Chapter Twenty One
Parvati's Druthers
0o0
Astoria was scheduled to meet with Professor Vector again on Friday, directly after the last class of term. When the final bell rang, snow was coming down heavily and great bursts of wind were rattling the windows in the corridors.
There was nothing Astoria felt like doing less than going over an extra credit reading assignment at the top of the castle, but the fear of failing Arithmancy was enough to keep her from playing hooky. She turned her feet away from the surging crowd of excited students streaming toward the well-lit great hall for dinner and made her way upstairs alone.
When she reached the seventh floor, she found Professor Vector reading a letter behind his desk. Afraid that he had forgotten their appointment, she took the trouble of offering him a warning and knocked on his half-open door. He looked up and smiled at her expectantly.
"Come in, Astoria," he called. His tone was warmer than the one she was used to hearing in class; a quick glance told her that he had unbuttoned his coat and loosened his tie.
Astoria made a beeline for the rickety chair of shame that he had placed her in the last time they had conversed, but before she could sit down, he stood up and motioned that she should follow him.
Hidden behind the chalkboard, two or three armchairs stood clustered together in a small alcove lined with windows. A long, low table crouched between the jutting cushions. Astoria made a mental note not to accidentally rest her feet on it.
From here, the view of the grounds was spectacularly festive. She allowed herself a cheerful moment of reflection: once this meeting was over, she would be free to think of anything she liked for two whole weeks.
"You've done the reading?" prompted Vector, following her gaze toward the table. "Feel free to put your feet up—everybody does eventually."
Astoria smiled appreciatively but kept her feet planted firmly on the ground.
"Yes," she said, withdrawing the Transfiguration book from her bag. "I've read it."
"Did you like it?" he asked.
Astoria nodded. It was true: she had enjoyed the text. It was old and a bit wordy, perhaps—but it had held her interest.
"What did you like about it?" pressed Professor Vector shrewdly.
Astoria paused, unsure how to word her feelings on the matter.
"I liked the fact that it had nothing to do with Arithmancy," she admitted at last.
Professor Vector laughed and undid the final button on his tweed blazer.
Astoria unconsciously relaxed. Even if she did loath the subject that Professor Vector had dedicated his life to, the fact that he could still appreciate a little humor spoke volumes about his character.
"I thought that might appeal to you," admitted Vector, eyes dancing. He leaned forward and began to rifle through the pile of academic magazines on the low table, searching for something. Finally, turning over large magnifying glass, he located a cherry wood pipe.
"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing with the tip of the pipe before placing it between his lips.
Astoria shook her head to indicate that she did not mind, but she stared at Professor Vector in amazement as he lit it. This was unconventional in the highest. Her eyes roved over the watermarked table and its disheveled pile of magazines afresh, and this time she understood that she was sitting in his private hide out.
"That smells nice," she murmured, spurred on as much by Professor Vector's inappropriateness as his candor.
Professor Vector eyed her bemusedly. "I really shouldn't—"
"I won't tell," Astoria insisted.
For a moment, they were both silent.
"What made you decided to take this class?" he finally asked.
"I thought I would be good at it," Astoria answered, repressing the urge to shrug. "I was wrong."
"What do you normally do when you find that you are not good at something?" wondered Professor Vector.
"I give it up and pretend that I had no interest in ever being good at it in the first place," returned Astoria wryly, "but I suppose that won't do in this case."
"No, indeed it will not," Vector laughed again. He blew a grey smoke ring up toward the rafters. "You've a bit of your aunt's spirit, I see."
Astoria's shoulders stiffened again. "You know my aunt?"
"A little," returned Vector, but for all his calmness Astoria still felt as though a chill breeze had swept through the room.
"We were in the same year at Hogwarts," he clarified. "Only I was a Ravenclaw. I don't think we met properly until a few years after I graduated. I was working overseas as a translator."
Crude fantasies about her aunt and Professor Vector as playful youths began to dance behind her eyes—caged scenes from a freak show that she would rather not visit.
"Did my aunt spend very much time with you overseas?" Astoria wondered.
"No," said Professor Vector. He flashed her a small smile, perhaps guessing at her thoughts. "I happened to be employed by Aston Mendel at the time, though—so I did see your mother quite frequently."
"Oh," Astoria startled.
Somehow, the fact that Professor Vector had known her mother was even more awkward than the idea that he had dated Belladonna.
"Of course, that was a very long time ago. You never knew her, did you?" continued Vector. "I suppose she must have been sent to Azkaban very soon after you were born."
