs. Macnair, with a questioning air.
"I keep them on my fob chain so I don't lose them," Harry explained, taking a careful spoonful of soup. The thin strands of shark fin were tasteless and somewhat rubbery. They had a very interesting texture, being soft and flexible but with a slight crispness to them. The clear yellow broth the strands swam in was pleasantly innocuous in flavour, reminding him of chicken stock. He chewed down the gelatinous mouthful dutifully and took another spoonful of the liquid part of the soup.
"For formal occasions, at the very minimum, you should be wearing them openly. To show pride in your Houses. Young Draco is wearing his Malfoy Heir ring, see?"
Harry glanced over and saw it was true. "Oh. Alright then. Terribly sorry about that, thank you for letting me know."
Putting his soup spoon down and setting his gloves and napkin on his chair, Harry stood up briefly to unbutton his black and red robes to reveal the matching red-trimmed black waistcoat underneath. It really was a little warm for so many layers. He sat back down, carefully draping his robes (as prompted by Pansy) so they wouldn't get too crushed in the process and rummaged in one of his two tiny waistcoat pockets for his fob weights. He carefully removed his rings from the chain, leaving his Gringotts key and the torus-shaped stone Portkey to tuck back into the little pocket.
"Does it matter what hand or finger I wear them on, cousin?" he asked Pansy. He glanced a little worriedly at Draco, but Draco was still ignoring him studiously.
"I don't think so?" she said uncertainly. "Probably wherever they fit best. Index or middle fingers if they fit there. There's no special rules about them apart from avoiding your left ring finger which is for wedding rings – at least in England. Not many people are lucky enough to be Heirs or Heads of multiple houses, so I don't think there's a tradition about it, and if there is, few people will be familiar enough with it for it to matter."
Mrs. Macnair agreed with Pansy's summation, so Harry slid the solid gold Potter Heir signet ring with its decorative intaglio flowery shield pattern onto the index finger of his right hand. The Black Heir ring was silver, but fancier in design with its setting of an onyx shield decorated with inset silver forming the chevron, stars, and dagger of the House crest. It lacked the hounds and family motto that decorated the Head of House ring, as well as being fashioned of silver rather than gold. Harry wondered absent-mindedly if the Head of House ring for the Potter family would include more decorations like a Hippocampus or a motto. He slid the Black family ring onto the index finger of his left hand, as though it was chunkier in design than the Potter ring, it seemed fashioned for slightly leaner hands.
While Harry was busy fussing with his clothes and rings, Draco had turned to his other side to gossip in a low murmur with his mother. Harry felt guilty about the stir he'd caused but didn't really know what to do about it. He guessed he really should have said something earlier rather than surprising Draco and everyone else with the news in public, but it was too late for that now.
"So, tell me about your snake then," Macnair said. "Rainbow serpent, XXXX rating if I'm not mistaken. You will of course have a permit for that saying you are fostering it?"
Harry turned to him in relief at the opportunity to chat about something other than his new status. "Not exactly, sir. Storm was a permanent gift, with the permission of the Australian wizarding government. I have a letter with stamps on it, saying I'm approved to be the permanent owner of a Wonambi."
Macnair whistled. "Someone pulled some strings to get you that."
"The Parkinson family, sir," he said, with a nod in Pansy's direction. "Storm was a generous and most appreciated Yule gift from my cousin Pansy."
Pansy smiled happily at the recognition and said with false modesty, "It was no trouble at all."
From a little further down the table and out of his direct line of sight, Harry overheard a wizard indiscreetly gossiping – presumably about him – to a quieter neighbour. "But if he's the new Heir, who is the Head of House? …Oh yes, of course." Harry decided to simply ignore their chatter. There was no polite way to stop them anyway – the news was going to spread one way or another. He just felt bad that he'd embarrassed Draco at his family's ball.
"Remember if your snake kills someone you should talk to the Ministry about getting it shipped back to Australia," Macnair warned. "You are not permitted to slay it. In the majority of cases if a dangerous magical creature needs to be executed that responsibility falls to me or someone else from the Ministry – you do not have leave to take matters into your own hands."
"That won't happen," Harry said confidently. "I am a Parselmouth, after all. Storm and I have talked several times about appropriate behaviour. He wouldn't kill anyone."
Pansy coughed delicately on his left, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Well, he wouldn't try to kill anyone unless he thought my life was in danger," Harry clarified. "A situation in which I hope extenuating circumstances would be taken into account."
"Or if you told him to," Macnair grinned wickedly, winking at him. "I work for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. So, if a situation ever arises where people are calling for your pet to be killed, you should get in contact with me. I might be able to do something to help."
