Book 2: Astoria Greengrass and the Haunt of Azkaban
Song rec: "Marble Halls" by Enya
Notes: Rhiannon visits Quennell Park for the first time, and she and Astoria have to work through their differences.
Rhiannon shook the ashes off her trainers. She stepped out of a large fireplace and into the most magnificent room she had ever seen. In the centre of it hung a crystal chandelier larger than she was, holding at least forty candles. To the left and right of the chandelier, there were two smaller ones with fine, rose-coloured prisms glinting in the sunlight coming in from church-sized windows. Rhiannon could not help but look straight up with her mouth gaping; the ceiling seemed to have levels of its own due to all of the ornamental moulding. Golden scrollwork decorated everything from mirrors and picture frames to the pilasters in the walls. A flowery, vermillion rug spanned most of the room except close to the walls, where dozens of ivory-tinged chairs waited for an overflow of guests. Two medallion sofas faced opposite one another; two attractively upholstered chairs were near the fireplace. An upright piano that was just as heavily ornamented as the ceilings stood across the room. In the corner, there was an oak writing desk, and in front of Rhiannon was the unpretentious young lady who lived there.
"This is our drawing room," Astoria said in a shaky voice.
"Wow," Rhiannon uttered. She could barely believe the place existed, and she did not believe at all that she was standing in it.
"Would you like a cup of tea, Rhiannon?" Mrs Ciel-Greengrass asked.
"…Yeah, er, thanks," Rhiannon said, and Mrs Ciel-Greengrass walked through the doorway on the left.
The other Greengrasses sat near the fireplace, and Rhiannon joined them. Squirming in her chair at the sight of the room, she looked out of the window next to her and saw a massive garden with a fountain that she first mistook for a swimming pool. There were countless flowerbeds and rows of neatly-cut shrubbery. Beyond the trimmed grass of the garden, there was thick forest.
"So this is… Penhurst?" Rhiannon asked.
It was sort of the middle of nowhere; Rhiannon had never heard of the place before Astoria had told her where she lived.
"Yes. Outside the forest is Penhurst Lane. We're not far from Battle," Astoria said.
Mrs Ciel-Greengrass brought in the tea. Rhiannon clutched the little porcelain cup so as not to spill any on the majestic furniture. She felt extremely unconventional as every other person held their teacups as though they were immune to spilling it. She then remembered that all it would take to clean a spill was the wave of a wand, and she felt like groaning. Here she was, holding fine china in a drawing room larger than three of her flats put together. Her baggy jeans, trainers, and sleeveless-shirt-under-flannel combination weighed her down on the couch. She was in a miserable stupor; perhaps she was dreaming.
The bearded man with neatly combed, dark brown hair sipped his tea quietly. A golden chain was attached to his vest and hinted of an expensive watch inside his pocket. He had pale green eyes that contained a lazier, more pensive gaze than his younger daughter's. The pretty woman with short, wavy blonde hair sat next to him. She had kind blue eyes, smiling pink lips, and manicured fingertips. She always spoke dulcetly with a French accent, and she could easily be a reference model for a dollmaker. The firstborn daughter of this couple had her mother's features with her father's nose. She wore a jewelled headband and let her natural blonde curls fall onto her back. She had a sharp tone in most everything she said, and the gentleness of her mother's eyes was absent. The girl was the most materialistic of the family, proud of where she came from.
Her younger sister was glancing round the drawing room at nothing in particular. She had pouty lips, rosy cheeks, and a much pampered hairdo. She had abandoned the baby doll ringlets and fringe which she wore during the last school year, making her widow's peak visible. Her hair was longer, still tightly curled, but it flowed much more gracefully when she moved her head than it had previously. This girl was naïve, but she was motivated to become something more than a sheltered girl with an arresting surname. A kind and candid heart, she placed no value on blood purity or social class. If she did, Rhiannon would not be in the grand manor house. She would not be living the dream of being in a band and would not have anything in Gringotts. Above all, she would not have a dear friend, who, by the sole aspect of her big-heartedness, made Rhiannon lower her eyes in humility.