It was a moment before Astoria found her voice again. She was not used to discussing her mother with strangers—especially strangers who already knew too much for her to manipulate the conversation to her own advantage.
"She was imprisoned before I was a year old."
"A waste," sighed Professor Vector. "Your mother was a charming woman, you know. Prettier than your aunt—although I'm very careful about who I admit that to."
Astoria smiled uncomfortably. A part of her wanted to turn the conversation back toward her schoolwork, but another part of her was terribly curious. Professor Vector had a unique—perhaps even unbiased—perspective of the family she had never known.
"My mother was better looking?" Astoria snorted, trying to recall the shape of her mother's face from old photographs.
"Oh, yes!" said Vector. "Not to say that Belladonna doesn't have her charms, but Lucrezia was always the beauty."
Astoria mulled this over in silence.
"I suppose that is the reason your aunt grew to be such a cunning woman," continued Vector. "She learned early on not to over-depend on her looks—not with your mother sulking around so attractively."
Well, wasn't this an interesting picture? It was hard to imagine Belladonna riding second to anyone, let alone another woman.
"Sulking?" frowned Astoria.
"Your mother was an infamous malcontent!" laughed Professor Vector. He stared past her, lost in reminiscence. "Lucrezia was excessively moody—but she pouted with such grace that people tended to forgive her for it."
A clump of ash fell out of Professor Vectors pipe, but he was no longer paying attention to it.
"You worked for Aston Mendel?" she pressed, her sense of unease tripling. "Then you must still know the Mendels."
"Mhmm," confirmed Professor Vector, offering no further explanation. "Yes."
Astoria opened her mouth to pry further, but Professor Vector cleared his throat.
"I think I'll assign another book for you to read over vacation," he decided. "One with a few more numbers this time."
The shadow just below the surface of their conversation vanished, but Astoria had seen it.
"Alright," she recrossed her legs and nodded. "A few more numbers this time."
0o0
On Saturday morning Astoria pulled on her mittens and prepared for the cold walk into Hogsmeade. Students departing for break would not do so until Sunday, so the halls were still very busy as she made her way downstairs.
Even amidst the bustling commotion, she could not help spotting a flash of brilliant red hair behind a suit of armor at the top of the marble staircase.
"Plotting something?" wondered Astoria, sneaking up behind the knight.
Fred Weasley jolted but recovered quickly.
"There's going to be a mutiny at dinner," he hissed. "Pass it along."
"I'll do that," Astoria chuckled. "Are you two going into the village?"
"We thought about it," said George slyly, "only Lee's got us both feeling rather down this morning."
"Why's that?" asked Astoria.
"He overheard Harry telling people he wasn't allowed into Hogsmeade last night," sighed Fred. "The poor bloke's planning to spend the day in the tower brushing up on his Divination."
George shuddered theatrically.
"I heard his uncle wouldn't sign his form," frowned Astoria, recalling a story she had heard in the early fall. "I mean, with Black on the run, I suppose it isn't the worst thing— but are his relative really that nasty?"
"They are," Fred confirmed with a scowl. "Trust me. We had to break bars off his bedroom window when we rescued him last summer."
Astoria blinked, stunned.
"Why would Sirius Black have anything to do with it?" wondered George suddenly. He turned on her and frowned.
"Oh—I don't know," stuttered Astoria hastily, remembering at the last second that Draco's story about Harry's connection to Sirius Black was not common knowledge. "He's The Boy Who Lived, you know?"
"Isn't that the truth," muttered Fred darkly. "Poor sod needs all the help he can get."
Astoria nodded her agreement.
"Still," insisted George, "it seems a pity to leave him cooped up in the tower all alone, doesn't it?"
"Why don't you take him through the secret passageway?" suggested Astoria at once, thinking of the one eyed witch with the hump on the third floor.
"We think we can do one better," leered Fred, rubbing his hands together mischievously.
"Oh yeah?" Astoria laughed. She late was meeting Tracey in the Entrance Hall, otherwise she might have pried. "Well, remind him to dress like an assassin—there's bound to be teachers in the village."
"Oh, I reckon Harry's got a real knack for sneaking around unseen..." returned George tauntingly. He shot his brother a conspiratorial smirk. "Don't you, Fred?"
"I think he's got just the cloak," agreed Fred with a maddening little grin.
Clearly Astoria was missing something—something undoubtedly good—but she was forced to say her goodbyes and hurry off before Tracey left the school without her.
"What kept you?" hissed Tracey, consulting her watch. "I thought I was going to have to give up my place and let these people go ahead of me!"
