A/N: Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially: tryntee13 and amethyst-rose. There might be a couple of days before the next chapter goes up, so enjoy! 😊
By the era of the PBB (mid-Regency,) only the oldest men would have been seen in powdered wigs at formal events, although it did happen. That's why Thaddeus Nott is wearing one—he's around Dumbledore's age.
Je ne sais quoi- I don't know what, beyond understanding
Laisser aller- let go
Mal a propos- out of place, unsuitable
Parvenu- one who pushes himself socially
Un argent fou- endless money
+++
"I'd like to know her better," said the Princesse de Lieven. "I suspect a mind there. She's no vapid miss."
- Princesse Dariya de Lieven, speaking about Lady Miranda Dunham in Unconquered, by Bertrice Small
"Blaise, do you seriously mean we're going to dance the minuet?" whispered Ginny as they made their way up the staircase. "I thought it was just the quadrille and the waltz. I think I remember something about the quadrille. We start in pairs, right? And then… um…"
Blaise gave a faint groan into her ear. "I knew I should have asked Abby to drive us round the block a few more times. I absolutely knew we were too early. But they won't let anyone in past a certain time and I just wasn't sure…"
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, it's nothing terribly important. But it's a bit annoying, no way round it. Buck up, Gin; it'll only take a few moments."
"I don't underst—" began Ginny. But then they reached the top stair, and she understood, all right. Bollixing up the minuet was the least of her problems.
Three women stood in a small alcove. They all turned to look at her. Ginny recognized them instantly. She thought that she would have preferred to dance the minuet all by herself stark naked in the middle of the floor than to walk up to them. She could already feel Blaise nudging her in the back from behind. I'm going to get him for this, sooner or later, she decided.
"We've got to do this, Ginny," he hissed. "There are some rules we really do have to follow."
"Then it would've been nice if you'd told me something about how this one works!" she hissed back.
"I didn't think we'd have to do it. I thought the dancing would've started—oh, just follow my lead, all right?" He gave her a crooked attempt at a grin."Come on, Gin. I don't think the lady wolves will eat you up. Something tells me you can bite back pretty well on your own account."
That's easy for you to say. thought Ginny, but Blaise had shoved her all the way under the noses of the three imposing women, and there was nowhere left to run.
He made an elegant, low, sweeping bow that filled Ginny with a sort of despair. On top of everything else, she was sure she didn't remember how to curtsy. "Lady Sefton, Lady Jersey, Princesse de Lieven… may I present Mistress Ginevra Weasley?"
Maybe not, thought Ginny. Maybe Blaise shouldn't have phrased it as a question. The moment of silence seemed to last an eternity. She realized that she could see the outline of a chair behind the women, which pretty much killed off the last faint hope that they might be the great-great-great-granddaughters of the original patronesses. They were definitely ghosts. Shite! They looked exactly the same as they had on the cover of Nature's Nobility: The Extended Edition , an unbearably snooty-looking trio of witches in Regency dress looking down their noses at her from the authors' photograph. Did they remember seeing her? Ginny frantically cudgeled her brain for any scraps of information about author portraits exchanging information with their ghostly selves, and came up with nothing. But how could they not remember? They knew she'd been at the cottage at Lyme Bay in May with Draco, and they knew that he was now married to Astoria. Would they say anything about that? Were they ever going to say anything at all?
"Ginevra, dear, I am so pleased to make you most welcome to the Pureblood Ball," said Lady Sefton with a pleasant smile. "What a pity that you have not been able to attend in previous years, but how delightful, yes, simply delightful to see you now!"
"Hmmph," said the second woman. Lady Jersey, Ginny remembered. "Your mother was Mistress Molly Prewett, I believe?"
"Yes," said Ginny. She didn't care for the sound of the woman's voice at all. In fact, she seemed to remember that she'd been the ghost authoress who'd said something unpleasant about what would happen if Ginny ever went to the Ball. Something along the lines of the unbearable tragedy of being forced to lower one's standards in such a fashion, if she remembered correctly…
"I recall her quite well. A rather loud, boisterous girl. She attended a number of years ago, but only on one occasion," Lady Jersey said rather darkly. "Rather mal a propos, if one should ask my opinion of the thing.