"Rhiannon?" said the girl.
"Yeah?" Rhiannon said, slowly accepting her surroundings.
"Would you like a sandwich or any snacks?" Astoria offered.
"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."
"All right. Perhaps you could help me pack? I haven't really prepared for school. I've been distracted."
"Sure."
Exiting the drawing room was another breath-taking experience for Rhiannon. An imperial staircase with fixed candelabras at the edge the rails stood before her, and beyond it was a glimpse of what she assumed to be a ballroom. The whole house was so vast that it made her wonder what it would look like from an aerial view. Astoria led her up the left staircase and into a hall with gorgeous glass lanterns between every door. Seeing Rhiannon's expression, Astoria started naming some of the rooms so as to prove they were not all useless.
"Father's study, music room, studio, Maman's study…"
But Rhiannon was looking at the paintings on the wall.
Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, Adam Greengrass XIV, Estelle Ciel-Greengrass.
They all looked younger. Astoria and Daphne had cute bows in their hair and wide eyes. The paintings and names continued all the way down the hall, and no one looked to be any older than forty in them. The occupants were dressed in those lovely garments they could all afford. The curious thing was that none of them spoke, moved, or even blinked.
Faunus Greengrass IX, Elly Arcan-Greengrass, Sylvester Greengrass XX, Renshaw Greengrass XI, Xylia Greengrass, Ansel Greengrass, Asenath Greengrass, Thalie Greengrass-Wakeland, Helvetius Wakeland, Artemis Wakeland, Erez Wakeland...
"We don't use regular paintings in the halls," Astoria said. "Since we have all of the portraits of our family members, no one would be able to have any peace and quiet if they were always talking to one another. The next time I have to sit for a portrait is when I début."
"Right, yeah," Rhiannon said absentmindedly.
"Those are my uncles, aunts, and cousins," Astoria said of the paintings as they walked down the hall. "We have a long gallery in the southeast wing for my mother's side of the family. Most of my older relatives' portraits are in the northwest wing."
Rhiannon nodded without a word. Of course Astoria's house was divided into wings.
"Most of the family used to live here," Astoria described. "The war split us up. My grandparents and great aunts and uncles left for the Continent; most of their children left as well. Only my father and my uncle Faunus stayed during the war; eventually, they had to escape, too. Everyone came back, but they didn't return to the estate. Yet the woodland of our estate was sworn to us long ago, so someone had to stay. My father inherited it because my aunt Thalie wanted to live in the South Downs, and Uncle Faunus did not want to be here."
"I don't see how anyone would move away from here," Rhiannon commented.
"Well," Astoria said gravely, "our family is famous for being 'blood-traitors.' Death Eaters could have massacred all of us easily in one place. It would have been the end of our family. We became fear-stricken because this property is known to be ours. Father says that our magic is more powerful here, though, so he says it's actually safest this way."
Astoria was conservative with her words, so Rhiannon decided to stop talking. They made a right turn and stood in front of a tall oak door. Astoria opened it, and they walked into a sizeable sitting room.
"This is my boudoir," Astoria said.
The chairs in this room, apart from the tiny one at the writing desk, looked much more comfortable than the extra chairs in the drawing room. In the centre of five chairs, there was a small table topped with a tall, fluted, hobnail vase full of pink roses. The wallpaper was a pastel grey-blue, and had paintings of roses within artfully scalloped shapes. There was a boudoir grand piano, and in the corner of the room was a massive grandfather clock that showed the phases of the moon as well as the positions of constellations above the face. To the right of it was an open roll-top desk with scores of celestial maps overflowing from it. A bookcase that was filled only with astronomy texts stood on the other side of the room. It was no wonder as to why Astoria was two classes ahead in the subject.
"It's very cute," Rhiannon said.
"Thank you," said Astoria softly.
"Who takes care of this place?"