For a price, no doubt, thought Harry.
"Thank you, sir. I hope the situation won't ever come up, but I'll certainly keep your advice in mind."
"You wouldn't kill anyone, would you Ssstorm?" Harry checked, a little nervously, eating some more of his soup.
"No, you sssaid not to. Do you need sssomeone killed? I thought you didn't want me eating anyone. Besidess, everyone is ssstill too big for me to ssswallow. I could use my lightning?"
"No, there's no danger. I was just wondering if you'd kill sssomeone for me if I asked."
"Certainly. Which person?"
"No-one," Harry hissed quickly, glancing around nervously. A few people were looking in their direction, but thankfully none of them should be able to understand what Storm was saying. "It's just a hypothetical question. That means I don't want anyone killed, I was just asking if you would kill sssomeone."
"Oh," Storm said, completely unruffled by the topic. "Well yess, but I think it might be difficult. I shall have to practice my lightning more. Where's my dinner? Do I get a treat?"
"You ate only two dayss ago! And just ssso we're perfectly clear, I don't want you to kill anyone. At all."
"I'm a growing sssnake, I just shed my ssskin," Storm said defensively, looking with interest at the tables as waiters and house-elves removed the soup (finished or not) and placed new dishes in front of them. "Are those black things eggs?"
"Peking duck – the dish of emperors – served with steamed pancakes, spring onions, vegetables including traditional carrots, and sweet bean sauce. It is accompanied by a side dish of century eggs, paired with thin slices of sweet pickled ginger," murmured the pale-skinned waiter in a suit to each group as he placed down the platters, and began carving up the duck.
Harry wondered why the Malfoys hadn't hired Chinese waiters. Maybe there just weren't any Chinese Muggle-borns or Squibs who wanted that kind of work. Their wizarding population in Britain wasn't that big, after all.
After the waiter had finished his explanation of the dishes, Harry finally answered Storm's question. "Yess they are. They're a sort of pickled egg and I don't think you'll like them. But I know your ssstomach is pretty robust, so you can try one if you really insist upon it."
He offered Storm an egg which was happily pounced upon. For his part, Harry was happy to be served a couple of thin pancakes filled with duck, cucumber, and purple carrot, but turned down the black and frankly rather unappetizing-looking eggs which didn't smell very inviting either – like garlic or sulphur. He hoped Storm wouldn't end up with a stomach ache.
The thin sticks of purple carrots didn't taste exactly like the more standard orange variety. They were still sweet but slightly peppery, and a little tough. Harry guessed that since they weren't especially delicious or very Chinese (as far as he knew) that meant they were supposed to impress in some way other than flavour – perhaps the purple variety was very expensive or magical.
Another waiter was circulating amongst the tables with a pair of silver ewers. Harry let the man pour some Hippocras into his goblet – a drink which turned out to be a spiced wine which got watered down for the younger or more abstentious guests.
Out of the corner of his eye Harry noticed Pansy carefully copying how he was holding his chopsticks. Harry tried to hide his small smug smile as he discreetly held his chopsticks at a handier angle for her to view his technique. It wasn't often that he did better than her on matters of etiquette – he'd known how to use chopsticks even without Mrs. Malfoy's drills. The Dursleys might not be too keen on "nasty foreign muck" but even they'd ordered Chinese home delivery from time to time – Dudley loved sweet and sour pork. He guessed Chinese food was a lot more exotic and impressive for pure-bloods than it was for Muggles – Cho Chang was one of only a very few Asian students at Hogwarts, and even she sounded properly British, like her family had been in England long enough that she didn't have a trace of a Chinese accent. He'd tried to compliment her on her lack of accent once at Slug Club, but she hadn't taken it well for some reason. Small talk was tough sometimes, and she was very prickly – all his attempts to befriend her thus far had been dismal failures.
Little finger bowls of warm water with tiny white flower blossoms floating in them were brought out for people to wash their hands in before the next course, since some people had been eating their duck pancakes with their hands. Harry had seen this done before at other banquets – it was an old pure-blood tradition dating back to Roman times, and very practical if you were serving a lot of finger food at feasts.
The next dishes were a distinctly non-Chinese course of salad and cheese. Each table was delivered an elaborate, massive round silver platter with salad in shades of green, grey, and black carefully arranged to form an image of the Malfoy family crest. Snow peas and various leafy greens formed the green portions of the crest, while olives, black grapes, and tiny shavings of truffle formed the black quarters and the wyverns. The silver sections were picked out with delicate little mushrooms that glimmered a soft silver when the light caught them right. Harry had never seen them before but thought they were mostly likely some variety of magical mushroom from France, given how much they loved their fancy fungi there. Or they could be from China, of course, to match the evening's theme.
