"What do you know of the Ministry's Yule Ball?"

Only a few hours later, Mother confirmed her suspicions over dinner in the Dining Room.

The woman must have either had ears like a bat or Daphne was more perceptive than she'd given her credit for. "It's attended by Senior personnel from the Ministry and their families, and any individuals of note." Pansy replied, carefully. "It's an annual event that takes place every Yule."

"Good," Mother nodded, "You're not completely clueless. It is a formal dinner event with twelve-courses. We will be revising your dinner etiquette this week. Additionally, during the dinner, Houses are invited to take part in the Yule ritual so you may see several Families leave the table during the meal. We will likely do so after the third course." Here, Mother breathed deeply through her nostrils as if preparing herself. "I will…persuade your Father that you are capable of joining us - do not let me down."

"Yes, Mother." Pansy bobbed her head quickly, swallowing.

She was going to meet Father.

And soon.

After a moment, Mother continued. "Once the dinner is finished, the Ball will commence. You will stay by my side unless I say otherwise. If we are separated, I expect you to conduct yourself with decorum befitting a Daughter of House Parkinson and to make acquaintance with appropriate individuals. If I catch sight or hear of any whispers of disgraceful behaviour, I will let your Father deal with you when we return!"

Pansy stiffened, dread trickling down her spine like ice. "Yes, Mother."

She could not put a foot wrong, could not let her guard down for even a second if she was going to go. She had thought the first Malfoy garden party was terrifying enough with the assessing eyes of the pureblood Ladies watching her for any little mistake, but this Ministry ball was going to be far more intense.

"You have not attended any of the previous Yule balls, so there will be more eyes on you." Mother's thoughts seemed to run on the same line, "If anyone asks, you are to say: we normally send you to the estate in Marseille over winter because you used to be a sickly babe."

How ridiculous. As if Mother even knew what she was like as a baby.

"Yes, Mother."

Mother sent her to bed quickly after, cutting dinner short. Her plate was left half-finished as she headed back up the stairs. Outside, the sky was already dark, had been dark for the better part of the day as the nights stretched and the sunlight hours dwindled.

Pansy shivered. She hated winter. She missed the sun.

She left her bedroom door open, just a crack, behind her; shrugged off her cashmere cardigan and pulled her dress from the day over her head. It landed in a crumpled pile of thick velvet on the carpet and she stepped over it to reach her dresser.

The drawers were fuller now, filled with the clothes she'd been gifted ever since she'd agreed to Mother's proposal, ever since she took her Name. They used to be bare. She used to be able to trace the grain with her fingertips; now - she struggled to get the third drawer shut. She picked out a pair of soft woollen-blend pajamas, a blue long-sleeve and matching trousers that spilled over her toes, just an inch too long.

Pansy slipped into her bed clothes and snagged her book off the bedside table with one hand and her thick quilt from the bedwith another, letting the heavy fabric drag over the floor as she crossed the room.

Mother was going to confront Father, going to convince him to let her join them at the Yule Ball. And though she'd been sent to bed, there was no way she was going to miss out on hearing this go down.

She plopped to the floor right behind the door, facing the crack that gave her a narrow view of the dark hallway, flickering lantern-flames creating dancing shadows against the stretching walls.

Pansy cracked open her book - 'A Brief Guide to Dragon Hatching.' - and settled in to wait.

She was midway through the slim tome when the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs made her freeze. The set of them was slightly heavy, the bannister creaking under shifting weight. Pansy hardly dared to breathe as she, ever so gently, closed her book and laid it on the floor.

The smell of tobacco grew stronger, not enough to make her eyes water or really inhale, but enough that she was sure of the smell.

Her hand crept up to the door, ready to push it shut at a moment's notice, just in case.

The footsteps grew louder, and then changed in pitch as the soft sounds of soled shoes on the landing echoed through the hallway, tap-tap, tap-tap, heel-toe. The sounds gradually grew fainter, the footsteps moving away.

There was the sound of a key in a lock, a sharp click, and then a creak. Down the hall, a door shut.

Pansy let out a breath and wondered if that was it. Father's reaction seemed tame enough. She debated getting into bed or staying on the floor so she could finish reading, but before she could even reach for the abandoned Dragon book -

Someone was coming!

Footsteps - up the stairs; faster, lighter. Mother. They made it to the top quickly and moved away down the hallway.

There was a pause.

Oh no! - Pansy's hand went to push the door shut, but -

There was a knock. Not at her door, but further down.

A low muffled sound, perhaps a voice.

Then a quiet creak as a door opened.

Two slow, sure steps. The tap of heels against wood.

"Tarrant." Mother said, liltingly, voice slow and cold-distant. "A word?"

The door shut behind her.

The hallway was quiet once more.

–

Pansy ended up waking with a crick in her neck and an ache between her shoulder blades. Blearily, she blinked, groaning softly as she lifted her head.

