Chapter Fifty Three
Tea and Trumpets
0o0
Belladonna's house was cold and silent when Astoria stumbled back over the hearth. Reaching blindly for the edge of the couch while her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Astoria tried to make out the time on the nearest clock.
It was much darker here, far away from the glowing haze of the city. After hours of listening to the constant rumble of music and traffic, the distant woods that abutted Belladonna's house seemed to impose on the corners of Astoria's psyche; silent, lifeless and depressing. Guessing that she had beaten her aunt home from London, Astoria stepped aside to make room for Tracey as the floo whizzed her into sight.
Annoyed by her aunt's continuing habit of being conspicuously absent, Astoria led the way up to the attic without bothering to turn on any of the lamps, using her wand to guide their footing.
The past week of constant rain had left behind a certain amount of dampness. As Bonky had not remembered to light any of the fireplaces, the drafty moisture had begun to creep in through the floorboards and below windows. Astoria climbed into bed without changing out of her sack-dress and shivered feverishly against the chilly sheets.
Tracey staggered out of her shoes and wiggled under the blankets, full of anxious energy. Astoria could tell immediately that she wanted to talk, but she herself was feeling very subdued and contemplative. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss Theodore or the party they had just left and her wish was soon granted when Tracey dropped off to sleep.
Alone at last, despite the extreme stillness of her body, Astoria's mind began to come alive and she was soon engulfed by a swirling tempest of mixed emotions.
Her night had been rubbish, of course, but the slow burn of having a secret was beginning to get the better of her. Queerly, the more comfortably Tracey seemed to slumber, the more fervently Astoria began to wish she would wake back up.
Having a secret—even one she was not sure she wanted to have—was starting to feel a lot like having a hundred mice in her belly. It was a perversely exciting sensation, but also a toxic one. It did not seem to be something she knew how to enjoy alone, and yet, did she really want tell anybody?
Astoria rolled over and studied the side of Tracey's face. Her cheeks were now rounded with sleep, her lips parted gently against one of Astoria's pillows, creating the illusion of someone half their age.
Astoria had made out with Malfoy earlier. She couldn't even say why she had done it; it was an act of self-sabotage on a level that she had rarely ever even aspired to, let alone reached. Both of their fathers had been less than fifty feet away, separated from them by nothing more than a patio door.
A part of Astoria almost wished that she had simply decided to fling herself on someone like Marcus or Cormac instead, if only to have the power of being able to reflect on the matter more clearly.
Kissing Cormac would have simply meant spending a week in a state of disgust as she worked to repress the memory of his mouth. It was a moment she would have soon learned to laugh off. The fact that it had been Draco instead seemed much more hazardous to the balance of her happy mental health by comparison.
What a stupid thing to have done, really—especially now that she had gone to such great lengths to convince Theodore that she had no interest in Malfoy. He was already mad enough, Theodore. If he ever found out that she had danced away from harming his own love interest only to make out with a boy who bullied him, he'd probably abandon Astoria and leave the country altogether.
Astoria let out a long breath through her nose and rearranged the blankets around her neck. Deep down, she knew that she had slipped up and done something that she would eventually be forced to pay for, but that did not seem to make her feel any less sweaty or stimulated.
0o0
Astoria was very slow to rise the next morning. Everything, from her eyes to her feet, felt heavy and groggy. Even after several hours of rest through sunshine, there was nothing she wanted more than to press her face into her pillow and do nothing.
Thankfully, this laziness seemed to suit Tracey's temperament as much as her own and they spent a good deal of the morning doing just that. So much so that, by the time they finally did drag themselves downstairs for breakfast, it was past noon and Astoria's body had almost turned the corner toward becoming sore again from lack of activity.
"Where's your aunt?" asked Tracey idly, attempting to take bites out a raspberry scone while laying lengthwise on the small sofa in the sitting room.
"Sleeping," remarked Astoria, smirking as Tracey dropped crumbs between the cushions. "She must have come in late last night."
Truthfully, it was actually something of a relief that Belladonna had come home at all, but Astoria could not think of how to say this without Tracey accusing her of being irrational.
"We should go see Theodore," suggested Tracey slyly. "I want to ask him about Padma!"
It was an overcast day outside; windy and dull. Astoria found herself watching the birds in the budding garden as they danced back and forth, their weightless bodies barely disturbing the willowy branches beneath their feet.
"You can, if you like, but he specifically told me not to visit," Astoria admitted, thinking of Theodore's final words in the hall. "I got the feeling he meant it, too."
"Why?" scoffed Tracey, surprised by this. "He didn't figure out that we put Goldstein and Kitty together, did he?"
"No," Astoria sighed, thinking of what a near miss it had actually been. "He's mad at me because I refused to do anything when Padma was crying in the bathroom."
"Oh," said Tracey, absorbing this. "Well, you couldn't, could you? She had to leave first, otherwise Goldstein and Kitty might have given us away."
"Theodore doesn't know that, though," Astoria reminded her, taking a long sip of coffee. "He just thinks I was being heartless…"
"He'll get over it," Tracey shrugged, pulling up her feet to make room for Bonky, who had come in to replenish their toast tray and deliver the mail. "He's probably over it already, come to think of it. Ten galleons says he was up half the night writing poetry about the smell of Patil's hair…"
Astoria snorted, hoping more than anything that this was true. Perhaps it even was? Surely it was possible that Theodore, blinded by his good luck, might have already forgotten to be annoyed? Indeed, in the light of day, this began to seem plausible and Astoria was slightly cheered.
"You've got gobs of mail," Tracey observed, brushing crumbs off her skirt and sitting up straight. "Who sent you that envelope? It looks like it's going to burst—do you suppose Theodore sent you a curse?"
Startled, Astoria turned her eyes toward the post. There were two or three cards that looked like invitations or societal thank-yous (no doubt addressed to her aunt) but Astoria knew at once which envelope Tracey had meant.
So thick that it could have been mistake for one of her father's case files, not to mention tatty around the corners from being tossed about helplessly by the poor owl that had delivered it, was a grimy and spell-o-tape reinforced parcel with Astoria's name on it.
Certain the handwriting was not actually Theodore's, Astoria reached for the envelope, feeling more curious than fearful.
"Who is it from?" demanded Tracey, fighting down a laugh as Astoria struggled to slit the busting top seam.
"Ugh," Astoria moaned, unfolding the first of nearly twenty hand-written pages. "Ursula Flint…"
In the months that had elapsed since Tracey's Eastern Star acceptance, Astoria had almost forgotten her throwaway promise to have lunch with Marcus's grandmother. Ursula had not forgotten however—or else Marcus had reminded her that Astoria was home from school—because the woman was clearly looking to collect.
"What does she want?" Tracey demanded anxiously, dropping her scone.
"Lunch," Astoria muttered. "Tomorrow, at her favorite tea room. This address is in London, can you get away?"
"Why does she want to see us?" asked Tracey in a rush, sounding very nervous indeed. "I'm already in the sorority, aren't I? She's not trying to revoke my acceptance?"
"No!" exclaimed Astoria, promptly wishing she could rewind the conversation. "Mrs. Flint can't do that, I'm sure she just wants to meet us. Worst case scenario, she'll want a favor, Trace."
"What kind of favor would she ask of us?" snorted Tracey dubiously. "We're two teenage girls."
Astoria was not sure what to say to this. It was a question that she had not yet managed to sort out herself. Truthfully, Ursula's motive seemed faintly suspicious. Astoria hoped that it went no deeper than a desire to know the young girls better. In reality however, it seemed very probable that Ursula was after something and Astoria had an uncomfortably notion that it would be through her—and not Tracey—that the task would most likely be achieved.
"Dunno," Astoria shrugged, afraid of alarming Tracey any further. "She just wants to know what sort of girls we are, I think. I wouldn't worry about it."
0o0
Miraculously able to follow her own advice, Astoria spent the night sorting through her trunk and making it ready for her return to school on Sunday, sparing Ursula Flint less than a second thought.
Struck by the powerful way that this type of organization kept her thoughtlessly busy, Astoria decided to continue on with the theme, preoccupying herself until bedtime by choosing an outfit out for the morning and laying it out carefully near her vanity.