Astoria pushed into the line beside her, provoking several Ravenclaws to mutter about 'cutting'.
"Sorry," she panted. Filch poked her chin with his quill so she looked up to show him her full face. "I ran into the twins on the stairs."
"Oh?" brightened Tracey. Fred, George and the reputation for general mischievousness that surrounded them never failed to secretly amuse her. "What are they doing today?"
"Plotting a mutiny for dinner," Astoria snorted.
Slipping past Filch, they both burst out into the brilliant winter daylight: cold, clean air filled their lungs like a song.
Safely past the Dementors, however, the wind began to chill Astoria's face and lash her ears to the point of discomfort. Tracey pulled on her cloak the minute they reaches main street, signalling a desire to duck into a shop and warm up.
They shouldered through the nearest doors and found themselves confronted by the front room of a very steamy and cramped tea house.
"Do you want tea?" asked Tracey dubiously, wrinkling her nose.
The tables all stood impossibly close together, stretching toward the back of the building like crooked flower plots. Here and there, a few old ladies and several sets of obnoxiously touchy couples were sipping from pink teapots swaddled in cozies.
"No," Astoria decided at once, anxious to avoid the plump, curly haired proprietor heading their way.
Stumbling back out into the street, they winced their way through a large snowdrift into Twilfit and Tattings.
"I'm thinking of getting Daphne a Christmas present," said Tracey conversationally, pulling off her scarf. "Do you suppose that would make her happy? Or do you think she'd chuck it in the bin unopened?"
Astoria winced. She hadn't allowed herself to think much about what Christmas without Daphne would be like. They had never gone a whole holiday without seeing each other and Astoria suspected that she would feel Daphne's absence horribly.
"She'll like it," managed Astoria at last, fingering some gold tassels on a nearby rack. "She's not like Pansy—she'll appreciate that you were thinking of her."
"What are you getting her?" asked Tracey, pulling an impressive headdress off a mannequin.
"I don't know," Astoria shrugged, properly blue at the thought. "I don't know what she wants. We haven't talked in months—a new quill, maybe? Give her a reason to send me a letter on boxing day?"
Tracey snorted, but pouted accordingly when she saw the look on Astoria's face.
"Get her something in France," she suggested, trying on the headdress."You know, something expensive and fantastic that Pansy doesn't have."
"Like what?" Astoria grumbled. "Class?"
"Anything!" Tracey shrugged. "Trick Maudlin into paying for it, he's rich enough."
Astoria turned away. The idea of buying her sister's love was almost as repulsive to her as idea of tricking Maudlin into funding her.
"I'll probably get a her a book," she finally sighed. "Or maybe a pretty watch—she likes to be punctual."
"That she does," allowed Tracey, swapping her headdress for a gold turban. "What do you think of this on me?"
"Hmm," Astoria snorted, continuing down the aisle. "Try something in a shawl. Less of a commitment, shawls."
0o0
Laden with bags of gifts that neither of them needed, Astoria and Tracey pushed back out into the windswept street an hour later. Finding themselves in front of The Three Broomsticks, which looked very cheerful, they decided to stop in before the wind forced them up the hill.
It was even more noisy and crowded here than the tea shop had been—and almost all of the seats and benches were already claimed by other pink-faced students seeking refuge from the snow.
Astoria made a hand motion toward two vacant seats at a table already inhabited by several sixth year Hufflepuffs.
"Alright," sighed Tracey begrudgingly. "Go claim those chairs before someone else does. I'll get us drinks."
Astoria pulled off her gloves and slung her cloak over the back of the closest seat. The nearest Hufflepuff (whose name Astoria could not recall) graciously scooted down to give her room for her shopping bags.
Feeling faintly claustrophobic, Astoria settled down to wait. The area around the bar was packed elbow to elbow—it would take Tracey ages to cut her way through.
Just then, the bell over the door tinkled. A chilly wind pulled at Astoria's ankles, sending pine needles from a nearby Christmas tree scuttling across the flagstone floor.
Parvati and Padma suddenly filled the doorway. Flushing, Astoria quickly looked away and pretended to read the advertisement on her coaster. Then a horrible thought occurred to her: she was sitting at the only table with available seats... What if the Patils decided to sit next to her?
"Excuse me, Astoria?" said Padma, pulling the chair that contained Astoria's shopping out from the table. "Do you mind if I move these? There isn't anywhere else to sit."
"Of course not!" Astoria croaked, cringing internally. "Here, let me help."
