Chapter 21
A party like this required meticulous attention. From making sure the house elves left the house spotless, all the way to catching light fairies to illuminate the ballroom. Charles McLaggen was not a man intended for such activities. He was more of an… enjoyer of parties, rather than a host. No, no, that was his wife. His dead wife. She always knew which champagne to order and how to haggle with the caterers. He was completely lost when it came to choosing the correct musical entertainment, and don't even get him started on which cravat to wear on formal occasions.
His talents lay with a good nogtail hunt with Tiberius. Many a future minister had accompanied him and his brother to their estate in Norfolk for a jolly good old hunting trip. Cormac had taken after him in that respect, ever since becoming great friends with Bertie Higgs, formerly Rufus Scrimgeour's assistant, now the head of the Department of Intoxicating Substances, during a hunt in his seventh year at Hogwarts.
Cormac was doing well for himself these days. Very well. He had kept in touch with Blaise Zabini and Melinda Bobbin from the Slug Club, and after a few high risk investments that he had been reticent to lend his son, the young trio were quickly becoming industry leaders in the field of mass production of previously rare potioneering such as wolfsbane; a niche that was sorely needed after the mess of the war.
It was with great fondness that Charles had watched his son grow up, even if it had meant seeing him more in the papers than in person. However, the degree of separation between them started quickly fading after his son's company's first stock review. After that he had noticed that he was increasingly running into his son during the merry-go-round of social engagements - and with his heart full of pride, he realised that his son had made it in the club on his own merits.
Ah… the club, Charles thought wistfully as he ushered one of the house elves to expand the broom cupboard and clean the fireplaces. If anybody asked him, it was more like a game you need to get tagged to play in - the ultimate form of competition and natural selection played in waistcoats and high heels. Through generations, the club had been the father of all things, the source of the most potent ideas, inventions, institutions and states. And if the last century had taught him anything, it was that peace was an unstable equilibrium among its members; which was why he really, really needed that elf to get rid of that bouquet of chrysanthemums and start decorating the room with the white carnations he had ordered and were waiting in the drawing room.
All the important people were coming today, so it was imperative he put on a good show; especially after that little indiscretion the Prophet had caught him with that other witch. It had all been a terrible misunderstanding. Yes, his hand had been up her skirt. And yes, she had been about a decade or two younger than him. But they were just having a laugh. Nothing serious. No need to blast the affair all over page three. He had a weakness for beautiful women - who could blame him? And didn't they realise they were making it terribly difficult for him to make his advances on Narcissa Black? Honestly, there was no respect for the higher classes anymore - as if Abraxas Malfoy ever had to put up with this nonsense.
Charles re-entered the ballroom and directed the musicians to where they would be playing for the night. He ran his hand through his golden locks, wondering how his wife had ever made this look easy - he needed some wine, now. As he was about to reach for a silver goblet the doorbell rang, and he sent one last desperate prayer hoping that he had picked the right champagne before he went to greet his first guests. What a birthday indeed.
As the ballroom filled up, it was in increasingly dazzling manners that the guests for Charles McLaggen's birthday party arrived. Some chose to make their entrance by not so legally tampering with the floo network to create a rainbow of colours in the flames as they burst out. Others chose to show off by arriving atop some fantastical creature that tended to terrify the poor house elf who was playing valet.
Narcissa was aching to roll her eyes at the extravagances; the flamboyant entrances denoted a despicable insecurity on behalf of the invitees - compensating grotesquely as they tried to hide the shallowness of their station with an expensive trick. The rules of simplicity are those of taste, and as Narcissa looked around her, her sight landing on Charles McLaggen himself, she couldn't help but think that a man could be no more truly wretched than he whose mind was only a mirror of his body; whose soul could fly no high than his neck-tie.
And yet, she would dance with him. And laugh with him. And lay her head on his shoulder as he pressed her closer to him when the lights dimmed and the music mellowed out and the sound of discreet cameras shuttered around them. She would inhale his aftershave as he whispered how glad he was that she had come. She would feel his hand trailing the arches of her back as he purred on about how beautiful she looked. She would be silent, almost stoic, as their intimate dance was recorded by every tabloid paper. They would be close enough to feel each other's breathing press against the other's chest, but her attention would be lost to the white carnations and his would be lost to the temptation of asking her to go with him to somewhere private.
Narcissa downed a flute of champagne in one go, immediately placing the glass back on one of the floating trays and picking another glass in the process. The second glass didn't last much longer than the first, and she discretely looked around the full ball room wondering where he hid the good stuff.
"It's going to take us five hours to get drunk on this monkey's piss." Violetta stated as she appeared next to her.
"Does that mean we're going to have to be here for another five hours?" Narcissa drawled out sarcastically and the two witches shared an amused smile.
"I must say, Cissy, that dress of yours really is quite spectacular." Violetta gushed.
"This old thing?" Narcissa asked casually.
"No need to be modest, Cissy." The older witch said teasingly. "You look splendid, and I for one, think Charles is blind if he hasn't fallen for you already."
"I really hope he hasn't - it's such a clumsy affair to get them back to their feet."