Blaise groaned almost inaudibly at Ginny's side.
"Oh, no. No, no," twittered Lady Sefton. She was partnered by that exceptionally dashing young man, Arthur Weasley. Not precisely un argent fou, perhaps, but nonetheless—"
Lady Jersey waved her hand dismissively. "A parvenu! Nothing more. One… no, more… of the many times when I simply could not have said what the invitations committee might have been thinking."
Ginny narrowed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reminded herself that throwing a ghost patroness downstairs probably wasn't the best way to start out. "I thought that any pureblood was eligible to come to the Ball," she said. "Even though I still haven't exactly seen why people go to all the trouble."
"Quel horror!" gasped Lady Jersey. "The sort attending the Pureblood Balls in modern times- je ne sais quoi. Now, in my day, we had standards!"
"But apparently not manners," said a cynical, amused voice. "Oh, laisser aller, Sarah; use your vinaigrette, and don't lace your corset so tightly next time." The Princesse de Lieven looked down her long nose at Ginny, appraising her with dark, intelligent eyes. She spoke with a slight Russian accent. "Welcome to the Ball, Mistress Ginevra. We do grow rather ingrown, don't we? I believe we need some new blood at our yearly event. Such as yourself."
Beside her, Ginny felt Blaise let out all his breath in a long sigh. She inched one leg behind the other, and went down in a kind of trembling crouch that she was sure didn't resemble a curtsy at all. "Thank you, uh… Your Grace," she said.
The princess's lips twitched. "You're very welcome, I'm sure. Now run along, my dear, and lend some life to the proceedings."
"Oh, thank gods," Blaise whispered to Ginny as they made their way out of the small reception alcove. "Dariya likes you. She's the one who matters, you know. I'm very relieved."
"So am I," said Ginny. More than you could guess, Blaise! There might have been a knowing look in the princess's eyes when she looked at her, but at least she hadn't said anything.
"Lady Sarah Jersey is a bitch," Blaise went on. "But if the princess likes you, then you'll be all right. I must say, though, I didn't know that your mother ever came here. That was a bit of a surprise."
"I knew," said Ginny. "I didn't know Dad took her here, although I suppose I should've—I don't know who else I it would've been. But…" Her brow puckered. "Blaise, doesn't it seem like the way Lady Jersey said it was sort of funny? She mentioned the invitations committee had done something she didn't like several times. It almost sounded like Dad was here more than once."
"Actually, it did," said Blaise. "Do you think he was?"
"I didn't know he was ever here," said Ginny. "Maybe I'm making too much out of it. I mean…"
The huge ballroom opened out in front of them. Ginny had a confused impression of cream walls decorated with gilt columns and classic medallions, and pale blue velvet and gilt chairs and tubbed palms set around the dance floor, and an endless horde of buzzing, chattering guests. The gas lighting in cut glass lustres glittered against a thousand sparkling gems set at their arms and wrists and throats and ears, all winking back at her as if hiding secrets that would never be shared.
"I thought there'd be dancing already," whispered Ginny.
"Nary a chance, I'm afraid," said Blaise. "Look." He pointed up at a balcony over the dance floor. The members of a small orchestra sat tuning their instruments and talking to each other.
"So what do we do now?"
"We mingle," said Blaise.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny looked nervously at a group of women standing nearby in flowing silk dresses, lacy ribbons tied beneath the low-cut bosoms. They glanced back at her and smiled slyly at each other, putting their heads together and beginning to whisper.
"That's a bit of a tricky question," said Blaise. "Normally, we'd just be stuck in some deadly dull conversation with old fossils, but I thought that you were supposed to tell me about tonight. Didn't Draco give you detailed instructions about how to put Potter's spies off the scent?"
"Do we even know who they are?" asked Ginny.
"I'm really not sure. Humperdinck, for one, although I don't know where he is now. I don't see him yet. But Draco did tell you exactly what we're supposed to do, right?"
He hadn't, Ginny thought. Not really. He'd said… well, she didn't quite remember, because she'd been a bit distracted at the time, she thought guiltily. "Um… Something about you keeping your hands strictly off me, because that would only make Harry even more jealous if he heard about it," she said.