She did her best to push the shopping bags under her feet, but there were too many of them and they bulged dangerously when she crammed them against the table legs.
"Thanks," said Padma, sitting down and pulling off her knit cap. "It's mad in here. I can't believe you found a seat just for your bags!"
"Astoria always manages to find a way in," grunted Parvati, taking the seat across from her sister on the other side of the table.
"Here you go!" announced Tracey, returning from the bar with two foaming butterbeers. "Rosmerta wouldn't sell me any fire-whiskey, so these will have to do."
Astoria seized her beverage and sipped it gratefully. Tracey's eyes slid down the table and took in their new seating arrangement.
"Patils," Tracey nodded, dropping both girls a strange and sarcastic salute.
Astoria took another sip of her butterbeer, praying that Tracey would sit down and shut up before she swallowed.
"I've never had butterbeer," remarked Padma, eyeing Astoria's spiced foam with interest. "Do you want one, Parvati?"
"Sure," sniped Parvati. "Why not?"
She passed her sister a few sickles from the pocket of her pea-coat.
"I'll be back, then," said Padma, standing up.
"I'll be here," returned Parvati tersely, "making sure Astoria doesn't steal your seat."
Tracey froze with her drink against her lips, suddenly fever-red with the desire to laugh.
Padma frowned, perhaps unsure why Astoria would want steal her seat, but she continued across the packed dinning room without commenting.
A painful silence descended in her wake. Astoria cleared her throat awkwardly, suddenly desperate finish her drink and head back out into the snow.
"What are your plans over break, Parvati?" asked Tracey treacherously, surprising Astoria by providing the girl across from them with a reason to talk.
Parvati made a face and began the oddly sinister process of removing her gloves, pulling only one finger up at a time.
"Oh, friends, family," she shrugged. "You know."
"I just love winter vacation, don't you?" effused Tracey, eyes blazing. "Both of my favorite holidays happen over break."
"Mhmm," said Parvati primly, yanking on her glove's middle finger.
Astoria drained the bottom of her butterbeer and glanced around weakly, hoping to spot a familiar face and excuse herself.
"Of course, Christmas is my absolute favorite," continued Tracey, "but then, just when you think the holiday cheer has run out, around comes New Years..."
Astoria caught Tracey's eye and made a quick jerking motion of dissent.
Parvati finished yanking off her gloves. Her chin stiffened with annoyance.
"Yes, New Years," she snapped. "What will you be doing on New Years, Tracey? I certainly know where Astoria will be—"
"Oh, I think I'm going to that ministry party the McLaggens are hosting," admitted Tracey almost tauntingly. "Have you heard about—"
"Tracey," Astoria cut in coldly. "Will you go buy me another butterbeer?"
"How did you finish that so quickly?" grumbled Tracey. It was clear that she did not want leave her seat, but Astoria shot her such an angry look that she stood up anyway.
"Sorry about that," Astoria muttered, determined not to look away and lose whatever dignity she was still capable of retaining.
"Whatever," snapped Parvati.
"And I'm sorry about Cormac," Astoria persisted. "I know he asked you to go to that party and I know he turned you down to go with me."
"Did he tell you that?" asked Parvati sharply, suddenly wrathful.
"No, Lavender did," Astoria clarified. "After you slashed me with a stick during Care of Magical Creatures class. Cormac never said anything."
"You know this because Lavender told you?" repeated Parvati, looking, if anything, even more annoyed.
"Cormac did ask me first, for what it's worth," Astoria insisted. "I turned him down because I thought I was going to be out of the country. It's nothing to do with you—he's probably only going with me because he feels like it's his duty or something."
"See, you want to know what I think?" clucked Parvati and, without waiting for an answer, she plunged on. "I think you turned him down because you thought the party was going to be a bunch of drunk old men. Then you took him back when you realized how many people were going, regardless of the fact that he had already asked someone else."
Astoria flushed, stunned by the perspicacity of Parvati's assumption.
"I suppose you thought it was just going to be the Saint Mungo's staff?" Parvati continued, sneering disdainfully. "Only it's not, is it? Even Giambattista Valli is going to this stupid thing!"
Astoria paused. She was literally dripping with shame, but the fact that Parvati had mentioned Giambattista by name struck her as odd.
"I didn't know that you and McLagggen were a thing," she tested.
"We're not a thing," snapped Parvati, waving the notion away. "I barely even know him. It just sounded like a good party, is all..."
Suddenly, Astoria was working very hard to repress a smirk. Poor Cormac—he couldn't get a date on his own merit if his life depended on it...