Routine and order prevailed. Astoria was awake, groomed and dressed before her aunt had even changed out of her dressing gown the next morning. Guessing that perhaps this was the kind of rigid self-maintenance that allowed Cassandra to be so productive and yet joyless at the same time, Astoria ate a light breakfast before slipping off toward the kitchens to use the floo.
Belladonna had spent most of the last day in her bedroom, a fact that Astoria was secretly thankful for. Despite having a whole day to do so, Astoria had not mentioned her plans with Ursula to her aunt and she was rather relived by the opportunity to leave the house unseen.
Exactly why she hadn't mentioned the tea engagement was hard to explain, even to herself. Twice, Astoria had been given the perfect opportunity to bring up her plan; once at breakfast and once at dinner the night before, but on both occasions, a deep and powerful sense of caution had risen up inside her, warning her to say nothing.
It was not as though Astoria imagined that her aunt would forbid the meeting—indeed, quite the opposite. But no matter how Belladonna would physically react to the news, Astoria privately knew that the idea of Astoria taking a meal with any of England's most prominent society ladies would make her aunt wildly uncomfortable.
Ursula's circle was a world into which Belladonna was accepted, but not popular. Belladonna was too wild, too willful and frankly, too murderous to have ever made much headway amongst that crowd. The idea that Astoria might cause her aunt to feel insecure by seeking them out for herself was capable of awakening such a strange guilt complex inside her that she had simply remained mum.
The floo deposited Astoria into the weak, grey sunlight of a shop on a wayward corner of Diagon Alley. Shuffling out into the street, Astoria paused in order to get her bearings. The cobblestones beneath her feet were still damp with rain from the night before and a chilly mist seemed to be clinging to all of the street's chimneys, making it rather hard to tell where she was.
It was a drab lot who had crawled out of bed to populate the London streets that morning and the chilly, dirty mist did nothing to beautify the wind-stung, irritable faces that she passed. Soon however, the towering white marble columns of Gringots cut into view and the sidewalk widened out to become smooth and even, swept of all its dirt by shop boys and housekeepers.
Spying the tea shop on a corner at the end of the road, Astoria stopped to linger by a bench beneath the boughs of a dripping maple tree. Fate, sensing that she was early and overdressed, promptly sent a gust of wind to kick up the branches overhead, dumping a bucketful of water onto the hood of her cloak.
The worst of spring was nearly behind them now, Astoria reflected. The world sat trembling on the point of a break through: all it would take was one supremely good day to usher in summer and push back the curtains of winter until next near. In less than a week, this foul weather would seem like a distant dream. Only by then, Astoria would be back at school taking classes while the sun rejoiced over the grounds.
Astoria was soon distracted from these thoughts by the sight of a willowy and very familiar silhouette. Tracey was standing across the street, the collar of the prim sweater set she had gotten for Christmas visible near the neck of her cloak, her unruly blonde bob subdued by about a dozen bobby pins.
"Hey," Astoria breathed, crossing the road.
"Yeah," said Tracey thickly, pulling up out of a weird hunch. "Hi."
Tracey was clutching a small brown bag filled with bird seed. Even as Astoria watched, she went about scattering the mix at her feet, hoping to lure in one or two sullen pigeons.
"I bought this off an old bloke in a plaid suit," explained Tracey, gesturing with the paper sack. "He said his name was 'Dung'. I reckon he thought I was looking for drugs. Want a handful?"
Astoria took a large pinch of seed and began to toss pieces toward the bushes, watching Tracey carefully out of the corner of her eye.
"It's the same tea parlor that Blaise's mum likes," remarked Tracey, biting her lip. "The one Mrs. Flint invited us to, I mean. I've been there. Remember when I hunted Blaise down because I needed a date for MacLaggen's Christmas party?"
Astoria did remember and she was impressed afresh by Tracey's gall.
"Shall we?" suggested Tracey grimly, dropping the last of her bird seed and brushing off her hands on her cloak.
A tiny bell jingled overhead as Astoria pushed open the rickety old door of the tea shop. Pink cheeked and very concerned that they had gotten the wrong address, Astoria looked around, taking in what appeared to be a small, square office space. Before the bell had even finished tinkling, an elderly witch wearing a sharply ironed shirt and a suspicious expression fell on them.
"OUT!" the woman yelled, reaching for a broom behind the desk. "No soliciting! Out with you!"
After a lurching, awkward moment during which Astoria actually ducked, Tracey finally managed to get out Ursula Flint's name.
The broom-wielding woman's expression changed at once.
"Flint?" she demanded coldly, leaning sideways to check her guest book. "Then you'll be Miss Greengrass and Miss Davis?"
Astoria nodded her head thankfully, still a little afraid of being expelled and having to explain to Marcus's grandmother that they had been kicked out of the shop before they even managed to reach their table.
"Well, why didn't you say so?" their hostess cried, sounding very harassed. "Coming in through the street entrance? Don't you know what sort of riffraff we get on this side? Muggles and gypsies! Next time, you would do better to use the floo. Honestly, how am I supposed to know who you are when you waltz in without a card?"
Astoria and Tracey exchanged perplexed looks before following the ancient witch around her desk, through a door and into a long hallway.
It was slightly dusty back here and very narrow. Astoria was reminded at once of the cramped, ancient quarters of a boarding house. They passed several doors and old staircases, but the witch who was leading them did not turn so Astoria didn't either.
"Why didn't you mention we were using the back entrance?" Astoria mouthed to Tracey, a little nettled by this oversight.
Tracey, who had never been bothered by the idea of causing a commotion, shrugged.
It took several minutes to reach the parlor and with each passing second, it seemed to become more apparent just how out of the way she and Tracey had been. Embarrassed to have essentially snuck in the back, Astoria satisfied herself by shaking water off of her hood and peering about in distraction.
Through a set of oak doors, a long, low dining area seemed to have taken over what had once been a cozy living room. Several tall windows, glowing softly with steamy condensation, looked out onto a busy main street. The tables were all laid out with white linen, dotting the room like square mushrooms that had sprouted up between the large fireplace on one side of the hall and an old grandfather clock on the other.
Here and there, relaxing as though in the comfort of their own homes, were woman dressed up in their Sunday best. Some were lounging on a variety of couches and still others were meandering like pastel-colored swans, but most appeared to prefer being served from private tea services at their own tables.
Astoria removed her cloak and hung it on the nearest peg, taking as long as possible so that she would not have to admit in front of the old witch that she did not know what Mrs. Flint looked like. When she had finished disrobing and straightening her hair, their old hostess surprised Astoria by ushering them in and bringing them directly to their table.
Mrs. Flint was a formidable looking woman, dressed all in ash grey. Well into her seventies, she had a thin mouth, smooth Mediterranean skin and dark bags of flesh that hung beneath her eyes like the promise of a threat.
When Ursula saw Astoria and Tracey crossing the room, she put her teacup down (despite being early, Ursula appeared to have started without them) and pushed out of her seat.
"Astoria!" she declared in a very deep and surprisingly sultry voice. "You look so much like your mother. I dare say I would recognize your particular breeding anywhere!"
A little disused to hearing her heritage discussed in the same manner that a dog owner might casually mention the pedigree of his favorite pets, Astoria masked her discomfort by dropping into a polite but short curtsey.
"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Flint," Astoria offered civilly, reaching out to place her hand on Tracey's shoulder reassuringly. "This is my friend, Tracey Davis. I mentioned her when I wrote to you in the fall…"
"Hmm." Ursula's dark eyes swept from Astoria face, which she had been studying rather severely, to Tracey's. Her gaze lingered there for a moment, no doubt searching for traces of secret tattoos or strange perversions. Satisfied that none were evident, Ursula offered Tracey a half smile and extended her hand.
"This is quite overdue!" exclaimed Ursula brusquely, plucking up her napkin and reclaiming her seat. "To think that I should have been the friend and trusted companion of your grandmother for so many years! The fact that I had never her grandmother until today positively exposes me to ridicule. I suppose that aunt of yours has been keeping you all to herself?"