"Yes, that's more or less what he wrote in that owl," said Blaise. "But I was hoping he'd told you something that actually made sense."
"No," sighed Ginny. "I'm afraid he didn't. But, um… I'm sure it'll all work out. He must've had a very clever plan in mind."
"Maybe," said Blaise, sounding anything but convinced.
"After all, Malfoy must have thought this was a good idea for some reason… I mean, don't you think it'll work?"
"I really can't say. But I think we'd better do it anyway."
"What do you mean?" That hadn't sounded good at all.
Blaise sighed. "Gin, do you remember when you asked me if Draco had made any dire threats in that owl, and I said no?"
Ginny nodded. She was starting to have a very bad feeling about all of this.
"I lied."
"What??"
"Never mind. It's the least of our problems now. If you don't know what to say, Gin, just giggle, and hope to hell the orchestra starts up soon. Maybe I can bribe them." Blaise's face glazed with an empty social smile. They were approaching the first cluster of guests.
Nero Flint gave her a roguish look, his piglike eyes twinkling behind rolls of fat. "And where have you been hiding yourself, Mistress Weasley? I've not seen you at the Ball before!"
"Um…" said Ginny.
"Such rosy cheeks! What a pretty little girl you are, yes, yes." He chortled happily. With horror, Ginny realized that he was reaching out a pudgy, wrinkled hand to pinch her on the cheek. At the same moment, she felt Blaise elbowing her in the ribs. She gulped and forced herself to stand still. The elder Flint leaned towards her and then stumbled slightly.
"Let me help you, sir; you don't seem to be quite steady on your feet—" Blaise moved forward swiftly.
"Thank you, m'boy; I'm quite all right. My balance isn't what it used to be when I was a hundred and twenty years old; that's all." He gave Ginny a very sly smile. She repressed a nearly unbearable urge to stamp on his foot. She'd definitely felt himself steadying himself with a hand on the back of her bum.
"But back to the subject, m'dear Miss Weasley. I think you may be just a bit naughty, keeping yourself back from the Ball," the old man went on. "There are times when you've got to thrust forward just a bit, and then a bit more, and then further still, until you've reached your goal. Eh, Zabini?" He winked at Blaise.
"Ah, yes, sir, you may be right," said Blaise. "But we're being very selfish by monopolizing Ginny, aren't we? I see someone else waving to us right over there. So if you'll be so kind as to excuse us…?"
"But of course," said Nero Flint. "You've got to spread the goods around, eh what? I'll see you a bit later, m'dear!"
Ginny let out a long sigh of relief as Blaise hurried her away. Unfortunately, the emotion was destined to be very short-lived.
"Ah, Miss Weasley, m'dear!" said old Thaddeus Nott to her breasts a few moments later. "I've had such a burgeoning desire to see your ripe little self, but Zabini's been unkind enough to keep you away."
"We've just arrived," Blaise said stiffly.
"Ah, yes," said Nott, casting him a shrewd glance from under his powdered grey wig. "Without the winsome Mistress Lovegood, I see."
Ginny could feel Blaise tensing incredibly at her side. She groaned inwardly. She was already sure that she was about three seconds away from punching him for not protecting her from the extremely broad array of dirty old men. And now he's going to lose it over hearing Luna's name. That's all we need!
"She was unable to attend," said Blaise.
"Miss Ginny Weasley must be a most pleasant substitute," said Nott, busily arranging the folds of his cravat.
"She and I are friends," was Blaise's answer to that. Ginny's inner groan became louder.
"Ah, yes. How exceptionally pleasant it is to enjoy the, er, companionship of… ahem… friends." The old man returned to perusing Ginny's neckline. "By the way, have you tried the rum punch, Miss Weasley? It's mild as mother's milk."
"No," said Ginny between clenched teeth.
"And begging your pardon," he told her cleavage, "but my vision's not quite what it used to be! Let me get at my quizzing-glass, m'dear. While I'm at it, would you care for a pinch of snuff?" He held out a porcelain box to Ginny.
"Er.. no, thanks."
He took a large pinch between thumb and forefinger. Ginny sneezed. To her horror, she distinctly felt something pop out of the painfully low neckline of her gown.
