The colours were the first thing that Neville noticed as they entered the great hall. The room couldn't be called anything other than great. It was huge and bright, its stone walls painted white to reflect the light within. He could only assume that on a sunny day, this room was blinding like being in the centre of a kaleidoscope with the leaded windows. Piano music floated through the air, and he caught sight of a grand sat in one corner, it's pianist playing for dear life to be heard over the din of the party-goers. He struggled to focus on anything for more than a second before some else even more dazzling caught his eye. The scene before him looked as though he had walked into a Taylors backroom as fabrics of vivid reds and electric blues billowed and swished past in an epic display of vulgar indulgence and extravagance.
"Matteo," Neville hesitated before turning, forgetting that Matteo was his name for the evening.
"Sorry?" he asked eventually, dragging his gaze away from the lavish costumes.
"Salazar! Stop being so simple, staring gormlessly into the crowd and come on!" Draco sighed with a roll of his eyes.
"That was uncalled for, Dray," Blaise frowned "He's never been to one of these before, I remember your first one…" Neville smiled at Blaise as he heard the reproach in his voice.
"That's not the point. No one is ever going to believe that he is a pureblood son of a great house if he keeps gawping at everything."
"I am a pureblood son of a great house," Neville remarked cooly. "And I'm sorry if my presence here embarrasses you."
"No… Matteo! What embarrasses me is that somehow Pansy's parents found out about her sordid love affair with 'Gomez'! Whoever that is, and my name got dragged through the mud along with it." He growled, "Next time, get your own owl!"
"You're right, I'm sorry," Neville admitted, causing Draco to turn and look at him in confusion. "It's difficult when you love someone and can't bear to be apart. You do stupid things. If you want me to put a good word in for you with Harry, just let me know," Neville replied, holding his gaze, daring the other man to argue. Draco stopped in his tracks, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish before turning wordlessly to disappear into the crowd.
Neville watched him go, feeling a sense of satisfaction as Blaise's laughter broke through his thoughts.
"Oh, Matteo! I should bring you out more often, I think it brings out the snake in you, and I like it!" He slapped Neville on the back again as he guided him in the same direction Draco had gone.
It took them a while to reach the bar as almost everyone seemed to know Blaise and wanted to greet him and meet his friend. The Italian did all of the talking, blaming Neville's silence of a debilitating stutter. Neville was surprised at the sheer magnitude of the ball and the number of guests in attendance. However, his eyes were always looking out for the midnight hair and star-dust eyes, without success.
It occurred to him that she would have been in trouble for receiving such letters, and he hoped that she had not come to harm. The thought filled him with a nervous dread as anything even remotely looking like black hair drew his attention.
"You wait here, I'll go get us some drinks. Otherwise, the party will be over before we've managed a single sip." Blaise said with a shake of his head. Neville nodded as he rested against one of the marble pillars, as his eyes swept the crowd. He fought with himself not to fidget as his eyes continued to seek out his sweetheart. Once again, he felt like an addict, needing just one more hit before going cold turkey.
"Oh, yes, Lucerne is, of course, the place to be at the moment. The skiing is by far the best in Europe, in my opinion. I only came back to see the folks," A smug voice announced, and Neville turned to find the speaker.
The man was about his height-maybe a fraction shorter, with sleeked blond hair. It was difficult to recognise the man with all his finery and costume; however, that ego was unmistakable and could only be confused with Lockhart in his opinion.
He remained still as he listened to the conversation. He thought it strange that the owner of the Saga would live so far away from the paper he supposedly ran.
"Yes, yes. These were from Milan, they were hideously expensive, but sometimes you have to treat yourself, don't you agree?" The other person was too quiet to make out, but McLaggan's voice carried just fine. "Yes, the paper is doing very well, according to my partner. Yes, yes, said that it's selling better than cauldron cakes, would you believe? I haven't read any of the headlines, not yet but I believe that Skeeter has it all under control, she does have experience in that area after all." Neville listened avidly while trying to remain bored-looking as he waited for Blaise to return. "Speaking of experience, my dear… How do you feel about Centaurs?" He said smoothly, obviously trying to woo the other person. "Drusilla. No. Come back,"
Neville watched as the man disappeared off into the crowd after his love interest, he smirked to himself, wondering what Centaurs had to do with experience. He shrugged and waited as he mulled over the information. Harry and Ron would be sure to want to know about his living arrangements, not to mention the senior role Skeeter had within the company. He filed it away for later as he continued to wait.
After what felt like an eternity, he took another look around and found Blaise chatting animatedly with someone in a flamboyant, purple outfit. Neville sighed, it didn't look like he was going to be finished any time soon, and there was a distinct lack of drinks in his hands. He rolled his eyes as he looked around for the blond. With that silver hair, Neville reasoned that he should have been easy to spot, but with so many different colours filling the room, he was nowhere to be seen. Not that Neville thought he would be in a rush to return after their spat.
He waited a few more minutes as his eyes darted from face to face, hoping to catch the slightest sighting of Pansy. But with every new face came a growing unease and disappointment. Deciding that he had been forgotten, he moved from the pillar in search of his girlfriend. Desperate to see her eyes and feel her skin. He pushed himself through the crowds of people nodding to people as he passed.
He wondered whether she was locked away in a room somewhere, kept prisoner in her own house as people gorged and binged just feet away. The piano music seemed to linger in the air even after the din of voices disappeared. He opened one door to find a closet. The second in the ornate corridor held a darkened empty room. He lit the end of his wand up, but there was nothing to see but furniture. He rushed to the next door and pushed it open. He felt a glimmer of hope when he noticed that there was a fire burning. He looked around, unable to see anyone. He moved forward, closing the door quietly behind him.