Astoria chose the seat nearest the window, offering an evasive smile as she sat down, entirely unsure which of these potentially embarrassing topics to tackle first.
"My Marcus speaks highly of you," Ursula snorted, unbothered by Astoria's silence. "I think the word he used to describe you was 'clever' but now that I've seen you, I can only assume he was hunting for a more polite reason for recommending you. You're quite a pretty thing. I may as well go ahead and assume that you are really a fool until it's been proven otherwise."
"Oh, yes, I'm very fond of Marcus," remarked Astoria, fighting a strange desire to laugh as she ignored this bit of unpleasantness. "He's quite charismatic."
"Another fool, if ever there was one!" Ursula grunted. "Still, he's always had an eye for value. You've been inducted into the Sisters of the Eastern Star?"
"Yes," answered Astoria.
Ursula harrumphed, flagging the nearest waiter to bring them more tea. "That much is something. It would not have entirely surprised me if that Belladonna had managed to discourage you entirely."
"My aunt was quite adamant that I join, actually," countered Astoria coolly, moving her hands off of the table so that the butler would not burn her with a splash of his scalding Earl Grey.
"A minor miracle," replied Ursula flatly, raising one of her thin, penciled in eyebrows. "Tell me, what are your subjects?"
Astoria blinked, surprised by the abrupt turn in conversation. "At school?" she ventured, feeling slightly stupid.
"Your etiquette courses!" clarified Ursula intolerantly. "What pins do you wear? That's important, you know. You certainly look like you might favor dancing—"
"Archery and fencing," Astoria supplied warily.
"La!" exclaimed Mrs. Flint, waving Astoria's chosen interests aside dismissively. "You would have done much better by dancing, I'd wager—but that is your aunt's fault for letting you run wild. What about you, Miss Davis?" Ursula rounded on Tracey. "If you're anything like the other, I suppose you studied masonry? Or perhaps whittling?"
"Oh, er," said Tracey, glancing wildly between Astoria and the teapot, "I didn't take any—that is, I never went to finishing school at all."
"No finishing school?" Ursula repeated with displeasure, her voice lending the statement a strange, clipped rhythm. Ursula's glittering eyes swiveled back onto Astoria accusingly, perhaps feeling a bit duped. Astoria had been very careful not to mention Tracey's lack of a proper education in her letter for precisely this reason.
While Ursula's look was almost certainly meant to be intimating, it was also inappropriate to the point of the comically ridiculous and Astoria found herself capable of meeting her gaze without losing any of her self-possession.
"Tracey has been complimented at every event that she has helped host," said Astoria carefully. "She was also awarded her full membership last week, after less than a year of junior status."
"Yes," scoffed Ursula at last, accepting Astoria's reassurances slowly, "with my name attached. You do speak admirably well for a young girl, don't you? At any rate, I suppose the Sisterhood must make room for some allowances. We can't all be legacies, can we?"
Considering the fact that Tracey was a pureblood—a pureblood whose family had been free and clear of muggles for a handful of generations, none the less— Astoria could not help but feel that, if this was Ursula's idea of an 'allowance', she had something of an extreme outlook on the matter.
"Oof—" said Tracey, sliding her elbow off the table.
Astoria turned, half expecting the need to lend her napkin to mop up a spill and spotted Blaise Zabini instead, entering the parlor with his mother.
Don't! Astoria's mentally screamed, dropping her teaspoon with a clatter.
Suddenly very afraid that Tracey would act out or else do something strange while Ursula Flint was watching, Astoria had already begun reaching for Tracey's elbow when Ursula noticed the Zabinis herself.
"Seraphina," Ursula sniffed, sitting up a little straighter. "Back from the Riviera, I see?"
At first, Astoria was not entirely sure that Seraphina Zabini had heard Ursula. Indeed, if she felt any desire to hurry toward them, Seraphina was being very careful to betray no sign of it.
Slipping between the tables at her own given pace, almost liquid in her grace, Blaise's mother came to a resting stop beside Tracey, the fabric of her dress trembling like water in sunlight.
"We returned this morning," Seraphina replied, treating the period of silence between Ursula's question and her response with a mixture of neglect and arrogance, entirely correct in her assumption that they would wait for her.
Astoria's tucked her groping fingers back under the table, distracted. It was somewhat common knowledge that Astoria's aunt and Blaise's mother had been natural adversaries from the very first moment they had met. They were both in the same business of marrying for profit, after all, and both far too cruel to play nicely in one sandbox.
Before Astoria had received her first Hogwarts letter, Belladonna and Seraphina's feud had gotten so out of hand that they had both given up the practice of even pretending to be pleasant in each other's company. As a result, despite hearing Seraphina's name mentioned quite frequently, it had been nearly nine years since Astoria had laid eyes on the woman. To see her now, in a room filled with docile and carefully dressed women, was an experience akin to being struck in the face.
The color of a toasted almond and more than a little tall, Seraphina seemed to be delivering herself onto their table in waves: her dazzling good looks dealt the first blow but it was the second, rather more disconcerting impression of shrewd cunning that made Astoria sit back in her seat.
It was not hard to understand where her aunt's dislike for the woman might have originated. Seraphina had managed to marry more carefully than Belladonna, but it was surely her astounding beauty that Belladonna found the most offensive. Seraphina Zabini had the kind of face that Astoria had rarely ever met with outside the glossy pages of fashion magazines and which she had always assumed did not actually exist in the natural world. Without even knowing who Seraphina was, Astoria would have expected her aunt to positively loathe her.
And yet, Blaise's mother seemed to owe her captivating quality to more than just aquiline symmetry or the grace of her limbs. Astoria struggled to put her finger on just what that characteristic was and decided, with a jolt, on the half-formed notion that there was something disconcertingly broken about her. Like a music box that had been turned on its side or a pane of glass cracked into the pattern of forked lightning, Seraphina was a work of art and a warning all at once; beautiful to behold but perilous to touch.
Astoria had never run into this great—almost mythical—nemesis of her aunt's while unchaperoned before, and she suddenly found herself fighting a prickling sense of alarm. She had assumed that Ursula Flint would be the most dangerous foe she would meet that morning, but the arrival of Blaise and his mother had just raised the stakes ten-fold.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Zabini!" said Tracey brightly. "Do you remember me? I'm Tracey, Blaise's friend from school."
"Oh yes," said Seraphina pleasantly, flashing Tracey a smile capable of causing a traffic collision.
Behind Seraphina's back, Blaise was wearing an expression of tolerant dullness. Despite his affected ennui however, he was watching his mother very carefully and Astoria felt certain that he was waiting to take his cue from her.
Seraphina casually glanced past Tracey and her eyes finally locked with Astoria's.
One look was enough to tell Astoria that there was enough of her aunt in her face to make her identity obvious. Seraphina knew exactly who Astoria was without having to ask. Recalling the greedy interest that Belladonna sometimes betrayed when Astoria casually mentioned Blaise's name, Astoria was not surprised to find a similar look form on Seraphina's face.
"Mrs. Zabini," Astoria demurred carefully, striking first before she became intimated. "I don't think I've seen you since I was six."
At first Seraphina said nothing. Then, she let out a breathless, delighted sound similar to muted laughter. "No indeed," she replied softly, looking very amused. "You've blossomed into a proper little English rose…"
"What's across the hall?" asked Tracey, either unaware of or ignoring the charged energy that the Zabinis had carried in with them. "People keep disappearing through those double doors."
"The greenhouses, girl," responded Ursula roughly, causing Astoria to wonder if Seraphina's interruption was annoying her, as well.
"Blaise," said Seraphina smoothly, never taking her eyes off Astoria, "why don't you show your friend the indoor gardens? I know I always appreciate their splendor more when it rains."
Blaise cast his mother a subtle, surprised glance but readily did as she said.
"Yes, mother," agreed Blaise indulgently. "Come across the hall with me, Tracey. It's warmer there—you'll like it."
Almost certain that this was not what Ursula had had in mind when she had invited them for lunch, Astoria could not help but feel a little annoyed as Tracey flung herself out of her seat.