A smile spread over Thaddeus Nott's face. He whipped out a monocle on a gold chain and peered very, very closely at her left breast.
As unobtrusively as she could, Ginny stomped on Blaise's foot.
"You've broken my toe," he whined as she dragged him to the less crowded end of the ballroom.
"Good," she said grimly.
"It's not good at all. We've still got to dance."
She whipped out her wand and stabbed it at his boots. "Episkey," she snapped.
"Ow! That hurt more than when you originally stomped on it."
"I don't care! Blaise, why didn't you do anything to help me?"
He rubbed his chin with one hand, looking incredibly tired and drawn. Draco had sometimes looked that way, she thought suddenly. She wished she could get the thought out of her head. "I can't do anything," he said. "If they thought that you were mine, they'd leave you alone. As it is, I can't show any interest in you, so you're fair game."
"This is vile," said Ginny furiously. "I'm not putting up with it. They're treating me like a whore."
Blaise winced. She remembered what that word had meant to Draco. He was from the same class of purebloods; he'd had the initiation as well, so maybe it held the same sort of meaning for him, she realized. She put a hand on his arm.
"I'm sorry, Blaise. But we've got to figure out something else. I just can't do this all night long—I'll go mad."
He looked away from her, towards the double doors that led to the reception room. "So will I."
"When is the dancing going to start?"
"It's got to be soon."
Ginny gnawed on a fingertip. "How about if I go to the ladies' loo for a bit? That'll give us some time, anyway."
He smiled at her, rather sadly, she thought. "Good idea. I think it's up those stairs, near the balcony."
Ginny was nearly at the top of the little flight of stairs when a hand stopped her. She turned and looked back to see Theodore Nott. It gave her a shock, seeing him; she was sure she hadn't laid eyes on him even once since Hogwarts. He was still tall and rather reedy-looking, with an intense, self-contained air, and the Regency clothing didn't suit him very well, she couldn't help thinking. But then, I never realized just how many people would look bloody silly in blue silk tailcoats and lace knee breeches!
"Hello, Weasley," he said.
"Uh… hello, Nott. I'm kind of headed somewhere, so if you don't mind—"
"Of course." He nodded, his eyes still on her. "I won't keep you long. I only wanted to apologize for my grandfather's behavior. He's a bit dotty, you know."
"Oh. That's all right. I understand." Ginny felt a sudden, massive longing to get away. Theodore Nott was smiling; he looked perfectly pleasant, but she really, really wished that he would get his hand off her.
"I see that you're here with Zabini."
"Yes. He's right downstairs. He's expecting me back any minute. So…"
"It's strange that Lovegood isn't here. I was given to understand that they were quite the couple."
"Uh… the course of true love never did run smooth, and all that," Ginny said vaguely. "You know how it is." Wasn't he ever going to let go of her?
"I imagine they'll get back together rather soon."
"I'm sure you're right. Now if you don't mind—"
"Zabini can't protect you, you know," said Theodore, in the same level, even tone of voice. "Even if he wanted to, which I don't think he will. Not once he's back with Lovegood."
Ginny stared at him. "What on earth are you talking about?"
He smiled at her. The smile did not reach his eyes, she noticed, but his gaze slid up and down her body, coming to rest on her breasts. "Come on, Weasley. You need a protector, and you know it."
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't need anybody to protect me, Nott! And you'd better just get your hand off me right now."
Theodore's eyes suddenly turned darker, narrower, and colder. "Have it your way, then." He pushed her arm away and hurried past her.
Ginny leaned against the wall for a moment, shuddering with revulsion. I can't do this. I can't. I can't. I… there's got to be another way… Then she shook herself all over and continued up the stairs, grabbing her thin pelisse and yanking it up so that it covered her chest.
She stopped. She couldn't see more than a few inches past the darkness at the landing at the top. This couldn't be the right way to the loo. She hesitated, looking round her, and a hand clamped onto her arm and dragged her down somewhere.
"Lydløshed," hissed a voice. "" Mørke!"