"Can't you just go with your father?" Astoria wondered.
"No," countered Parvati stubbornly. "He doesn't want to go. He wants to go to a dinner at my grandmother's. I tried to explain to him that Giambattista Valli almost never goes to parties, but he literally could not have cared less..."
"I did lie," admitted Astoria point-blank, pushing her empty glass aside. "I knew McLaggen had asked you and I did change my mind about the party when I heard about the guest list."
Parvati scowled, nonplussed.
"Specifically when I heard Giambattista Valli was going," Astoria continued. "In my defense, McLaggen will probably be a very poor date and—quite frankly—if the tables were turned, it sounds as though you would have done the same to me."
Parvati mulled this over, working her jaw angrily.
"Alright, I suppose I can respect that," she finally sneered, letting out a long breath. "It's certainly less annoying than watching you pretend to like Cormac."
"I'll make it up to you," Astoria promised. "I'll ask Giambattista to sign a cocktail napkin or something—I'll even have him write it out to you."
"Would you?" beathed Parvati, leaning forward excitedly now.
"Sure!" Astoria insisted. "I'll get him to sign whatever you want, even if I have to lock him in a sitting room to do it."
"Ooh!" Parvati cooed. "That would be excellent! I'd probably have been too afraid to talk to him, honestly."
"Butterbeer, your highness," announced Tracey, sliding a second drink between Astoria's hands. "And that's the last one I'm fetching for you. It's a madhouse over there."
Padma squeezed past Tracey and handed Parvati a mug.
"So," said Parvati brightly, taking her very first sip of butterbeer, "who do you think Giambattista is dating these day?"
0o0
"Back are you?" asked Theodore, pushing open her bedroom door. "You should have sent me a note."
It was only nine o'clock in the morning and Astoria was still knee deep in the process of unpacking. She had just returned from France—by means of a six o'clock portkey—and she'd barely had time to process the change of climate, let alone write any letters.
"I thought maybe I'd try having some breakfast before taking social calls," said Astoria, smiling up at Theodore's long face. "Or at least a coffee."
"Have Bonky get you one," suggested Theo grumpily, dropping onto the edge of her bed. "I don't want to walk down all of your stairs."
Astoria raised an eyebrow.
"What?" demanded Theodore. "It's not my fault you live in a tower."
Astoria finished folding a sweater and tossed it lazily into an open drawer.
"So," she began, hiding her smirk, "how has break been?"
"Lousy," returned Theodore at once. "As per usual. Dad's got it in for the holidays. It's a lucky thing summer has so few of them..."
Astoria attempted to picture Theodore's wild father enjoying an pleasant eggnog by the fire and gave up almost immediately.
"Why does your dad hate the holidays?" she wondered.
"The reason are multitudinous, I expect," said Theo in an offhand way, playing with a ribbon that had escaped from her luggage. "Mostly I think it's the falseness of it all—everybody sending cards to people they haven't talked to in ten years. The man's jumpy enough without a dozen parcels from distant family friends on the mantle."
Astoria chuckled and balled up a pair of pajamas. She leaned back and beamed them into the hamper.
"How was France?" he asked obligingly, spreading out to stare at the ceiling. "I suppose your holiday was fantastic?"
"You know," breathed Astoria, "it sort of was."
"Have I mentioned how much I hate you recently?"
"We went to the coast," she gushed, tapping his feet off of her bedspread. "Aston's got a house in Nice, smaller than—well, than were he usually lives."
"You mean his proper palatial estate?" remarked Theodore snidely. "It's alright, you can say it. The man is practically the Minister of Monaco, isn't he?"
"Anyway, he took all of us to the beach house for Christmas, so there weren't any parties," Astoria continued. "But Maudlin was there—his son, you know—and he was in a better mood than I've seen him in in ages. Probably because his friend Alec tagged along."
"Ohhh, Alec?" cooed Theodore falsely, keen to mock her story as much as possible. "Is Maudlin gay?"
"I don't think so," frowned Astoria, giving the idea an honest ponder. "He has a girlfriend at Beauxbatons."
"That doesn't mean anything," scoffed Theodore dismissively. "Anybody from a properly monied family would keep a girlfriend as a beard. Everybody knows that."
"He certainly does like to dress himself," allowed Astoria with a snicker. "So does Alec for that matter..."
"Gay!" shouted Theo, pressing his head between her pillows.
Astoria emptied the contents of a makeup bag onto her bureau and shook her head. "Why even ask me if I had a nice time in France, if you don't want to hear about it?"