"I'm sorry," Violetta said, not sounding apologetic at all. "I forgot you're still pretending you and Charles aren't a match made in heaven."
"Don't be silly, Vi." Narcissa said sweetly. "I'm just not looking for those sorts of thrills anymore. I'm too old for that sort of nonsense."
"Too old?" Vi said incredulously. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You're by far the most stunning witch in this room. It's a damn shame you're alone, Cissy - someone as beautiful as yourself shouldn't have to be."
"You're too kind, Vi." Replied Narcissa as she picked up her third glass of champagne.
"Not at all. I've been saying this for years - you two are a perfect match, and before you saying anything else, I know your mother would've agreed with me."
Narcissa almost slapped the older witch on the head. Hadn't anybody learnt that her mother's approval didn't tend to be a good sign?
"I couldn't possibly understand what fault you could find in a man like him…" Vi cooed. "I mean, he's just so handsome."
So are a thousand others, Narcissa thought to herself.
"And rich."
So am I.
"He has one of the few last good surname's."
Mine's better.
"Have I mention he's rich?"
"Yes, Vi." Narcissa replied, tired of playing along with the game that Charles had obviously put Violetta up to. "However, I am not going to marry a man just because he's rich."
"Oh, but don't you know that a man being rich is like a girl being pretty?" Violetta asked enthusiastically. "You might not marry a girl just because she's pretty, but my goodness, doesn't it help?"
Violetta had a good look at her friend and wondered why she seemed so unimpressed with the prospect of such an advantageous courtship with McLaggen. "Why are you so reticent?" She asked suspiciously, then her eyes widened as a trickle of possibilities flooded into her mind. "Narcissa Black, I am about to ask you a most serious question and I need you to look me in the eyes and answer me with complete and utter honesty."
Narcissa raised a surprised eyebrow at Violetta. "Go on."
"Narcissa… is there, is there someone else?"
The younger witch suddenly felt dizzy from all the champagne and begged for this god awful nightmare of a conversation to be over. "Someone else?" She asked back, feigning ignorance.
"Yes, yes - that's caught your fancy, and with whom you wish to pursue a relationship with." Violetta expanded with little disguised exasperation.
Narcissa fell back into the cool waters of her mind, painting a honest smile on her lips as she prepared to… lie? This wasn't a lie. "No." She said resolutely. "I'm just… not looking for anyone. I've had enough commitment for one lifetime." It was Narcissa's turn to look at her friend with suspicion. "Why are you so intent in getting me and Charles together."
"Lets just say I had a long chat with someone at that party you didn't come to last week, and well…" Vi grinned and leaned closer to her friend, whispering conspicuously. "He's absolutely in love with you."
"Really?" Narcissa drawled out sarcastically again. "And that's why he's getting with every woman he can get his hands on?"
"Oh, it's all a faff!" Vi chortled. "You know how boys are - he's doing it all to make you jealous, and golly, I bet it's working,:
Narcissa took a deep calming breath. If Violetta kept prattling on about this nonsense there would be no power on this earth that could stop her from stunning the silly witch into the next decade.
"Oh, do dance with him!" Urged the older witch. "Just give him a chance - it's his birthday!"
"Fine." Narcissa conceded as politely as she could - anything to please stop her talking.
The pureblood finished what remained in her flute of champagne and slowly glided towards the general direction of Charles McLaggen. All around her excited voices buzzed enthusiastically; negotiations and plans thriving in the elite atmosphere. This was the sort of party where much of the pleasure to be derived depended on the general effect of the enjoyers. But it was just a tad too big for Narcissa's taste. She was a sucker for swell, intimate, black tie parties; but in inviting half the senior ministry, Charles had forgone intimacy for revelry. That was why she had gone for such a purposely stunning dress - if she could not pump up a look of mirth, she would at least wear the semblance of it in her dress.
"Cissy, darling!" Charles called out to her, excusing himself from the little group that surrounded him.
"Charles! What a wonderful party!" Narcissa said in lieu of a greeting as he kissed her on the cheek and a camera shutter went of.
"What are you drinking?" He asked her, stopping a floating tray that was passing by.
"Oh, I think I've had more than enough!" Replied Narcissa, laughing gently.
"Nonsense, nonsense!" Charles said dismissively, handing her another flute of champagne.
"My, my, Mr McLaggen! One would dare to think you're trying to get me inebriated." She said, faking shock.
"I do seem to remember it was you who introduced me to the catchphrase 'it's too early to be sober', Miss Black." He retorted with what Narcissa suspected was his most charming smile.
"We're not sixteen anymore, Charles." She replied with the slightest hint of fondness.
"We'll always be sixteen at heart." He said clinking his glass with hers. "Come now, Cissy. You can't deny me a dance on my birthday." He pulled her gently onto the dance floor, their steps naturally synching to the fast pace of the violins. "Wanna make front page news tomorrow?" He asked her with a brazen grin.
"Depends the reason." She replied coldly, very aware she was trapped in the rhythmic spinning of the dance floor.
"All good reasons, I promise." He whispered as he kissed her and with cold horror Narcissa heard every single camera in the room immortalise the moment in a gluttonous wave of clicks and shutters.
R&R.