She must have fallen asleep.

The tops of her knees were red from where her head had been resting and her calves and thighs tingled and prickled unpleasantly, like static, as she wobbled to her feet.

She had tried to listen as best she could last night, debating for ages over whether she should leave the safety of her room and warm blanket cocoon to get closer to the action in the Study. There was (perhaps disappointingly) no raised voices, no shattering glass, no loud crashes of desks being upturned or swept clean of their contents. Not that she hoped the reaction would be so drastic, but the silence from the room down the hall had led to her imagining how things might have gone in dramatic play-by-plays until she must have drifted off.

The world outside her windows was thankfully dark and quiet as she deposited her quilt back on the bed and dressed for the day. The tartan pattern on her dress reminded her of McGonagall. What would happen if she went into Gryffindor?

Probably the world imploding, she snorted. It was probably unlikely anyways.

There was, admittedly, a part of her that really wanted to go to the Yule Ball. It was not really the pageantry of it that excited her - it was the chance to mingle with other children, look for names to watch and identify potential opportunities to affect the possible future she knew. She'd been waiting and waiting for so long, it felt like. And yes, she'd interacted with some Story characters, met a few major players, but - she still felt very much like an outsider. Secluded and kept apart. It was easy to separate the Story from real life when they were real people in front of her. When they were children, who cried when they tripped, and didn't really have any darker secrets apart from hiding an extra cookie in their pockets before running out to play.

She had a list in her head of important names - important Death Eater names. Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, Peter Pettigrew, Barty Crouch Junior - there were others she was sure, but these ones were probably the most pivotal. Even if she didn't go looking, she was sure she'dl find them regardless. After all - almost everyone associated with Slytherin House was involved, in Story, in some way or another.

Her Father was probably one, even. A Death Eater.

She cleaned herself up in the bathroom, removing a ribbon from her wrist to secure her hair into a high ponytail. It was getting long now, heavy on her scalp. She wondered if she should cut it.

Was she allowed to decide that for herself? Or did she have to check with Mother?

Pansy left the bathroom and made her way towards the Dining Room downstairs. The painting of the deep wood was quiet and still, not a flash of white in sight. When she reached the Dining Room, she knocked her knuckles against the door and waited.

Nothing. No movement. No answering of Mother's usual "Come in."

She shifted in place, debating with herself before deciding to press forwards anyways. If Father was in there - well, she had to meet him at some point.

She was done wasting energy being afraid of him.

The table was empty, the chairs tucked in close. The table settings were untouched.

Pansy stared at the empty room. Mother always came to breakfast before she did.

"Gilli!" She called out, wondering if she should go and sit down or if it was better to stay standing.

There was a pop, and the House-Elf appeared to her left. "Pansy! Gilli is sorry! Gilli did not go to visit you last night."

"That's okay, Gilli," She smiled, hoping to nip any potential reason for self-harm in the bud, although they had been doing a lot better. "I fell asleep reading anyways. I found a book about baby dragons!"

Gilli's dark eyes went wide. They had no eyebrows, but they managed to look surprised anyways. "Gilli's never seens baby dragons before. "

She giggled. Her friend was adorable. "They're very cute, I'll show you some pictures tonight. We can read it together."

Gilli beamed. Pansy hadn't exactly been teaching them to read, she didn't have the patience for it, even if they were friends. She had, however, taken to reading aloud more recently - 'to practice her words' she'd told the House-Elf at first but it had become a bit of a treat for them both. She was getting quite good at voices.

"Pansy be wanting breakfast now?" Gilli asked, head cocking to one side.

"Is Mother not joining me?"

Gilli shook their head. "Mistress went to bed very late last night."

Bingo! The conversation must have carried on late into the night before coming to its end. "What about Father? Did he go to bed late too?"

"Master?" Gilli blinked at her, "Master didn't go to bed, Master be having breakfast as usual and leaving as usual."

Oh dear. Trouble in paradise? In hell? "Hmm." She said instead, after a moment. "Do you want to eat breakfast with me then?"

"At the table!?" Gilli squeaked loudly, scandalised.

Pansy full on laughed this time, shoulders shaking. "Of course at the table, silly!"

"Gilli cannot! Gilli will not!"

"It's just a table, Gilli. It won't bite." She grinned.

They waggled a pointed finger at her from side to side. "Gilli not be liking nasty tables, not even for friends of Gilli!"

In the end, they did share a big plate of a greasy English breakfast - on the floor, because she knew how to pick her battles, and getting her friend to sit next to her like an equal counted as a win. She would leave Gilli's odd grudge against tables for another day, she allowed, as she dumped extra sausages from her own plate onto Gilli's small chipped and paint-faded saucer.

The House-Elf flapped their arms about, the tips of their ears going pink.