"Isn't that what people do?" countered Theodore. "Ask other people questions even when the answers are bound to be boring—I think it's called being polite."
"Only if you pretend to care as a followup," amended Astoria.
She tossed a bra toward the hamper and let out an irritated sigh when it snagged on her bed-side table lamp. For a long second, Theodore stared at her bra the same way he might stare at an alien spaceship. Then he began to laugh uproariously.
"Alright!" Astoria huffed. Pulling the bra off the lampshade, she aimed a better shot towards her hamper. "Snicker away! At least I found a way to enjoy my Christmas. It's almost warm in the south of France this time of year."
She glanced wistfully toward her windows. Grey snow churned violently outside—a stark contrast to the moderate coastal climate she had woken up in.
"It was the also the first time that Maudlin and I have gotten along for an entire week," she continued. "Normally he just criticizes my hair or tries to push me off of something."
"He criticizes your hair?" repeated Theodore dubiously. "Gay."
Astoria smiled despite herself and shoved her now empty luggage toward the closet.
"I'm going for coffee," she announced, dusting off her hands. "I'll be back."
By the time Astoria returned, Theodore had moved away from her bed toward the window. He was staring out over the snowy windowsill, lost in thought. Something about his silhouette against the snow provoked a memory.
"I saw Professor Vector smoking a pipe before break," she ventured, blowing steam off the top of her drink.
"You did?" chuckled Theodore, brushing snow off of his sleeve. "How scholarly. Where did you catch him doing that?"
"I didn't catch him," explained Astoria, raising an eyebrow. "He pulled it out while we were discussing my remedial reading."
Theodore blinked. "Well, that was forward."
"You think so?" asked Astoria. "I couldn't quite make up my mind."
"Yeah," Theo frowned. "I think that's a bit weird. You're a student."
"I told him I wouldn't say anything," Astoria shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not entirely sure that anyone would be mad even if I did."
"Maybe not," allowed Theodore. "But it sort of throws off the balance of power, doesn't it? Wait a minute, why do you have remedial reading?"
"Because I'm failing Arithmancy," Astoria scoffed, surprised that he hadn't noticed. "I'm waiting until summer to mention it to Aunt Belladonna."
"Wait," squinted Theodore. "You're failing his class, so he invited you to sit and smoke with him? Honestly, Astoria, it's like you're a magnet for the very worst people."
"He talked about my family too," continued Astoria evasively. If anything, she had found Vector's desire to discuss Lucrezia much stranger than his casual pipe smoking. "Mostly about my aunt, but a little about my mother too."
"Urg! Do you think he dated Belladonna in the seventies?" Theodore demanded, pulling a face.
"The thought did occur to me," Astoria admitted."But then I figured he can't have done since he's still, you know, alive."
Theodore hooted and accidentally knocked a seashell off the sill; it tumbled down into the garden, where it was promptly devoured by snow.
"It's cold out," he shivered, pulling the window shut. "I don't know what McLaggen is thinking with this 'Garden Party in December' nonsense."
"Maybe he plans on decorating the living room with ferns and forced roses?" Astoria suggested wryly. "In any case, we'll find out tomorrow."
"You'll find out tomorrow, you mean," Theodore corrected immediately. "I'm not going."
"What?" Astoria exclaimed, positively crushed. "I thought you were taking Tracey with you!"
Truth be told, the prospect of spending an entire evening with Cormac alone was more than a little depressing.
"I only said I'd take if my father was going," said Theo defensively. "He's not."
"That's rubbish!" Astoria spat. "Now what am I supposed to do? You were my backup!"
"I suppose you'll just have to use the extra time wisely. Why not get to know Cormac better?" suggested Theodore mockingly. "Serves you right for going with him in the first place."
0o0
It was early afternoon by the time Theodore left Belladonna's house, although the storm colored sky outside was dark and obscured most of the light. She had finished two cups of coffee, but the caffeine hadn't managed to stave off her sleepiness.
Astoria waited until she heard the telltale whoosh of the fireplace across the hall before climbing under the topmost blanket on her bed. She closed her eyes, too tired to even take off her shoes; with a twist, she managed to make her feet hang over the side of the mattress...
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
Astoria startled awake, feeling disoriented and oddly guilty. How long had she been asleep?
KNOCK!
Long enough—someone was rapping on her bedroom door, but the pale light outside her window told her it was not yet evening.
"What?" Astoria barked, trying to find a way out from under the tangled blanket.
"My mistress is sending me to fetch you," croaked Bonky through the gap under the door.