"So, Harry, are you going to run Potter Watch again this year?" Pansy asked, sitting back as a waiter served her some salad, a small wedge of soft cheese, and a couple of small globi, which were deep-fried cheese dumplings spread with honey and poppy seeds.
"I guess so, I think people will want it to be on again. It was pretty popular." Harry munched on his dumplings first – the combination of flavours worked better than he'd expected.
"Are those tiny eggss?" asked Storm, eyeing the black things dished onto Harry's plate. His tongue licked at the air inquisitively as he uncoiled to stretch closer to the table. "I didn't like the big egg."
"Olives and grapess. Fruit. You wouldn't like it," warned Harry. "The round ssspeckled dumplingss aren't eggss either – they're full of cheese." Storm subsided back onto Harry's shoulders with disinterest.
"It is an excellent social opportunity as well as educational," mused Pansy, ignoring Harry's distracted hissing with the ease borne of long practice. "We really could have used it most in second year, mind you. Lockhart's year is when we truly suffered – though perhaps the Slytherins less than most Houses. I do hope we shall have a good teacher this year. Leaving aside whether people want to be in your group or not, do you enjoy running it? It seems like a lot of work, and I know you like time for private study."
"It can be a lot of work, but it's not too bad. I don't know, I haven't really thought about whether I like it or not. People want me to run it, so I guess I will." Harry pondered the topic for a minute before continuing. "Yeah, I guess I like it, but mostly I prefer being a student. I don't love public speaking so I'm not terribly keen on being a teacher, but if it makes people happy I'll keep doing it. It's not so bad, and I like helping people. I wouldn't want anyone to get upset if I cancelled it or handed it all over to someone else. I already got some complaints last year about how I only taught the middle group and didn't come to the junior group meetings often enough."
"Some people have no gratitude for what one does manage," sniffed Pansy. "Ignore the ingrates, Harry. You did marvellously, and all sensible people recognise that."
Harry smiled. She really was his favourite cousin, Dudley's recent improvements notwithstanding.
After salad was yet another savoury course, and Harry realised why all the portions served had been so small – he was getting pretty full and they still weren't up to dessert yet. This one was a serving of "Chinese style" whole roast suckling pig, with leafy green bok choy and red lingzhi mushrooms arranged around the dish in a ring.
"Lingzhi are known as the 'Divine mushrooms' and promote longevity and strengthen the heart, for witches and wizards," explained the waiter.
Artistically carved orange carrots and white radishes made an impressive garnish, arranged decoratively around the platter like a miniature diorama of plants and animals. Harry asked to be served a tiny piece of radish intricately carved into the shape of a cicada, just for fun. When he picked it up with his chopsticks it made a vaguely realistic buzzing noise, which made him yelp as he hadn't expected it had been charmed. Harry had to warn Storm not to eat it, it looked and sounded so realistic. Pansy was amused and delighted by the display, and promptly demanded a carrot phoenix for her own plate, which let out a tiny squawking cry when touched.
Harry tried very hard not to look at the piglet's face and focused on his plate as the waiter carved the meat at the table, cutting the roast into bite-sized portions that would be easy for the guests eat with chopsticks.
"This is more like it," Macnair rumbled approvingly to his wife and Harry, gesturing for the waiter to serve him some extra pork. "Lucius always serves up the best roasts."
Storm's tongue flicked at the portion of meat Harry held up for his inspection, but he declined to try it, which wasn't a big surprise as he rarely indulged in cooked meat and was currently stuffed full of of preserved egg.
"It smell-tastess boring," Storm said, very disinterested.
Harry thought it smelled delicious, but of course Storm preferred the smell of live prey (and an occasional egg) to the rich scent of pork crackling and succulent gently spiced meat.
Pansy chatted to Draco and Narcissa about how her home's four Flutterby bushes were about to bloom, possibly within the next year. Since they only bloomed once per century they had eager apothecaries and potions masters lined up, ready to purchase the blossoms as soon as the buds opened.
The tables were tidied up and fresh bowls brought out for dessert, which was made into quite the spectacle. Musicians played classical music in the background to gently discourage conversation while the castlettes were brought out. Draco had enthusiastically told Harry all about his favourite fancy dessert pie earlier that day. Castlettes were a very old traditional dessert and were elaborate constructions of pastry shaped like castles. Hogwarts was obviously a popular choice, but other structures were sometimes emulated. Each separate pie tower had a different sweet filling, either relatively ordinary ones like rhubarb and custard, pomegranate and apple, or caramel pecan, or more magical options like Crazyberry or Dirigible plum. Crazyberry gave you the giggles, and fresh Dirigible plum pie would literally float off your plate if not eaten quickly after the filling was exposed to the air.