Before Ursula could tut disapprovingly, Seraphina sunk into the nearest chair and motioned toward the waiter for a cup.
"Tell me, how is your aunt these days?" Seraphina murmured, accepting tea from a butler who had appeared so swiftly that it was a wonder he had not tripped himself. "Prospering, I hope?"
"She's well, thank you," said Astoria stiffly, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Ursula's lips had pursed with distaste.
"And yourself?" Seraphina went on, speaking with the strangely familiar air of a woman who had known Astoria for years. "You must be positively crawling with boyfriends."
"I don't think it at all proper for you to be counseling Astoria about men, Seraphina," interrupted Ursula archly, her tone becoming even harder and more judgmental. "I would hate for you to give her the wrong idea."
"Oh?" quirked Seraphina, definitely amused now. "However so? I've been married more times than you, haven't I Ursula?"
"Yes, but to what end?" demanded Ursula darkly.
"The same as yours," insisted Seraphina. "Tell me, how many years has the late Mr. Flint been with the angels?"
Ursula let out a growl of moral outrage and, for a second, Astoria wondered if it was possible that she might just smack the scone right out of Blaise's mother's hand.
"You really are lovely, aren't you?" continued Seraphina softly, still studying Astoria closely. "With a face like that, I'm amazed that Belladonna hasn't positively smashed you to pieces."
Astoria did not know what to say to this. Despite the fact that she and her aunt did little other than bicker with each other, the idea that Belladonna might be capable of doing her any real harm had honestly never occurred to her. The suggestion that her aunt, somehow fearful of being overtaken by Astoria's rapidly approaching maturity, might think to stunt her growth for personal gain was very disturbing indeed.
Not to mention confusing. On the one hand, Belladonna was typically very supportive. Then again, their last true argument (involving Roland Yaxley and a fated polo match) had been settled by a minor poisoning. Perhaps Seraphina was onto something?
"You'll be more pleasing to look at," remarked Seraphina lightly, taking stock of Astoria in much the same manner that Ursula had. "You favor your mother—her face was softer than Belladonna's. Lucrezia was rather less cunning than your aunt, though. Perhaps you've inherited that, as well?"
"Enough," snapped Ursula. "I invited Astoria here for a civilized meal! Seraphina, perhaps it's time for you to find your son."
Astoria glanced at Ursula, marveling at the strange switch in dynamics that seemed to have taken place. Only moments before, Astoria had not trusted Ursula any further than she could have thrown her. Now, by comparison, it was almost easy to view her as a protective ally.
At that very moment, as if on cue, Blaise appeared in the doorway again with Tracey behind him.
"Lovely to see you again, Astoria," nodded Mrs. Zabini, eyes sparkling cruelly as she swept to her feet. "Give Belladonna my regards."
Astoria watched her go, tracking her feline movements with the skittish intensity of an animal that had just narrowly escaped becoming a meal.
Tracey was all radiant energy but something had shifted in Astoria's head, causing her mood to darken. The longer she sat in her seat, sipping tea and watching the clock, the more uncertain and tense she became.
Blaise's mother was undoubtedly the greater of two evils, but Astoria still could not tell what Ursula's motive was and the effort of trying guess was starting to drain her of energy. Ursula might not be guided by a decades old feud with Astoria's family, but at the end of the day, she must have some reason to leave her house in order to pay for two girl's meals?
Was she perhaps thinking of Marcus? Astoria was quite a bit younger than Ursula's grandson, but the pool of women born into old families within his generation was surely a small one. Perhaps, just knowing that Marcus and Astoria were friends had been enough to provoke her interest? Or was it something to do with Astoria's long dead grandmother? Maybe Ursula felt as though she owed Astoria some kind of obligation?
By the time they finished eating and called for their cloaks, it hardly even mattered anymore. Astoria had seen enough to feel justifiably suspicious of everything and everyone. Her discussion with Seraphina had caused Astoria to seriously regret not telling Belladonna anything about her plans.
Keeping quiet about her lunch with Ursula had been a mistake, Astoria decided, and she began to plot ways to broach the subject at home as they waited for the butler to fetch Tracey's gloves.
After a formal goodbye and a hasty promise to have another meal again soon, Astoria was the first through the floo. The smartest thing she could do now was confess everything to Belladonna and hope that her aunt would be able to offer her some much needed insight without becoming irate first.
The moment Astoria regained her front hall however, it became obvious that this was no longer an option. The silence seemed to speak for itself; Belladonna had gone out again.
Irrationally annoyed with her aunt for reasons that were entirely of her own making, Astoria stormed across the hall to check the foyer table for a note. It was frustratingly bare. Nothing, not even so much as an old shopping list had been left to litter its polished surface.
Impatient and bothered, Astoria flung her cloak in the direction of the closet without care and turned to stomp off toward her bedroom. Where Theodore would not be waiting for her, Astoria fumed hotly, because she had managed to drive him away, as well—her only real friend who was capable of understanding her predicament and he couldn't stand the sight of her…
Astoria had gotten as far as the first floor landing when the clanging of the front doorbell made her freeze. Astoria's hand gripped the bannister as she listened, strangely rattled by the sound—because who even used a doorbell, anyway? No one with any business being in her house, that much was certain, although it did seem like the sort of thing Magical Law Enforcement might do.
Astoria waited for Bonky to answer the door while a queer surge of dread awakened in her chest. The sound if the hinges squeaking reached her between her treacherously loud bursts of breath. A short but murmured conversation appeared to be taking place, but Astoria could not make a word.
It was only when Bonky Apparated onto the landing beside her with a frightfully loud crack! that the edge of Astoria's dread began to sharpen into real fear.
"There is a visitor at the door, Mistress," announced Bonky, his demeanor curiously subdued in comparison to the usual bile he tended to spout in Astoria's presence.
"Who is it?" Astoria demanded tightly, knowing in her bones that it was the foul presence that had been looming over her house for weeks, manifested. Whatever it was had finally found its way in. "Send them away until my aunt comes home."
"From the Ministry, Missus," returned Bonky darkly. "I is trying, but he is not leaving."
Curiously lightheaded, Astoria turned on her heel and started back down the stairs.
What could have possibly happened that would call for Astoria to intervene on her aunt's behalf? She was not of legal age—she had no authority to speak for anyone. Had Belladonna been arrested?
Thinking fearfully of her aunt's new penchant for travel, Astoria began to prepare herself for a battle that she knew she had almost no hope of winning.
Astoria was almost more shocked by the sight of the person actually standing in her in the doorway than she would have been by Fudge, himself. Clutching a large clipboard and looking as pompous as always was Percy Weasley, alone with nothing by an expression of faint harassment for company.
Perhaps, if Astoria had not known Percy at school or spent so many hours listening to his brothers tell amusing stories at his expense, she might have found him slightly intimidating against the backdrop of her steps in his dark robes. As it was, however, his freckled face was cause for celebration. If it was going to be a fight—and it very well might be—Astoria was not nearly as outclassed as she had feared.
There was very little Astoria could have done other than play dumb for Barty Crouch or Amelia Bones but Percy Weasley was another animal entirely. In fact, if she proceeded with great care, it was possible that she might manage to overwhelm him.
"Astoria!" sputtered Percy awkwardly, catching sight of her. "That is, Miss Greengrass—"
Pleased to find him flustered already, Astoria unstuck herself and moved toward him.
"Percy!" she returned, thankful for the blessing of being able to sound calm under duress. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm just…" Percy tapered off, entirely thrown by Astoria's arrival. Even as she watched, he blinked and took a mistrustful step backward, as though he hoped to consult with the number on the plaque by the door in order to gain some measure of reassurance.
"Are you looking for my aunt?" asked Astoria, beginning to suspect that Percy was probably ignorant of her relation to Belladonna and entirely confused to have found her here.
"I—well, yes, I suppose I must be," Percy returned with a huff, switching tunes and trying to push his way forward. "Is she in, Astoria? I'm afraid it's a matter of urgency."
"She's away for the afternoon," answered Astoria serenely, doing her best keep Percy flustered. "I'll tell her you came by, if you like?"