"We have two house elves named Dimsie and Prissy. They are really friendly, and do they ever love to garden!"
"Oh, that's nice."
"I think I'll take a trunk this year," Astoria considered.
"Good idea."
The two walked into the rather girly bedroom. Astoria had a canopy bed with lace draping. Ornate furniture including a chest of drawers, an armoire, and a vanity imposed themselves upon Rhiannon. A small collection of telescopes sat near French doors that led to a semicircular balcony.
Astoria placed her textbooks in the trunk at the foot of her bed and requested, "Would you please tie my maps up for me whilst I get my clothes together?"
"Yeah," Rhiannon said, and went back into the sitting room.
Astoria took five times the amount of time to pack than Rhiannon. When she was finished at last, she went down her mental checklist.
"Uniforms, wand, shampoo, conditioner, hair potions, hair accessories, pyjamas, dress robes, casual wear, wireless, maps, telescope, lunascope, school supplies, schoolbag, erm…"
"Toothbrush? Hair brush?"
"I have those."
"I guess you're ready," Rhiannon said.
Astoria sighed and fell down on her bed.
"I think I'm getting homesick already," she said.
"I'd love to know what that feels like," Rhiannon joked.
"It's still new for me," Astoria explained. "'Homesick' doesn't mean missing the place. It means missing people who are in a certain place where you are not."
Rhiannon realised that she knew quite well what homesickness felt like. She hadn't seen Professor Lupin in over a year. Spending time apart from Astoria hadn't been easy, either.
"We won't have the Yule Ball this year," Rhiannon said to distract herself.
"That's right, so at least I can come home for Christmas. You don't plan on going home for holidays, do you?" asked Astoria.
"Hell no," Rhiannon said.
"Perhaps you could come to our Christmas banquet," Astoria wished. "You could spend Christmas with me."
"Er, I don't know," Rhiannon said. She was not the "banquet-goer" type by any means. She could not afford any proper attire, and the etiquette required would involve too much practice. Simply standing in the manor was enough; attending a formal dinner with an aristocratic family was too much. She could not even guarantee that they were all Muggle-born friendly, as Daphne was not.
"You think your family likes poor Muggle-borns at their banquets?"
"Oh, don't say such things!" Astoria answered. "My sister is the black sheep in that aspect. She's easily influenced, you know; she's nothing but a sponge. Being friends with Parkinson didn't help her character a bit!"
"Oh… really," Rhiannon said sceptically. The doubt about the lack of any pure-blood supremacism in a family like theirs was resurfacing.
"Why, yes. Why do you think we're not connected to the Blacks at all? We keep our Squibs. We let our children marry whomever they want. We don't have the same beliefs."
"How are you still a pure-blooded family, then, if there were so many intermarriages?" Rhiannon challenged. Not only until after she spoke did she realise that it was probably a rude accusation.
"I never said there were a lot of those. We have hundreds of books on our genealogy in the library. No, no — not for the sake of blood purity, but for recording our family history! That's how I know that since the 1960s, we've had half-blood Greengrasses… My great-grandfather's first son's branch is entirely half-blood… The rest of the family goes back to 1620 as pure-blood. You know, there aren't tremendous amounts of non-related Wizarding families anymore. Blood no longer matters."
"If it no longer matters, then why did your family marry outside of Britain so often? To avoid the Blacks, or to stay pure-blood?" Rhiannon asked.
She couldn't help herself. Finding fault in a wealthy pure-blood family had become her goal after she sat through all of the "perfect." She knew she should not pester her friend like this, but the envy welled up inside of her. Astoria Greengrass had amazing wealth and pure-blood lineage, a huge family that loved her, and a paradise in which to live. Rhiannon lived in a flat in a slum, always hoping her money wouldn't run out when her mother stocked up on cocaine. Not to mention the fact that Jessica believed Rhiannon to be a freak Satanist. It was a comparison too great.