"Is she?" sneered Astoria sarcastically. Her sense of disorientation quickly transformed into something more like anger. "Well, you can tell your mistress that I'm taking a nap and I'll be down in an hour."
"You is having a visitor, miss," Bonky insisted.
Astoria froze. Who could possibly be visiting her? Not Theodore, he knew to come directly to the third floor.
Her mind flitted uncomfortably down her roster of remaining friends. Fred and George? She was out of bed in a matter of seconds.
"Who is it, Bonky?" Astoria demanded. She pulled her door open with a snap, revealing the hunched and crotchety old house elf in the hall.
"I is never seeing them before," shrugged Bonky elusively.
Astoria swore and danced around the elf, taking the stairs at a run. She could hear voices in the sitting room before she reached the bottom landing. Thankfully, none of them were male.
"There she is," called Belladonna lazily, catching sight of Astoria across the hall.
Astoria came to a hasty stop in the doorway, panting for air.
"Goodness, did Bonky tell you the house was on fire?" wondered Belladonna, eyeing Astoria's expression of sleep-tangled shock in a way that bordered on cold amusement. "Didn't you think to run a comb though your hair? Well, no matter now. Come in, we have visitors."
Tracey Davis was perched on the nearest couch; she was already grinning deviously. Meanwhile, nearer at hand, Astoria observed the back of a woman's head in the armchair opposite Belladonna. She supposed the woman must be Tracey's mother.
"Hello!" shouted Tracey merrily, displaying more confidence than Astoria was used to seeing in Belladonna's quailing presence. "How was France?"
Belladonna's gaze flicked toward Tracey again; this time there was a caress of interest in her gaze.
"Very French," Astoria muttered, still half asleep and vaguely confused. "Were we supposed to meet today? Did you send a letter?"
"No," said Tracey comfortably, plucking a biscuit from a tray on the coffee table.
"Oh," Astoria reacted, not entirely happily.
"Only I want to borrow something of yours for the garden party tomorrow," Tracey insisted, licking icing off her fingers. "Mum's spent the whole week in and out of St. Mungo's with my grandmother, so we thought it might do us some good to get out for a bit."
Astoria glanced fearfully at the woman sitting in the armchair. She had the same flat, sandy hair as Tracey, but if her lack of conversation was any indication, she had none of her daughter's temperament. This was not good, especially if she was going to be left alone with Belladonna.
As if on cue, Belladonna lit a cigarette and leaned back in her armchair. Turning her elegant head toward the ceiling she exhaled languidly. Tracey's eyes sparkled with fascination.
"Yeah," muttered Astoria, feeling cornered and playing for time. "Well, I don't want to cut tea short. Why don't I join you for a moment—"
"Nonsense," said Belladonna calmly. "It took you so long to come down that we've already run through the pot. Go along, darling. Take Tracey up to your room."
Belladonna made a shooing gesture with her unoccupied hand; a dark ruby ring on her pointer finger sparkled cruelly in the wintery light. Astoria stared long and hard at her aunt, attempting to convey her sense of desperation. Please behave pleasantly, she pleaded in silence.
Tracey leaped eagerly to her feet. Seeing no other option, Astoria turned and ushered her out into the hall.
"Your house is nicer than mine." observed Tracey, running her hand across the entryway table. She lifted a finger as though inspecting for dust.
"Thanks," returned Astoria stiffly. "Tracey, what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you," admitted Tracey, sniffing the bowl of tea roses near the mail organizer. "You know, my family doesn't have a house elf. Are you rich, then? Is this your aunt's only property or are there others?"
"This is it," answered Astoria cooly. "Everything else is entailed away to our male family members—Belladonna's brothers—who are all imprisoned."
"Oh, sorry," said Tracey, catching the edge in her tone. She stood up straight and left the roses alone. "Where's your room?"
"Come on," Astoria muttered, making for the stairs.
"Hasn't your aunt been married a few times, though?" Tracey persisted. "What happened to that money? Or were they not very rich either? Perhaps that's how she manages to pay for the upkeep on the house, since she doesn't have a job? Does your aunt always lounge about like that, by the way?"
Astoria shook her head, overwhelmed by such an onslaught of rude questions. Tracey paused on the landing, expecting to to head down the second floor hallway. Astoria tugged her arm to keep her moving.
"You sleep in the attic?" wondered Tracey, plainly amused.
Astoria's shouldered open her bedroom door. The bed was a mess after her hastily interrupted nap, but at least her suitcase was put away.
Tracey flopped down on her stomach and pulled a pillow under her chin. "This is fun."