"Well - I can hardly finish all of this, can I?" Pansy sniffed, it was her best Lucius Malfoy impression, sticking her nose high in the air.

A strange look stole over Gilli's face - their eyes going half-lidded, almost squinty; their mouth ticked up ever so slightly and twitched like they were trying to keep from grinning.

A sly look.

She looked down suddenly and squawked. "Gilli!"

Her plate had been heaped with a veritable MOUNTAIN of scrambled eggs. Pansy hadn't even seen Gilli twitch. She was torn between pride for seeing a spark of retaliation in the House Elf for the first time and horror.

Scrambled eggs were great and all, but no one ate them by the bucketful.

Across from her Gilli giggled, spearing a sausage off their own plate. "Gilli has seen Pansy eat a whole cake befores. Pansy can do it." They nodded sagely, eyes glittering with mirth before they both burst into laughter.

"It's just so much egg!" She hiccuped between breaths, clutching her stomach as giggles bubbled from her throat. Her chest felt light and free.

It was nice.

The moment did feel like a bit of blip, honestly. Like a precious thing she had stolen and perhaps, maybe just, got away with through some random coincidence. Pansy tried to make the minutes stretch but ultimately, the sky outside gradually began to lighten and their plates were scraped mostly clean.

She left the Dining Room for the Solar as Gilli disappeared and picked up her embroidery hoop from a basket under the table while she waited.

She was working on a Niffler at the moment, doing straight stitches to mimic it's inky, black fur. There was grey thread to add today, for shading and dimension, before she could go in and work on adding blacks and blues and maybe some threads of purple and green, like the little guy's fur was catching light.

The pattern - of looking for where to place a stitch and threading her needle up and through - was not a steady process. She had to double back sometimes and undo a stitch or three if the placement looked wrong. The end result had to look life-like - the way fur did when it moved and shifted with the skin and muscle underneath. It was a process that involved a lot of starting and stopping, but it was methodical, in its own way. It made her brain think and actually consider the angles and imagine the unfinished pattern as a live little creature, trying to translate the two-dimensional shape as three.

Maybe she'd gift it to Gilli. It probably could be finished by Yule if she spends some extra hours on it.

Footsteps in the hall had her lowering her hoop to her lap, straightening.

It looked like the respite was over.

The door opened and Mother stepped in, dressed in a long brown fur coat that went past her knees. She looked immaculate - not a hair out of place, no hint of a late night on her beautiful face.

"Stand."

She hurried to comply, placing the wooden hoop and fabric on the table before rising to stand stiffly.

Mother's eyes trailed their way from her head to her feet. "Good - you're dressed." She said. "Gilli!"

"Yes, Mistress?" Gilli appeared with a pop.

"Fetch Pansy the black boots with the fur trim, the black winter coat… and her winter accessories, the white ones." Mother nodded, dismissing the House-Elf with a lazy flick of her hand. A swatting motion, like you might make for a persistent fly.

She didn't even check to see if Gilli had any questions before her eyes were back on Pansy, her words cutting over the sound of the House-Elf popping away. "Your Father has agreed to allow you to attend the Yule Ball." She said quickly, "Come, we have an appointment at Twilfit and Tattings for a dress fitting."

In no time at all, Pansy was bundled up in her winter clothes and stepping out of the Floo somewhere in London, into a narrow room with no windows and a door at the opposite end.

"This is our private Floo entrance, number fifteen," Mother said briskly as she opened the door into a long corridor. They walked past a dozen similar numbered doors before passing through an archway into what seemed to be a reception area.

"Good day, Madam - Thank you for using the Floo Network with us today." A young man uniformed in a pressed blue jacket said from behind a counter on one side of the hall.

Mother smiled serenely at him and the man (boy) blushed.

Another held a wide glass door open for them as they stepped out onto the street with a "Good day, Madam."

The corner of her eyes crinkled in response, a perfect smile on her lips.

Was this the effect Merle Parkinson had on men? She'd never seen Mother in the company of anyone but those Ladies at their social gatherings. It was eye opening, if a little disgusting.

"This is Diagon Alley." Mother said casually, showing no hint that she was aware of the eyes flicking towards them as they turned into a wide street.

It was far busier here. Shoppers flitted to and from brightly lit store windows and through different doors. There was colour everywhere - from the vivid storefronts, to the odd hats and shopping bags that flashed different logos. There was a hum in the air - of bustling people and money changing hands and voices in a dissonant chorus.

Pansy's chest fluttered. Her stomach felt just a little tight. She tried her best to mimic Mother's easy stride.

There were a lot of people about.

She almost missed a step, when it hit her. Pansy had never actually seen this many people at once before, never really gone to any public areas or venues.

She'd not been… on edge around crowds before.

House Parkinson had kept her very, very secluded.