"It wasn't so deliberate like that!" Astoria raised her voice. "Of course, no one wanted to marry someone from the House of Black, but no one specifically said, 'Well, I still must marry pure-blood.' The way it happened, we married for social class — yes I'll admit we married for social class — but it was for the sole purpose of having something in common."
Rhiannon felt her face screw into a cruel look which she mercilessly gave to Astoria.
"Is having that in common important to you?"
"To me, no! But look at this stupid manor, Rhiannon!" Astoria shouted in response. "My aunts and uncles were the first ones to leave the estate for three-hundred fifty years. Upper-class wizards tend to be pure-blood since they trace back so far, and the inheritance is uninterrupted. We simply married upper-class people because that was who we already knew, with whom we were comfortable. You must imagine how good it is to know that someone isn't marrying you for your money whenever you are wealthy. And we knew these people. We had the money to travel, and we met more people. They already had money… they wanted love! Love, Rhiannon, not blood! I can't make myself Muggle-born to make you feel better, Rhiannon, but if I could, I would if only to show you how meaningless it is to trademark the contents of one's veins!"
"I'm sorry, Astoria! I shouldn't have said that!" Rhiannon gasped.
Her friend was trying not to let the tears in her eyes fall.
"I knew this would happen if you saw this place," she sputtered.
"I'm really sorry, Astoria. It's just, if you saw my flat, if you met Jessica… I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry I couldn't have given you some of… of this life and taken some of that! Even it out! Make it fair! I'm the one who's sorry!" Astoria cried.
Rhiannon could feel her heart beating quickly. Too many times had she driven Astoria to tears. Why was she so volatile? She could never hold her tongue, that which had got her plenty of detentions and plenty of bruises that she didn't deserve. Rhiannon timidly left the room to roll up and tie more of Astoria's celestial maps for school, though she hardly thought Astoria still needed them to study. When she walked back into the bedroom, Astoria was sitting at her vanity and thoroughly inspecting her reddened face. Her hands shuffled through the open drawer and retrieved a handkerchief; she held it to her eyes for a long while, and Rhiannon saw her shoulders move as she heaved her breaths. Rhiannon stayed in the doorway, clear from the reflection of the mirror. Astoria did not know she was there; she lowered her head into her hands and began to cry quietly, but it sounded so loud in Rhiannon's ears.
Sometimes, Rhiannon felt like a charity project to Astoria rather than a true friend. Sometimes she even felt parasitic, and that was a horrid feeling. It was so difficult to look into the face of the over-privileged when too much of Rhiannon's life had been focused on survival. And yet, it was not Astoria's fault. None of it was Astoria's fault. The poverty, the abuse, the abandonment, the near-death experiences, the loneliness… it was not Astoria's fault. Astoria had come in to the world from this palace in the middle of the woods and had dragged Rhiannon out of a hole along her way even though it was not her responsibility to do so. What had Rhiannon done in return? The amount of thankfulness and respect she had for Astoria had never been shown to the extent that Astoria deserved. She approached Astoria without a word. Before Astoria could pretend that she had not been crying, Rhiannon gave her a hug.
"I wish I could have been there for you. I'm so sorry," Astoria whimpered.
"None of that's your fault, Astoria. Please don't cry over it."
"Oh, Rhiannon, I can't help it. I feel awful about this estate. And I can't stop, Rhi. Parkinson's told me that I'm ugly when… when I cry, and it makes it much harder to, to stop crying once I start."
"The last thing I want is for you to feel guilty or uncomfortable around me," Rhiannon said firmly. "It's the same as you not wanting me to be angry or jealous. Now I don't give a damn what Parkinson's said to you because you're a beautiful girl and a wonderful friend, and she wishes she was a tenth of what you are. Now how 'bout we stop feeling guilty and angry?"
Rhiannon hugged her friend again as though it would somehow guard the girl against pain. Astoria cried all over Rhiannon's jumper until she felt better, and Rhiannon never budged. Finally, she knew what it felt like to give.