Theodore Nott! her brain screamed. He'd come back; he'd pulled her into some kind of hiding place and cast a spell on her and now he was going to try to rape her or something; oh, why had she ever been stupid enough to come to this thing! Ginny hit out blindly, wildly; she kicked and punched and felt one of her blows connect; then a lean, wiry body was slamming her against a wall and big hands were trapping her in place as she squirmed and writhed and screamed.
"Gods-damnit, you banshee, will you stop attacking me?" yelled a disturbingly familiar voice. "Why you haven't made me into a eunuch by now, I'll never know. Your aim is too damn good, Weasley. I've had too many narrow escapes, and my luck will run out one day. Don't make me put a Binding spell on you. I'll do it. You know I will."
She knew that voice, Ginny realized. She stopped struggling immediately. "Malfoy?" she asked.
"Who the hell else did you think it was? Lumos." A wand tip flared into a circle of light, and she saw Draco's face. At first, her eyes were so dazzled that she saw nothing else, and he seemed to be floating in darkness like some sort of angry angel.
"You've succeeded in bruising my shin," he said. "I hope you're happy now. It's sure to show under these idiotic knee breeches."
She hung her head. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. I didn't know it was you."
"Yes. Well…" He continued to look at her, and she saw that his eyes were filled with an odd intensity. "It doesn't matter, Weasley."
I ought to look away, thought Ginny. But she couldn't. "I didn't think I would see you," she said. "I mean, uh… by yourself."
"Yes, well, I wasn't planning on this sort of encounter at all," said Draco. "And it's really quite dangerous, so we can't take long."
"Because somebody might see us, you mean? Or hear us?"
He shook his head, and the light sent rays of silvery brightness dancing through the little alcove, dazzling Ginny's eyes. "I've protected us with Dark Danish spells. That's not what I'm worried about. Weasley, listen to me. Part of the Crystal Palace is spelled to resemble the real Almack's tonight. It actually consisted of three rooms- a reception area at the top of the stairs, a ballroom, and the supper room. That's the only one you haven't seen, and it's where we'll present the sketches later on. Then there's the second floor with the orchestra balcony and the necessary rooms. And that's all. You must not go outside these boundaries. Are you listening to me?"
"You're standing right in front of me, and I'm not deaf," said Ginny crossly. "Of course I'm listening to you, Malfoy."
"Good. This is very important."
"Why?"
"Because if you go outside the strict boundaries of these rooms, Weasley, you might not be able to find your way back." He kept looking at her steadily, his silvery eyes as serious as she had ever seen them.
Ginny shivered. "Well, if this is so important, then why didn't you tell me about it before?"
Something passed over Draco's face, just for an instant, an emotion or thought that she couldn't begin to identify. "I ought to have done," he said. "Will you promise to simply believe me on this one, Weasley?"
"I suppose so," said Ginny, remembering everything he had told her earlier. If the early nineteenth century really was going on outside these few rooms… well, I don't want to get stuck in 1814 on top of everything else!
"Okay. I won't go outside of the boundaries. But how am I supposed to know exactly where they are?" asked Ginny. "I couldn't even tell what was past this landing at the top of the stairs, it was so dark up here."
"Prudence Johnson is keeping an eye on the borders tonight," said Draco. "I've, ah… I've told you a bit about her, haven't I?"
"Yes," said Ginny rather stiffly. She wasn't about to clue Draco in as to the extent of her knowledge about the proprietress of the Crystal Palace. Maybe it was about time to change the subject. "Why didn't you come in earlier, Malfoy?"
"I'm coming in now," he said. "We'll be announced in a few minutes."
We. She knew exactly who the other half of that equation was. "I certainly hope so," she said. "Your cunning plan about Blaise ignoring me is a disaster, Malfoy. We've got to think of something else."
"What do you mean?" he asked sharply.
"What do you think? I've had to fight off a bunch of leering old pureblood men for the past half hour, and because of what you told Blaise, he can't do anything to help me!"
"What?"
"You heard me, Malfoy. Thaddeus Nott kept staring down my dress and sort of licking his lips until I thought I was going to be ill, and Nero Flint patted me on the bum and pretended it was a mistake. I don't care if he is a hundred and fifty years old, if he does it again, I'm going to hex him all the way back to the Middle Ages!"