The room was just as spacious as the last. Still, the furniture looked slightly more comfortable, as though it had been purchased to be used and enjoyed instead of just being looked at it. It had a feminine touch to it.
"So, what should I call you?" Came the voice. His veins turned to ice as he stood in the centre of the room, feeling exposed and in danger.
"Scusate," he muttered as he tried to remember the Italian his Gran had tried to drum into him.
"So, Matteo, or should I say, Gomez?" She hummed as she emerged from the shadows behind him. "Or is it Longbottom? I'm feeling dizzy with all these names," she pressed a short tumbler to her lips, the ice clinking in the glass. A cigarette smoked in her other hand. She placed the stem against her mouth and sucked, turning the light from s bright cherry hue to a white glow. Neville coughed as her smoke caught the back of his through. They reminded him of one of his uncles as a child, sitting on his knee as he smoked. She blew the smoke away from them both as she eyed him curiously.
"I'm sorry," He tried to say in an Italian accent, feeling both foolish and incompetent.
She laughed, looking at him before moving past him to sit in the armchair by the fire. The golden light washing her in warm hues, She sipped on her drink again as she studied him like a fox watching her prey.
"Alright, Matteo. How are you finding the party?"
Neville looked around awkwardly as he tried to remember any other Italian, but his mind was drawing a blank. "I have a proposal for you… Matteo. We dispense with the lies, and you tell me the truth. In return, I won't get Sanderson to throw you and your friends out of the party." She sipped her drink again, raising her eyebrow in a gesture so similar to Pansy that Neville felt a pang of worry.
"Alright,"
"So, Would you prefer, Mr Longbottom, Neville or would you prefer I call you Gomez?" She purred before taking another drag of her cigarette.
"Neville, please," he croaked, removing his mask. "What gave me away?" he asked.
"What didn't, you mean?" She laughed, and it was musical, again similar to Pansy. "Firstly, Last I heard the real Matteo Palmieri was at least twenty years your senior; secondly your accent is much too strong to convincingly pull off Italian, it seeps into your vowels."
"Blaise said the same thing," He admitted.
"Come, sit down. I wish to know more about the boy who has stolen my daughter's heart. Would you like a drink?" She asked, levitating him a glass of amber liquid before he had the chance to answer.
"Heart? I'm sure that's not…"
"I know a girl in love when I see it, I was young and in love once too." She smiled as her eyes followed him as he sat down in the chair opposite.
"Where is Pansy? Did she get in trouble because of my letters?" He asked nervously as he rubbed his palms on the legs of his costume.
"She was already in trouble the moment she returned home from school, I'm afraid. Something about a run-in with Miss Ent, my Husband's solicitor after the awful business about Theo." She took another drag of her cigarette, making the end glow in the dim room. "The ineffable Miss Ent believed that my daughter was still socialising with a most unsavoury character and blood traitor to boot. So her governess was recalled, and she will no longer be returning to Hogwarts next term." Neville's heart plummeted at the news.
"But…" he thought about arguing but couldn't think of a single thing that would convince her to change her mind.
"And then your letter arrived. Oh, don't blame yourself, dear boy. Linden would have known nothing about it had it not been for… well." She looked awkwardly down at the glass she held in her hands.
"What? Please tell me."
"Do you truly love my daughter? As you said in your letter?" She asked, changing the subject.
"I do, I need to see her," He asked, feeling desperate, "Where is she?"
"Linden fell into a rage when he read your letter, and my daughter got the wrong end of his wand." She said as she turned to the fire, the flames reflecting in her eyes. "It was a very beautiful letter, If I were 20 years younger I'd be tempted to offer you a counteroffer," she smirked, turning her eyes to him before looking him up and down. "Unless you like an older woman, of course."
His mouth ran dry as his mind tried to keep up with the conversation. "Sorry, Mrs Parkinson, Is Pansy alright?" he said, ignoring her overtures.
"She is now," she nodded "Change is coming, Neville Longbottom. And with it new responsibilities and obstacles. Are you up to the challenge?" she asked. He frowned and nodded before opening his mouth to say more, but she interrupted him. "I will make a prediction, albeit divination was never my strongest subject. I predict that this evening will end sooner than you anticipated and that you will be heartbroken. When that happens, I want you to remember that change is coming, but it's not always bad." She nodded.
"Alright?" He added cautiously. "When will I see her?" Calliope leant forward.
"My husband will be unveiling his newest creation any time now, so drink up and go find her,"
He sniffed the liquid and knocked it back without a second thought, feeling the burn as it flowed through his gullet. He cringed and coughed as he looked at the glass. He was sure acid would have been smoother. She chuckled Pansy's musical chuckle as she sipped her own. "The cheap stuff is the best when all you want to do is forget," She said her smile dropping from her lips as her gaze moved back to the fire.
Feeling as though he had been dismissed, he stood and headed toward the door. He shot a final look back before opening the door,
"Matteo? Hope is something that can disappear in the blink of an eye, Don't give it up without a fight." She called cryptically as he nodded, leaving her alone.
He stood for a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts, the alcohol fuzzing his brain as the heavy feeling in his limbs appeared as it always did when he started to drink. He wondered whether it was likely that she could have poisoned him but decided against it. There was something pathetically desperate about Pansy's mother like a life unlived. He thought of her like a caged nightingale.
He shook his head as he turned back the way he had come, hoping that she was right about Pansy making an entrance. He didn't like the way she had termed it though. One of her husband's new creations? What was that supposed to mean? He rushed back, putting his mask back on as he joining the now hushed crowd.