Each table this evening was delivered its own stunning miniature pastry version of Hogwarts, with the minor details of the castle made from spun sugar. Tiny marzipan owls adorned the rooves and flapped their charmed wings repetitively.
The guests clapped in polite admiration as the final course was brought out. Yet the waiters stood by the tables, unmoving, without cutting up the castlettes. The musicians who'd been playing soft classical music in the background switched to loudly playing a vaguely Chinese-influenced tune, led by the harpist.
With great ceremony, three Chinese people walked slowly into the dining room and headed straight towards the main table where the Malfoys and Harry were seated. The man in the lead wore a traditional long silk Chinese robe, and a small round hat with a knob and tassel on the top, underneath which could be glimpsed his long black hair tied up in a bun. A large embroidered square panel stitched on the front of his robe displayed a tree with a red-feathered bird perched in it. With both hands he carried with great care a shining golden platter upon which rested five rather ordinary looking white peaches with a pink blush to their pale velvety skin, atop a bed of fresh green peach leaves.
A Chinese man and a woman followed him, dressed in what Harry instantly identified from Dudley's television viewing as some variety of 'kung-fu outfits'. Their tunics were much shorter rather than the long, elaborate robe of the man they accompanied, and were embroidered with square panels featuring sinuous red dragons rather than a tree. Loose trousers and comfortable slippers completed their outfits. Harry wasn't sure if the staff each warrior carried was for magic or for fighting, but either way he thought they were definitely guards, judging by the way they were keeping a wary eye on everyone around them, looking around alertly for trouble.
Neither the Malfoys nor the waiters announced the special dessert – they clearly preferred to let the gossip spread on its own and basked in the speculation and admiration of their guests. There was a growing tide of gasps and wild applause as those who didn't know the significance of the display were informed of the details by their more knowledgeable neighbours.
"All the way from China!"
"Immortality peaches!"
"Incredibly expensive, I can't believe it…"
"Guarded of course, look at those two!"
"The Portkey costs would be a drop in the ocean compared to getting peaches from the Imperial gardens."
"Amazing! I hope there's enough to go around. Five magic peaches…"
"We shall get some," Macnair murmured with satisfaction to his wife. "We are at the top table and I have been friends with Lucius for years."
Macnair wasn't the only one at their table looking especially self-satisfied at their high-status seating position which had suddenly become incredibly important, judging by the envious looks of those less favoured.
"They don't really make you immortal though, do they?" asked Harry.
"Hard to say. Even the Emperors and Empresses die eventually," said Macnair. "But they are rumoured to live a lot longer than other witches and wizards do. The peaches of immortality are said to make an old man feel spry again for a time, smooth the lines from one's face, and grant a longer span of years. What a single slice will do for us is unlikely to be noticeable – probably not much more effectual than those mushrooms – but it remains a grand offering all the same. Thieves earn themselves a slow and painful death if they try to steal from the Imperial magical peach garden, and it costs a small fortune to even ask to purchase one of the imperial family's peaches. This is quite the social coup for Lucius and Narcissa."
"No doubt she will be crowing about it for years," his wife murmured softly. "Rightfully so, of course. It is very impressive. I wonder what they taste like?"
"Peach," Macnair said, with a low cackle.
The Chinese attendant carrying the peach platter cut the peaches himself into quarters with a sharp golden knife, and then the regular waiters were permitted to approach one by one to ferry tiny golden bowls – each containing a single peach slice – to everyone at the top table. Guests at the other tables had to make do with boring old magical pie slices, which had lost a lot of their charm after glimpsing what the favoured few got to eat in addition to pie.
Harry thought Macnair was right – it tasted simply like peach. It was succulent and sweet, with ripe juicy white flesh and a wonderful aroma. However, the fruit didn't spark on his tongue or anything like that. It just tasted… delicious.
"You know what it reminds me of?" Harry said to Pansy, licking the last stray bits of peach juice off his tiny fork in a blatant breach of usual decorum. Others were doing it too, so he figured he should copy. "The water tasting you led last year. Remember? How it all tasted like water, but Storm's rainwater and conjured water tasted just that little bit better. The peach is like that – just that extra bit of… something. It satisfies you that bit more than an ordinary peach does. Like this is how peaches are supposed to taste." He didn't want to directly mention their Imbolc celebration, but she clearly remembered it too.
"It was nice, wasn't it? I think you're right. And didn't you say you preferred the milk at Longbottom manor, too?"
Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, though I thought that might be just because it was fresher, and creamier. It's hard to say – I'd have to try one after the other. I don't think their cows are magical or anything. They do avoid iron through all stages of the milking process, of course. So that might help."
"Naturally."
After they'd observed all of the guests eating up their servings of peach, the Chinese wizards and witch bowed to the Malfoys, and left the room in a ceremonious procession. They guarded the peach pits and stem fragments resting on the bed of leaves with just as much zealous attention as they had given the whole peaches, if not more.
Harry tried a slice of the tart orange Dirigible plum pie as his last course of the evening, which was oddly difficult to swallow but felt fine after he'd eaten it. Once everyone had finished dining, waiters and house-elves cleared the room again for the final two dances. The first dance, however, had fewer dancers than those before dinner. Perhaps it was because there were so many clusters of people gossiping. Harry saw a large number of people heading in his direction with inquisitive glints in their eyes. He glanced around quickly for an escape and saw one possibility nearby.
Quickly pacing over to Luna, he asked, "Would you like to dance with me, Luna?"
"Oh yes, that does sound nice," she agreed placidly, smiling at him but not taking his hand. "I think I would, at least if you were careful with your feet. However, I am sure you wouldn't mean to make mistakes – we are friends after all. Everyone does make mistakes sometimes, so I would try not to get cross. I think I would like it, on the whole."
"I meant, do you want to dance with me right now?" he clarified, holding out his hand and wiggling his outstretched fingers encouragingly at her. One of the advancing horde pointed crassly at Harry's beringed hands, nudging the person next to her.
"Oh!" Luna said with surprise. "I thought it was another hypothetical question. Alright then."
He led her away with relief to do a country dance, leaving the gossips to seek their information from more obliging sources. At least this dance wasn't as complicated as the ones earlier in the evening.
-000-
Sirius collected Harry the following morning, and though no-one resorted to curses it was an even more uncomfortable experience than being dropped off had been.
Draco still seemed cross with Harry, though he promised stiffly that he didn't blame Harry when Harry anxiously checked in with him about the matter of his future inheritance from the Black family.
When Sirius arrived Narcissa seemed chilly with him, rather than being willing to smooth over any sneers between him and her husband as she had been last time. Their respective token polite greetings quickly moved to a pointed discussion of Harry's new status as the Black family Heir, and Lucius' political affiliations.
"Draco really does have precedence," Narcissa said frostily. "Both as the son of a Black rather than a grandson, and as Pollux Black's descendant, who was Dorea Black's older brother. She was the youngest of her generation."
"You might have married sine manu, but your first child is a Malfoy by contract, not a Black. And even if he wasn't? I would rather be tormented in Tartarus than see the Black fortune go to Death Eaters," sneered Sirius.
"I was found innocent of all charges," Lucius insisted. "Charges which are in any case not in any way relevant to my son's eligibility to inherit."
Draco shifted about where he stood, which to Harry's eye showed a high degree of discomfort with the conversation given how rigorous he usually was at hiding his feelings.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, of course you weren't a real Death Eater," agreed Sirius, with a smile that showed too many still-yellowed teeth. "Everyone agrees that it is so sad that you were so weak-willed as to be easy prey for the Imperius Curse."
Lucius' hand twitched as he grasped his snake-handled cane more firmly. "Regretfully so. I am just as sorry for you to have been brought so low by a mere Cheering Charm," he said, oozing fake sympathy.
"Can we go, please?" Harry pleaded, turning wide eyes on Sirius. "I'm anxious to get going."
"Of course you are," agreed Sirius, eyes still on Lucius as he added, "and Dobby is anxious to see you back at home."
Harry hunched worriedly, eyes flicking to the Malfoys, but they seemed unsurprised and unperturbed by this final taunt.
"Safe travels, Harry," Draco said politely, if stiffly. "We shall see you at the Cup."
Harry waved a relieved farewell as Sirius grabbed his shoulder and they Apparated away.
A/N: Venatio - Animal show or hunt (as typically seen in a gladiatorial arena).
The order of courses - These are based off Regency etiquette: soup, main/s, salad and cheese, main, dessert/s. The dishes are a mixture of prestigious Chinese dishes, and fancy medieval and Roman dishes designed to impress.
Carrots – The original and predominant colour of carrots eaten in Europe prior to the sixteenth century was purple (white and yellow were also variant options). Orange is a more modern domesticated variety which became popular later. . /
Embroidered Mandarin squares - These are Ming and Qing dynasty fashion, and they denote rank.
kuonji – Thank you for spot-checking the details of my Chinese banquet, your help was most appreciated.
archer27 – A mention of Flutterby bushes for you. :)