"No!" burst Percy forcefully, growing slightly red now. "I think I'll wait here, if you don't mind. I've done quite enough postponing on her account already this week, thank you very much."
Astoria did mind, quite frankly, but she could not think of how to express this annoyance in a way that would not make her—or, more importantly, her aunt—seem guilty.
"The living room is this way," Astoria began doubtfully, reluctantly moving aside to show him through, "but really, Perce, she might not be back for hours…"
"Hours?" Percy repeated nastily, as though this was just perfect. "And I suppose you have no idea where she is, either?"
"Well, no," Astoria admitted, making something of a show out of her innocent confusion. "I think you'd have better luck coming back tomorrow. Sometimes she gets in quite late—but I can leave a note for her!"
"This is not how intelligent people treat a summons, Astoria!" shot Percy irately, sensing his growing powerlessness and seeking to patronize Astoria instead. "Your aunt was required by law to present herself at the Ministry nearly a week ago!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," returned Astoria in a measured tone, her mind working overtime to test the boundaries of what could be perceived as believable ignorance. "She's been in France quite a bit. I'm not even sure she's read her most recent mail…"
If Percy had been upset before, this news really took the cake. The thought of being backed by the full weight of the law and being ignored irritated Percy; the idea of being so insignificant that he had been over-looked entirely was appalling. Astoria had miscalculated.
"Enough of this nonsense!" sneered Percy. "I have been charged by the head of my office—by Mr. Crouch himself—to bring Belladonna Lestrange to heel! I won't leave until I've seen her. I'll sit here all night if I have to!"
This struck Astoria as highly unprofessional behavior but she could not think of anything that might make Percy budge without having to resort to force.
"I'll tell you what," said Astoria coldly, noticing some of the venom that she had been disguising seep into her voice, "why don't you come back in an hour? I'll see if I can reach her."
"That's likely," Percy jeered. "You know, your aunt is lucky I didn't march in here with about five officers behind me! Very lucky indeed!"
Astoria did not like the sound of this at all but she also knew that if there had been five officers available, Percy would have done everything in his power to bring them along.
It was very nearly summer, Astoria reflected shrewdly. Between Barty Crouch's recent bout of sickness and the fast approaching third task, it was more than possible that everyone of importance had been tied up for days. Perhaps this why Percy Weasley had been dispatched on such official business in the first place.
The fact that he had come alone was more than a little cheering. It seemed to suggest that his department was understaffed or else operating beyond its means; a state that easily allowed for paperwork to slip between the cracks…
"I don't know where my aunt is," Astoria insisted firmly, "but if you want me to try to find her, you'll have to leave and come back. I can't take you with me and I know for a fact that my aunt would never leave a stranger alone in her house."
There was too much reason in this for Percy to ignore but the idea of having to leave empty handed caused him to turn bright red again.
Percy sucked in a breath. For a moment, Astoria was certain that he was going to refuse. Then, he seemed to get ahold of himself, because he tucked his clipboard under his arm with a smack and said: "One hour, Astoria. Consider it a favor. I mean it—if Belladonna continues to flout the law, I'll be forced to call in backup! No more letters or civil house calls!"
Astoria did not take her eyes off of Percy until he had retreated to the end of the driveway to Apparate.
"Bonky!"
For the first time in memory, Bonky responded to Astoria's summons promptly, snapping into sight beside her.
"Who is my aunt visiting?" Astoria demanded stiffly, fighting down a tidal wave of panic. "If you don't want her to be arrested, you'll be quick and spit it out instead of making me fight for it!"
To Astoria's alarm however, Bonky's long fingers suddenly scrabbled toward his chest, clutching at the tea towel he wore for a garment.
"Mistress is leaving this morning without her tea," Bonky grumbled, rocking and back and forth. "Mistresses business is her own…it is not for Bonky to be prying."
"You don't know?" Astoria probed shrilly, her fear officially threatening to engulf her.
Bonky did not respond, choosing instead to continue rocking back and forth while muttering faint, grief tinged expletives
"Don't let anyone in until I come back!" Astoria decided sharply, stalking forward to recollect her cloak off the floor. "I mean it, Bonky!" Astoria snarled. "If that man shows up again and demands to wait inside, hit him over the head with the bust of Uncle Alfred and chuck him into the back garden!"
For a split second, Bonky ceased his moaning and lifted his head. One bloodshot eye met Astoria's two normal ones. Bonky nodded swiftly to show that he had heard her—the first order he had ever willingly accepted from Astoria—before vanishing again.
Astoria's hands fumbled clumsily as she struggled to fasten her cloak. She had no idea where to even begin. On the rare occasions that Astoria thought about her aunt at school, she tended to imagine Belladonna pacing her own living room, sherry glass in hand, laughing manically at the follies of her enemies from afar. In reality, it was almost baffling how little Astoria knew about what her aunt did with her spare time.
Only one thing was certain; despite having very few friends, Belladonna always seemed to be incredibly busy. Without so much as a hint to point her in the right direction, Astoria quickly decided that trying to find her aunt with so little time to spare was a fruitless pursuit. Her father was typically just as busy as Belladonna, but also more traceable.
Astoria stumbled toward the fireplace and muttered her father's address through a mouthful of her own cloak, still struggling to make the fabric lay flat and straight.
George Greengrass might not be good for much, but he was a lawyer and Astoria could not think of anyone else to call on. Her father was simply going to have to do in a pinch. There was nothing else for it.
Daphne was the only person at home to greet Astoria when she struggled out of the floo.
"Astoria?" she cried, startled by the sudden intrusion.
"Where's dad, Daph?" Astoria demanded, giving up on her cloak as a bad job and wrenching it off again. A surprised yowl came from the direction of the couch as Daphne's cat sprang up to avoid being snapped by Astoria's hood.
"He's in a meeting!" spluttered Daphne, getting up to coax the spitting cat, (whose fur was now standing on end) out from beneath the writing desk. "What's going on? You look upset—come out, Millard! She didn't mean to hurt you!"
"Where is the meeting?" Astoria pressed, dreading the idea of having to barge into a board room to avoid having to return to Percy without proper legal representation.
"The country club, I think," Daphne gaped. "Astoria, you aren't going to march down there and interrupt him, are you?"
Astoria did not have time to explain herself. Moreover, even if she hadn't been racing against the clock, Astoria was not convinced that Daphne would choose to understand her predicament.
"Of course not," Astoria lied, tossing a fistful of fresh powder back into the low-burning flames. "I'll wait for them to finish. Sorry about the cat!"
The golden maple of the club's parquet floors swirled up to meet Astoria on the other side. Dizzy from so much rapid travel by floo and slightly dazed by the blinding sunlight, Astoria forced herself to stop and rest her head in her hands by the French doors, willing herself not to be sick.
The slow, tranquil murmur of the club's wealthy patrons was disarming and very at odds with Astoria's own mental state. It was as though she belonged to another planet. No one here seemed to be in a hurry, let alone scurrying to preserve the delicate balance of their disastrous home lives.
Here, the world was perfectly content and at ease; a blur of mundane choices. What kind of cheese went best with pears? Was it more proper to drink a white wine than a red before the cocktail hour?
Feeling very overwhelmed, Astoria fought to get a grip on herself. By the grace of small miracles, she was still dressed rather smartly from tea that morning. She had a chance of blending in and disguising her desperation from prying eyes, if she only tried.
Wasting no time, Astoria inquired after her father directly at the front desk, tapping her foot impatiently as a polite attendant in a white jacket searched for George's name in the guest book. But the boy could not find George's name anywhere, so Astoria demanded that he look again, sweating uncomfortably despite the very reasonable temperature.
At last, glancing at her wrist watch and becoming frantic, Astoria tried asking how many business meetings were being catered that afternoon, planning to march into each one before she located the correct room.
"Catered?" the boy mused, scratching his nose with his quill. "None, miss. Although—I see there is a meeting taking place in the library right now."
This was all Astoria needed to hear. She knew exactly where the library was because Draco had brought her and Daphne past it two years ago. Astoria retraced her steps back past the bar and then turned toward the long, silent hallway lined with old portraits. The moment her feet reached the muffled carpeting, Astoria broke into a run.