She heard Draco suck in a very, very deep breath. "Listen to me, Weasley. They're very old men, and they're both half out of their wits. Jut for tonight, you've got to somehow bear that sort of thing. We've both got to simply get through it all. "
"Oh? So that means I supposed to 'simply get through' Theodore Nott doing the same thing his grandfather did?" snapped Ginny.
"What?" The wand wavered; the circle of light danced savagely, and the silver of Draco's eyes and hair flashed all round the tiny nook like sharpened spears.
"He caught me on the way up the stairs," said Ginny. "I think he was making me an indecent proposition—I'm not exactly sure, I suppose they were all the rage in the nineteenth century. And he wouldn't let go of my arm."
"You mean he dared to touch you?"
Draco's teeth were very white, Ginny thought dazedly. Why didn't I ever notice that before? I don't think he's ever bared them like that… "Yes—well, it was just my arm-"
He swore something under his breath, whirling round, grabbing her shoulders. Her pelisse slipped down and fell off. His silvery eyes narrowed.
"Do you mean to tell me that you were parading about in front of Theodore Nott looking like that?"
"I wasn't parading—" Ginny began furiously.
"Like that?" repeated Draco. "Can't you see it? Do I need to show you what I mean, Weasley?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Malf- oh!"
He put his hand over her chest, swiftly. Every nerve sprang to life, and she stared down. She suddenly realized the horrible truth. When Thaddeus Nott had brought out the snuff and she had sneezed, her breasts had popped out even further. No—oh gods, no! It was worse than that. No wonder she'd felt so cold. Oh, gods, how long has it been like that?
Draco stared, as well.
Waves of shame spread through Ginny. He hasn't even touched me! And still, he kept staring, his hand remaining on her breasts.
She wanted… she wanted…
The thoughts and images flamed through her head in a crazed flash of heat.
She could feel the first electric shocks of utter pleasure. She closed her eyes and arched her back up to him, and his other hand moved behind her, ready to catch her waist, to pull her towards him. It was utter madness. She knew it, and in that moment of insanity, she didn't care.
Outside the alcove, something rustled.
Draco dropped her. His fingers yanked the bodice of her gown up as far as it would go, and his hands pulled the pelisse round her shoulders.
"Wha—what?" Ginny mumbled, confused, her head whirling.
"Play your part, Weasley!" Draco hissed at her.
"But… I don't underst—"
The tip of his wand moved. She heard the slight cracking noise that meant a spell had been broken. She watched a film of coldness spread over his face.
"I'm quite done with you, Weasley," he said. "You can get away from me now."
It was as if he had plunged her into freezing water, or cracked ice over her head. She gasped in shock. She couldn't speak. Her mouth closed, and then opened again.
There was that rustling noise. It was moving past them now, in the darkness.
"Get angry at me, Weasley! Come on!" Draco muttered under his breath, so softly that she could barely hear the words.
Something was going on that she didn't really understand. She knew it in a flash. "I'm more than happy to get away," she said venomously, meaning every word; playing a part, she no longer knew. "I don't ever want to see you again as long as I live, Malfoy!"
"The feeling's mutual, Weasley, believe me," he sneered. "I was only asking if you'd quite finished the last touches on the sketches. I won't go to the trouble again. Don't think I want to share breathing room with a little blood traitor such as yourself one moment longer than need be."
"Why, you—" She raised her hand to slap him. He caught her wrist.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," said Draco, very softly. His silvery eyes bored into hers. Ginny realized that her breath was coming very hard and fast, and that her skin was tingling where he touched her, that all of her body was tingling and her blood was racing and her heart was pounding in her chest. The anger she felt was real, not a game, and the frustration, and the overwhelming urge to launch herself at him and smack him and wrestle him to the ground and… and…
His fingers were trembling. She could feel it. He's about to lose control, too, she realized.
Play your part, Weasley.
She stepped back and pulled her wrist away. He let her go, the tips of his fingers dragging at her skin, one by one. "Don't touch me, Malfoy," she said. She was almost sure that she had managed to keep the pleading note out of her voice. Then she turned and stalked off towards the ladies' necessary room.
I'm going mad, she thought. Absolutely mad. What the hell's going on? What's happening to me? And the night's just begun!