The cobbled street forked, right in front of Gringotts. The Story had never really captured the sheer enormity of the bank, in her opinion. Or if it had, she'd missed it. Wide steep marble steps led up to the biggest door she'd ever seen, set behind six large, tall stone columns. Two men could stand around it and still fail to encircle it. She would have to tip her head back to even see where it met the roof.

It was an impressive piece of engineering and architecture, and she had to remind herself to keep her feet moving as they turned down a street to the left of the building.

"This is Maxim Alley," Mother said. It was much quieter here. Only a few shoppers milled around, walking sedately. The shop buildings here took up more space than in the Diagon, grander ceilings and wider doors. Pansy spied a chandelier in one of them as they went past.

The front of Twilfitt and Tattings was painted a warm yellow tone, flowing silver script above the windows identifying the tailor and dressmaking shop by name. From the window, she could see several different mannequins dressed in closely fitted suits and lacy dresses, fabric swishing as they moved into different poses.

Creepy.

They entered the shop through a heavy, glass panelled door, a tinkling chime sounding their arrival.

Inside, rows and rows of clothes lined the walls, with different rails seeming to organise sections according to colour. There were poofy sleeves and stiff collars, bell skirts and pin-straight trousers, jackets with wide lapels and long coattails. Interspersed throughout the room were different shaped mirrors, some tall, some round and stout, some with elegant frames and others just without any frames at all. On one side of the room, different bolts of fabric were displayed on big spools on the walls; paisley patterns, tartans, and swathes of glossy satin.

A young lady, probably no older than eighteen, at the counter looked up at the sound of the chimes, round eyes alighting on them from behind circular glasses. "Good morning - how can we help you today?"

Mother produced a small yellow card from somewhere on her person. "We have an appointment at nine o' clock."

The girl took the card, eyes widening. "Oh! Right this way, Madam Parkinson. Miss Parkinson."

The young woman, her name tag read as Wilhelmina, stepped away from behind the counter and led them behind a thick velvet curtain, where a middle-aged woman was in the middle of pinning fabric to an unflinching mannequin.

The actual dress fitting itself was a rather long, drawn out and boring affair. Mother and the woman, who had introduced herself as the owner and dressmaker of the shop, Estra Twilfitt, talked over her head about different cuts and sleeves. Pansy had been pushed into a curtained dressing room with an armful of dresses and ordered to try each one on, presenting herself with each outfit change to the tutting and prodding of the two women.

The whole thing ended up taking over three hours. By the end of it, Pansy was just about ready to scream if she saw yet another dress to change into.

"What about this one, dearie?" The woman said, asking for Pansy's opinion for the first time.

Behind Estra, Mother was nodding approvingly at whatever it was she got on and honestly Pansy could care less at this moment about what her sleeves looked like or whether the waist was cinched enough.

"It's lovely," Pansy replied instead. So, were the last several hundred dresses.

The dressmaker clapped her hands with a bright look in her eyes.

"We'll take it then." Mother said with finality.

"How wonderful!" Estra Twilfitt simpered, pushing her back into the dressing room. "All eyes are going to be on you, my dear!"

Pansy shivered, and stepped behind the curtain to get changed.

–

The rest of the week was a blur of dancing lessons with a coat that Mother had made come to life (literally with a flick of her wand), constant reminders to straighten her spine and dinner table manners. It was exhausting and each night she collapsed into bed, all too ready to sleep. The days seemed far too long and busy, and the nights frustratingly short.

Where she could, she tried to work on Gilli's Yule gift, but the moments she could dedicate finishing the embroidery were few and far in between. Luckily, or not so luckily, Gilli hadn't been by in the evenings recently either.

In fact, Gilli seemed busier than she was. Mother had to have about a thousand jobs for them to do, and when she wasn't busy correcting Pansy's footing during a waltz, then she was snapping out orders for Gilli to do this and do that - with hardly a breath in between.

Mother seemed far too worried about her mannerisms and dancing and remembering who's who and who's no-one, and not really concerned at all about the mysterious ritual Pansy had been told she would join Mother and Father for during the 12-course dinner at the Yule Ball.

The only information she got from Mother on the subject was a ridiculously blase: "It's just a few drops of blood."

Which didn't exactly sound like something to be blase about.

Mother would hardly let her embarrass the family at an event of this scale, so perhaps there really was nothing to worry about. But the idea of going in without a scooby of an idea as to what would happen made her decidedly nervous.

Surely, anything involving blood should have much more information on offer to any participants?

The thought of still knowing next to nothing about ritual had her spending the night before the Yule Ball using her key for the Library to scour the shelves for anything useful. Rituals through the Ages, Modern Rituals for the Modern Magical and Yule Traditions over the Centuries joined a growing pile of books on the study table. There was a warm fire flickering away in the hearth and outside the windows, the stars blinked back at her in the sky.

Pansy had at least several hours until daybreak, she could definitely skim through some of these before the sun came up.