The library doors were closed, as she had expected the might be, but the complete silence of the place seemed to be doing its best to make her lose her nerve. Astoria pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to catch her breath before barging in to interrupt a table full of adult men who would surely resent her.
"Astoria?" demanded a sharp, drawling voice. Astoria yanked her hand back before her knuckles made contact with the wood.
In the nook by the windows, rudely sprawled out in a way that ensured he could claim half of a table for his feet, was Draco Malfoy. Although he appeared to be perusing what looked like a stolen club directory in his lap, everything about him, from the stunted expression on his face to his lazy posture screamed of extreme boredom. When Astoria turned to face him, he jerked up out of his slouch an inch or so, caught slightly off guard. "Who are you here with?"
The last time Astoria had seen Draco, she had been quite literally in his lap, the willing victim of a very hasty but enthusiastic molestation. The last thing Astoria wanted to do now, in a state of panicky desperation, was deal with the repercussions of that choice.
Almost thankful to have such a distracting list of higher priorities, Astoria pointed toward the library. "Is my father in there?"
"I don't know," Draco scoffed, trying to stash his stolen club directory. "Yeah, maybe."
Feeling that she had nothing left to lose, Astoria brought her hand back and rapped on the door's wooden surface.
"What are you doing?" sneered Draco in surprise, shooting up out of his seat. "Stop—you'll make the librarian come back here. Your father can't hear you in there anyway, the doors are charmed."
"Are you serious?" Astoria snarled. Locating her father had been her only motive; the idea that she might be prevented from seeing him even after he had been found hadn't occurred to her at all.
"It's a library, isn't it?" replied Draco, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the hall, clearly half expecting to spot the Club's unruly resident scholar charging down it already.
Astoria ran her fingers through her hair, positively choking on the desire to scream. She had less than thirty minutes left if she wanted to get home before Percy. Yet here she was, ten feet away from her father, stymied by a door.
"Fine—I don't know!" Astoria floundered, trying to decide what to do. "Tell my father to come to my aunt's house when he gets out, will you?" she finally shot, glancing down at her watch again.
Draco's look of confusion swiftly turned into one of annoyance.
"Please!" Astoria pressed, afraid that Draco might ignore her request out of spitefulness if she didn't. "I've got Percy Weasley circling my house like a vulture and there's a good chance my elf might decide to brain him with a statue if I don't get back."
"What are talking about?" sneered Draco skeptically, trying and failing to process this information. "What about Weasley?"
"I don't have time for this, Draco!" Astoria shot exasperatedly.
"Weasley's actually in your house?" Draco sneered, turning to follow her as she retreated down the length of the hallway.
"He will be," Astoria cut back, wishing Draco would stop following her, as he was slowing her down considerably.
"You know that's illegal, right?" continued Draco scornfully, seemingly unable to leave a matter so ridiculous when it was dropped directly into his lap. "You're underage. You don't have to tell that muggle loving ginger anything."
"Try telling him that!" Astoria snapped bitterly. "It was all I could do to make leave the first time."
"He barged in and wouldn't leave?" asked Draco nastily, beginning to become offended in Astoria's favor. "Sure, I'll tell him to get lost. You'd practically be doing me a favor."
"No," said Astoria shortly, wishing she had said nothing.
"What are you doing? Stay here," muttered Draco irritably, flustered by Astoria's continued progress down the hall. "Wait for your father. There's no point in going back alone."
"You're in my way!" Astoria complained, extremely hesitant to touch any part of Draco's body. "Just stop."
"Why are you always so stupid?" Draco sneered, strangely infected by Astoria's foul mood. "Peter Weasley can't make you do anything. You're letting someone's secretary boss you around for nothing!"
"It's Percy," Astoria corrected exasperatedly, pushing past the bar toward the line of fireplaces, "not Peter. I don't know what he can or can't do—he says he's acting for Crouch."
"Whatever," scoffed Draco, thoroughly missing the point, still hot on her heels. "Ten galleons says he's probably just about as important at the Ministry as his father. Ignore him. He's trying to trick you into talking to him!"
Astoria tossed a fistful of floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared before Draco could shove in front of her and make any more of his opinions known. Belladonna's front hall rushed up to meet her, vacant as ever.
Astoria had barely taken three steps into the room, however, when the fireplace sputtered to life again behind her. Praying that Belladonna had chosen this opportune moment to return home from her shopping, Astoria turned and was annoyed—although not entirely surprised—to find Draco brushing soot off his tie.
"What are you doing here?" Astoria snapped. "You need to stay and tell my dad I'm looking for him!"
"I told one of the servants to do it," Draco shrugged.
Wondering angrily if this was Draco's idea of a fun way to keep his boredom at bay while he waited for his own father, Astoria protests were interrupted before they even began when the doorbell rang.
Right on time, Bonky came tearing up from the kitchens brandishing a knife and the hefty bust of Uncle Alfred, screaming bloody murder.
"Fucking hell!" Astoria hissed, reaching out to snag a fistful of the elf's tea towel, bringing him to a jolting stop mid-leap. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Butchering the intruder who dares trespass upon my mistress's domain!" the elf squealed madly, eyes bulging. "Mistress is NOT AT HOME!" he hollered in the direction of the door. "MISTRESS IS NOT IN!"
"Give me that!" Astoria barked, wrenching the knife out of his tiny hand. "We're not killing any Ministry workers! Open the door and get back to the kitchens!"
"You know," drawled Draco, tossing himself into one of the seats surrounding the hall table, eyes sparkling with cruel amusement, "that elf is starting to grow on me."
Draco expression soon became chilly as Percy Weasley came storming into the room with his chest puffed out.
"So this is it, is it?" Percy demanded, surveying the Belladonna-free space. "It's illegal to ignore a summons, Astoria! I'm going to have to report this!"
"Last time I checked, it was also illegal to question a minor," Draco sneered. "You'll make sure that's clear in the paperwork too, I suppose?"
"I'm not questioning anyone!" declared Percy, positively swelling with indignation as his eyes shifted from Astoria, who was blushing with annoyance, to Draco. "What's happening here is a direction violation—a flouting—of official rules!"
"Sit down, Percy," suggested Astoria coldly, "before you run out of breath."
Percy bristled but reached for the back of the nearest chair. "Yes," he snapped in a clipped tone. "I think I will wait—that seems to be the only to get any attention around here."
Draco waited for Percy to pull his chair halfway out before giving it a swift kick with his foot. The chair slid back a clean six inches, leaving Percy stare at it blinking, forced to either fetch it or remain standing.
Astoria froze with one hand on the table, stunned. It was the first time she had ever gotten any pleasure out of watching Draco bully someone, but it was beginning to occur to her that she really didn't need him to do it for her. A swift and terrible anger seemed to be opening up in her chest; the result of an entire day spent hopping madly from one desperate hope to another. She had been pressed to her limit and she could almost feel herself snapping, becoming something dangerous and unhinged. It was one thing to go out into public and face the threat of being intimidated; but Astoria had not asked for this and Percy was in her home.
"You'll be Lucius's boy, will you?" asked Percy stiffly, his chin trembling with anger.
"Yeah," Draco confirmed, tilting his chin up challengingly, "and he probably pays more than half of your salary, doesn't he Weasley?"
"Bonky!" Astoria snapped over her shoulder, eager to shut down this masculine pissing contest before it even began.
The elf appeared with a crack, crouching on the hearth rug like a wounded animal. He shot one look in Percy's direction and hissed menacingly.
"Bring out tea, please," Astoria ordered casually, taking a perverse amount of pleasure in watching Percy jump hastily away from the fireplace.
"Mental!" Percy muttered darkly, giving up and dragging his seat back toward the table. "What's going on here, Astoria?"
"It would seem that my aunt has gone on vacation," said Astoria calmly, knowing Percy would see through the lie but no longer caring.