"Sure," snorted Astoria darkly, "but mostly it puts distance between myself, my aunt and her spying house elf."
"I rather like your aunt," said Tracey, casually fingering the side of Astoria's pillowcase. "I think she's spunky."
"That's one word for it," said Astoria bitterly, pushing a stack of fashion magazines off of the chair in front of her dressing table to sit.
"You're awfully moody for someone freshly home from holiday," observed Tracey wryly.
"Sorry," muttered Astoria, shaking her head. "You and your mum woke me from a nap."
"Oh," Tracey laughed. "And here I thought you just weren't happy to see me."
"Save me the panic next time and use the floo in the storage room, will you?" Astoria added grumpily. "That's what Theo does and my aunt stays out of it."
"Dresses!" exclaimed Tracey excitedly. She pulled herself up off the bed, ignoring Astoria entirely. "You need to show me dresses!"
"Have you spoken with Theodore recently?" wondered Astoria gingerly, thinking of the conversation she had had with him earlier.
"Hmm?" asked Tracey. "Oh, no! He wrote me about a week ago and told me he wasn't going to the party, so I've made other plans."
"Good," returned Astoria, thoroughly relived that she would not have to dash Tracey's dreams of attending the McLaggens garden party.
"Now, the invitation says 'black and white', but supposedly Mrs. McLaggen means that literally," continued Tracey, pulling open Astoria's closet door. "I'll need something in either of those colors. I think white might be the more feminine choice, don't you?"
Astoria gently pushed Tracey out of the way and began to feel towards the back of the closet. Most of her formal dresses were hung on a rack behind her coats.
"Hang on," Astoria muttered, rummaging about. "If you aren't going with Theodore, who are you going with?"
"Funny you should ask," cackled Tracey, her face lighting up, "as it's mostly thanks to you that I've got him."
"Oh?" Astoria wondered, pulling out a white crotchet summer dress (which she vetoed immediately). An uncomfortable thought occurred to her. "Did you blackmail Malfoy?"
"No!" Tracey laughed. "Although that would have been hilarious!"
"Yeah," grunted Astoria dryly, unable to entirely agree. "A real laugh riot. How about this?"
She held up a mid-length ivory shift for Tracey's inspection.
"No," scoffed Tracey at once. "It's a garden party—I'm not getting married in a court house. You should burn that."
Astoria tossed the dress onto the bed, prickling with annoyance.
"Anyway, after I got Theo's letter I started thinking about who else might be going," continued Tracey, leering wickedly. "And I thought about how you are only going because of Giambattista."
Astoria smirked.
"So I thought, well, who else might care about an Italian designer?" Tracey pouted. "And then I realized that Blaise's mother is supposed to be very stylish..."
"You didn't!" Astoria laughed, excited despite herself.
"I did!" leered Tracey.
"Did you write to him?" wondered Astoria, thankful that the sound of their laughter was muffled by hanging garments. Bonky would not be able to make out a word...
"No, I hunted him down," admitted Tracey, eyes blazing. "His mum has tea on Sundays at this little parlor in Diagon alley. I went and just happened to bump into him."
"You're an outrage!" Astoria wheezed, holding up another dress for examination.
"Ooh!" exclaimed Tracey softly, taken by the silky fabric. "That one is nice. Hang on, I want to try it."
She yanked her brown cardigan up over her head and pulled the white dress down in its place. Astoria zipped the back for her and they both turned to have a look at Tracey in the mirror.
"It's nice," said Astoria, pulling the bust on the dress up a little higher.
"It's strapless and I don't have boobs," observed Tracey darkly, pulling at the bodice until sat correctly. "Although... It almost looks like I do from the side though, doesn't it?"
"I think it's a winner," Astoria insisted encouragingly, fixing the flapper-style beadwork near the hem. "Wear it with pearls."
Tracey grinned, overcome with gleeful anticipation. For a moment, Astoria almost forgave her for barging in and waking her up.
"You don't mind if I take this, then?" demanded Tracey, twirling once for the mirror. "What will you wear?"
Affecting a look of mock enthusiasm, Astoria picked up the crotchet dress and held it against her chest.
"Lord!" exclaimed Tracey in a fit of delighted horror. "I thought you said you didn't want Cormac getting handsy with you!"
Astoria snorted and dropped the dress into her hamper.
0o0
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think this is the first installment that Draco hasn't made an appearance in? In any case, he'll be back in the next chapter and I'll be sure to make up for his absence in this one.
As always, reviews are just the best!