"That's no excuse!—" Percy fell silent as Bonky reappeared and slammed a tray down in the middle of the table. "That is to say, the law is the law! You've always seemed like a nice girl. You must understand the position I'm in…"
"I'm sure my aunt never expected to receive any official paperwork," Astoria went on conversationally, helping herself to tea. "You'll her from her soon, I imagine. Unless, of course, you think it would be better to send 'about five officers' out to look for her."
Astoria stirred sugar into her tea, enjoying her ability to parrot Percy's earlier empty threat back at him.
Percy went slightly red, sensing the change that had taken place. Astoria was no longer pretending to play his game; she had officially, and intolerantly, turned against him and he seemed to know it.
"Maybe I will!" returned Percy aggressively, dumping cream into his tea and taking an angry sip. "With four husbands mysteriously dead, it really is a wonder that she isn't used to this sort of thing. This can't be the first time that the Ministry has come knocking. One might think she'd be smart enough to leave a forwarding address!"
Astoria pressed her lips into a cold smile.
"Yeah?" sneered Draco angrily, causing Astoria to jump because she had nearly forgotten he was there. "Interested in mysteriously dead people, are you Weasley? Sounds like a good way to join them, if you ask me."
"Belladonna's first husband worked for the ministry as a Goblin Liaison!" Percy snapped defensively. "It's certainly no secret where he ended up and now I'm beginning to understand why!"
"Suicide, I think it was," Astoria agreed cheerfully, intentionally trying to be disarming. "I don't remember him, of course, I was too young."
Both Percy and Draco turned to stare at her, but whether because the subject was one she almost never spoke about, or because her tone of voice really was a little frightening, Astoria could not tell.
"He used poison," Astoria went on. "It was in his hand lotion. He must have made a paste out of it—with Angel's Trumpet, that's not hard to do—but still, it was quite a dramatic way to die."
"Yes, well," Percy cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "That's not really the point…"
"Do you know what Angel's Trumpet usually looks like?" Astoria went on, taking great care to keep her voice light and her eyes cold, feeling frankly psychotic.
"No," Percy admitted shortly.
"It's a drooping flower—very pretty, but of course, every part of it is poisonous; the stalks, the leaves, the blooms," Astoria informed him, putting her spoon down with a clink. "It's best to boil them, but Angel's Trumpet can steeped; his breathing would have went first, uncle Tracers. I've been told that part would feel a bit like drowning. After that, he would have begun to hallucinate and then wheeze… No one in their right mind would think to drink it, at least… not twice."
Percy Weasley had been watching Astoria closely, hypnotized, but the moment she uttered the phrase 'drink it' she saw his eyes flick down to his own cup fearfully, perhaps beginning to wish he had not taken a slurp of tea.
Percy cleared his throat again, his fingers twitching up to loosen his stiff collar.
"We still have a few bushes in the front garden," added Astoria pointedly, never taking her eyes off Percy. "My aunt continues to plant them…I think they remind her off him."
"Your tea is getting cold," observed Percy, motioned toward Astoria's drink.
"I like it that way," Astoria countered dangerously, hoping Percy would take the hint.
Percy cleared his throat a third time and drummed his fingers against his pant leg, clearly filled with a secret urge to jump up and retreat. "Are you going to have any?" he snapped at Malfoy, unable to think of anything but the tea he had so recklessly consumed in his anger.
"Draco doesn't drink tea," Astoria remarked carelessly, knowing that Draco was too clever to contradict her.
"I'm quite a busy person, it's time for me to be going!" said Percy, leaping to his feet. "Tell your aunt to report to my office the moment you see her!"
"I'll do that," confirmed Astoria unpleasantly.
"Good day to you!" burst Percy in a rush, shooting one last glimpse at Astoria's undrunk tea before grabbing his clipboard and racing toward the driveway.
"Look at him scamper!" drawled Draco, his eyes narrowing with awestruck delight as the door literally swung shut, pushing Percy off the top step. "You didn't actually poison him?"
Astoria snorted, lifted her cup off its saucer at last, and took a small sip.
Draco laughed softly, still watching the door Percy had sped out of. "He's heading straight to Saint Mungos, the moron."
A strange and sweaty dew was breaking out across Astoria's forehead. She had no idea what Belladonna had done, but she was nearly certain that Percy's hasty exit would not be the end of her worries.
Draco picked up a teacup, peered inside for dust, and poured himself a measure before leaning back in his chair rather cockily.
Astoria refrained from looking at him. It was bad enough that she had kissed him the night before, but she was more than exhausted from having all of her secrets and worries spilled out in the open for him to play with lately. Why was it that every time disaster struck, Draco always seemed to be there watching?
The fireplace blazed to life and Astoria turned toward it expectantly.
"Astoria, darling!" jammered George, patting his hair back into wavy submission. "What's happening? Did we have plans that I've forgotten? The attendant said you were looking for me."
"No, we didn't have plans," sneered Astoria recklessly, feeling all of her anger come rushing back at the sight of him. "Aunt Belladonna's being subpoenaed! I don't suppose, working in law, you might know what the hell is going on?"
"Good Lord, that paperwork went through weeks ago!" exclaimed George carelessly. "She still hasn't sorted the matter out?"
"Oh my God," Astoria muttered, pressing her fingertips against her eyes. "You knew? Why didn't you do anything?"
"It was just a silly thing," said George dismissively. "A minor infraction, something about conserving a lake—the most the Ministry can possibly do is fine her. I don't know why she hasn't taken care of it already…"
Draco snorted, clearly somewhat disappointed by the supposed nature of Belladonna's crime but for Astoria's part, she did not even believe it.
"What are you talking about?" Astoria bit back intolerantly, trying and failing to imagine her aunt fighting for wildlife conservation. "That makes no sense! The woman wears fur in the bath tub, father—she doesn't care about nature!"
The fire blazed up again behind George. Surprised, Astoria got to her feet, certain that this would be her aunt. She was disappointed a third time when Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the hearth, followed by a scrawny man in a trench coat, who appeared to be clutching an actual human skull.
You're having a dream, Astoria's mind seemed to whisper. These pieces don't fit together.
But she wasn't dreaming. George had clearly been in a meeting with Lucius, which was why Draco had been waiting around there in the first place. By following her home and leaving word with one of the club attendants, he had unwittingly told his father where to find him, as well.
"Lucius!" quirked George, looking faintly surprised. "I'm sorry, my daughter only wanted a word."
"No matter," said Mr. Malfoy smoothly, surveying the room with private interest, perhaps amused by the notion of being inside Belladonna's home for the first time in years. "I was coming here, anyway."
"Oh, I see!" said George, catching sight of Draco.
Draco meanwhile had jolted out of his confident slouch. His eyes darted to his father, filled with a sheepish alertness as he tried to guess whether or not he had just been caught doing something he ought not to have been doing.
"Are you working for Mr. Malfoy?" asked Astoria numbly, distracted by all of the nightmarish puzzle that seemed to be assembling itself around her.
It would certainly make a good deal of sense. George had burned his old bridges with Mr. MacLaggen by sleeping with his wife, moving on to a different mistress and then using his daughter to dump the old one at a party. Of course he was looking for new work; he couldn't very well continue on with his former clients and this made the second time Astoria had found him keeping Lucius Malfoy company.
"In a manner of speaking," admitted George, unaware of the bizarrely powerless situation that this placed Astoria in. "Mr. Malfoy has invested heavily in a new company that requires legal representation. So indirectly, yes, you might say that."
You weak, greedy fool, thought Astoria accusingly.
Lucius would never be as blind to George's dilettantism as Mr. MacLaggen had been. He would demand his money's worth from her father, sure enough. Then there was Draco, who would surely love to have something to hold over Astoria's head. Well, now he had it. George's career hung precariously on a thread of personal whim and violently hard work. For one blinding, hate filled moment, Astoria hoped he would cut be loose for a fall.
"And who is this?" Astoria spat bitterly, gesturing toward the scrawny man with the skull. "Hamlet?"
"No," chuckled George. "This is Damocles Belby. He's a rather famous potion maker. The Wolfsbane won you an Order of Merlin, didn't it?"
"Aye. And pleased to make yer acquaintance, miss," said Damocles, sweeping into a magnificently low bow, leaving Astoria to stare into the empty eye sockets of the skull he was still holding. "Yer father seems like a real straight chap."
"Well, congratulations, father!" declared Astoria savagely, raking her eyes over George's lavender dress shirt. "I've never met anyone so immediately willing to call you a 'straight chap'!"
Behind her, Draco let out a soft, awe-induced laugh but he stopped short the moment Lucius turned to look at him.
"Very funny," returned George, beginning to sound a little annoyed. "I'm sorry, Damocles, it appears that my daughter is in a mood today."
Astoria glared at her father, hating him a little for this comment. If he had only done something—anything, even a warning would have sufficed—when he had noticed that Belladonna was being investigated, the whole matter might not have come crashing down so stupidly. Who was he to talk about moods?
A new sound coming from the direction of the kitchen prevented Astoria from saying anything regrettable, however. This first thump was followed by another and then a low peal of laughter reached her ears. Belladonna was home at last, and it did not sound as though she had returned alone.
Entirely conscious of the fact that her aunt was about to be blind-sighted by a summons, her father, both Malfoys and a renowned potion maker (whose dubious interests seemed to include werewolves and decapitated humans) Astoria sunk back into her seat, simultaneously miserable and mesmerized.
Belladonna's chuckling drew nearer, followed by the deeper, more masculine tone of second voice. By the time they reached the end of the hall, Astoria was not alone in turning around to stare.
Belladonna came bursting into view only to stop short in the doorway, her face registering astonishment as she took in the improbable situation that was waiting in her living room.
"Good Lord!" Belladonna breathed, positively straining herself to keep from cackling. "Either the universe has finally seen fit to send me a spontaneous French farce or the Ministry has fallen."
"Oh!" cried Professor Vector as he came up behind Belladonna, recoiling in surprise. "What's all this?"
"I don't know," murmured Belladonna wickedly, "but I'm optimistic that it might break out into song and dance."
"Your niece came to my meeting today," ventured George boldly. "She was concerned about you."
"Did she?" asked Belladonna mildly, taking a better look at the assembled crowd. "So you decided to bring the meeting to her?"
Missing nothing, Belladonna's eyes moved straight from Lucius to Draco. By her reasoning, he was the person whose presence seemed the most unaccountable and for an uncomfortable moment, she seemed to fixate on him.
Astoria had gone very still. She could sense an argument straining to break out between her aunt and her father and she was very anxious for this entire, queer gathering to dissipate before they decided to put on a show.
"You might try answering your mail," responded George smartly. "Apparently the ministry arrived, determined to question Astoria while you were out."
"Don't play the part of the concerned parent, George," Belladonna sneered, put out by the implication that Astoria had been miss-managed. "It never suited you."
"Some of us choose to work," insisted George hotly. "I've got figures to check over and I really don't have time to keep up with your petty misdemeanors!"
"Funny you should mention that," said Belladonna wryly. "By my account, you'll have time aplenty on your hands soon. As of Monday morning, the potion you're working so hard to market is about to become highly illegal."
"I think not, Belladonna," said Mr. Malfoy at last, his long nostrils flaring.
"No? Well, the knotgrass you were hoping to harvest from the lake region to create it most certainly is," Belladonna clarified unapologetically, moving toward the cabinet to pour herself a sherry.
"Dreadful thing, Belladonna," countered Mr. Malfoy smoothly, "but as the sale of knotgrass hasn't been restricted for more than a hundred years, you'll understand why I'm reluctant to become alarmed."
"There's no possible way of outlawing it!" interjected George uncomfortably, disliking the look on Belladonna's face immensely. "Even if their was, there are no notaries willing to sign anything on a Saturday!"
Belladonna took a calm sip of her wine and snapped her fingers in professor Vector's direction, summoning him forward into the middle of the room. "Hark, a notary!" she trilled triumphantly, motioning to imply that Vector should hand George the paperwork he was clutching under his arm.
Lucius shot George a short, cutting look, clearly trying to understand if their was a loophole in the law that might have been missed.
"Conservational bylaws, indeed!" sneered George angrily, reading down the summary he had just been handed. "This is ridiculous! It'll never stand up in court. There's nothing in those lakes that needs to be preserved!"
"Not in them," said Belladonna pointedly, her eyes blazing victoriously, "around them. You're forgetting about the gypsies, George. You'll be displacing their camp and surely you don't want them living any closer to town?"
George blinked rapidly. It was clear that the welfare of gypsies had not occurred to him.
"Auntie!" Astoria cried exasperatedly, having held silent long enough. "This is inane! You don't care about gypsies! Just let dad have his knotgrass!"
"Sit down, Astoria," said Belladonna coldly, never taking her eyes off of Lucius, who had seized the paperwork from George.
"A motion to preserve the northern gypsy encampment," read Mr. Malfoy lazily. "Tut tut...I never thought I would see the day. Signed for by Silvanus Vector on April the fourth at the Leaky Cauldron in—" Mr. Malfoy broke off to quirk a velvety eyebrow, privately amused by something he had seen, "—oh dear, room six hundred and sixty six?"
"Pure coincidence, I assure you," drawled Belladonna, dropping onto the still vacant love seat.
"Very well," said Mr. Malfoy curtly, folding the scroll of parchment with a snap and thrusting it back at George.
"Merlin in Hell, Belladonna!" swore George irately, busy rereading the scroll Lucius had nearly slapped him with. "This Gypsy village is on the same lake your third husband disappeared on! It's exactly the same one! I'm sure of it!"
Astoria let out a low, mortified groan of agony as all of the missing pieces finally, at long last assembled themselves. Belladonna's third husband, Uncle Blishwick, had disappeared while boating in June nearly seven years previously. Officially he had been declared missing. His body had never been found... Was this seriously what the woman had been doing for weeks? Covering up a decade old murder?
"No matter," said Lucius, looking curiously unsurprised by this news. "We shall see who prevails in the end. This conservation act, as you've called it, won't stand for more than a month."
"Yes, we will see," agreed Belladonna dangerously.
"I myself choose not to wager on Bella the Mad and her band of vagabonds," Lucius cautioned softly.
"Oh, please!" snorted Belladonna distractedly, her predatory air suddenly giving way to inappropriate merriment. As though she was merely playing a child's game. "Bella the Mad? Surely that moniker has already been claimed—or have you forgotten the other one?" Belladonna mimed the unscrewing of a bottle and then chucked her charade prop toward the fireplace drunkenly.
"That impression alone did a wondrous job of bringing it all back," remarked Lucius, repressing a tight smirk. "I'm fighting the urge to toss salt over my shoulder as we speak. Come, Draco. You too, George. It appears there are more wondrous secrets in the deep than knotgrass. I'm afraid we'll need to re-discuss my strategy."
0o0
Eek, that was a really long break between posts, guys. I'm super sorry, the holidays have just gotten wildly busy around here.
A Few Notes:
1. Gladys Gudgeon, AKA the ill tempered hostess at the tea room, is actually a canon character mentioned in Chamber Of Secrets. She stands accused of writing Gilderoy Lockhart fanmail and having a thoroughly ridiculous name.
2. Damocles Belby is canon as well (he really did create the Wolsbane potion) and is Marcus Belby's uncle (the one his father doesn't get on with, giving Slughorn a reason not to include him in the Slug Club).
3. I'm sorry this chapter was so silly (no I'm not, yes I am). I was really hoping to try to get some emotional, Draco-related follow up in before the end, but there just didn't seem to be space with everything else happening (see number 4), so its coming in the next post.
4. This was the longest chapter to date, because I literally can't seem to stop myself from running on and on about the weather. (More than 13,000 words, nearly a third of which, upon rereading, seem to describe the elements.)
5. The next post will be uploaded on the twenty fifth (as was cleverly suggested by a reviewer). I'm making a good old fashioned Christmas promise on this one (or an oath sworn on any holiday that you prefer). And we all know what happens to people who break Christmas promises...
6. Seriously though, Hogwarts chapters are much quicker to write (although maybe a little less fun, in my opinion) so it's a totally realistic deadline.
As always, reviews make me heart grow three sizes that day!