NOTES:
Poor Cass has the date from hell. But don't pity her. She might kill you if you do.
DEDICATION:
To the darling Kala, who is the 133t co-mod of DOOM!
DISCLAIMER:
::clears throat:: moving onward…
*~*~*~*
"Well, you're looking dressy today, dear," the mirror in Cass's room spoke in a curious voice. Cass grimaced.
"Oh, but you should smile… you would look so much prettier if you smiled."
"I don't want to look pretty," Cass snarled and surveyed her reflection with a glare. "And I look like a bloody miserable prissy snit in a frilly nightmare."
She was brushing out her hair and preparing for the evening with Edmund Baddock. Digging through the piles of casual clothing in her closet, she had come up with some dark green dress robes with sheer sleeves and a matching fur-lined cloak. Oh, sure, the things were quite nice… but it wasn't her.
Firing a few perfunctory ironing charms at the robes, she had shrugged them on, and looked at herself in the mirror again.
Sure, with nice clothes and all dolled up like this, she could almost pass for beautiful… but for the fact that it looked oddly amiss on her. No, this was not her thing at all.
She was not bad-looking. Her face had strong lines, a stubborn chin, high cheekbones, a straight nose. Deep-set dark eyes. Dark hair, kept fairly simple for the sport she loved. She had no illusions about how she looked. Unlike Cho, or Alice, or even Skyler when the latter felt so inclined, she was not feminine or pretty. She did not want to be pretty.
And dressing up like some little porcelain doll was… not her.
She thought she looked hideous in this ridiculous get-up.
A sharp, imperious and insistent rapping on her door, and Cass rolled her eyes. Picking up her wand and putting it in her pocket along with a small wallet, she stalked over to the door and opened it.
"Ah, there you are, Cassandra," Edmund Baddock was impeccably dressed in black dress robes, and gave her a slow once-over with his eyes. "You look pretty like that… you should dress up more often."
"I do not. And I won't dress up more often," Cass muttered under her breath, and at that moment, Edmund gave a rather sharp inhalation, and his eyebrows lifted to his hairline.
"Oh dear… what is that… unsightly blemish on your shoulder?" His hand shot out pressed down on her shoulder, shifting the sheer sleeve of her dress robe. Cass glared at him and pulled away. He looked at her, detached disapproval evident in his eyes.
"It's a tattoo. A dragon. A Common Welsh Green. I have had it since I was fifteen. Do you have a problem with that?" she harshed out.
He sniffed slightly, "I suppose that it can be overlooked right now."
Cass almost wished that he didn't overlook it, cancelled this inane date, and left her alone.
As it was, she rolled her eyes and followed him silently out of her flat.
* * *
The restaurant was called La Reine du Neige. The Queen of Ice. Exclusive, cold, snobby and pretentious. Quite fitting, really. Edmund took her by the arm and led her to a private booth.
A wood nymph, her wild, flowing hair twined with ivy, sauntered up to the table, and asked what they wanted to have for dinner. Edmund, his eyes focused on the dryad's full bosom for much longer than was completely necessary, cleared his throat and ordered escargot and magrets de canard for both of them.
Cass decided that she hated men who ordered for her.
She listened with half an ear as Edmund droned on and on about his job at the Ministry, working for the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal, and wished that she were elsewhere, anywhere…
"… and so, I do think that Muggle Repellent Charms should be used on all Wizarding establishments… after all, it would be horrid if our kind and Muggles had to deal with each other on a daily basis, when obviously neither of them are interested, or could possibly comprehend each other. When I get my next promotion, that will certainly be the first new regulation in effect…"
"That's nice," Cass snapped, picking at her food. She hated snails. And she hated duck. And she wanted to transfigure the bloody arse across from her into a snail or a duck. Or better yet, transfigure him into a snail and feed him to a duck.
"Of course it is… I just knew you would agree…"
Must… not… throw… champagne… flute… at… him… bad… bad…Quidditch... Cass... think about Quidditch... A horizontal pass is most effective when...
She tuned it all out. Obviously, Edmund Baddock, self-absorbed pillock that he was, didn't expect much input from her beyond the occasional nod of assent or blank smile. She mentally memorised Quidditch Through The Ages and went over the history of the sport from its creation to the modern day, taking an occasional sip of her champagne.
She was just reciting Quidditch stats from the infamous Holyhead Harpies and Heidelberg Harriers game under her breath when she noticed that Edmund Baddock was giving her an expectant look. "I beg your pardon?"
"Cassandra," his voice was disapproving, and frankly grating on her nerves by that point, "I was wondering if you would like to go somewhere else? We are done here."
"Oh... yes, let's leave," Cass stood up abruptly. Thank the bloody sodding Heavens. It was over. "Yes, I should be going home... I have practice early in the morning and..."
"Oh, but it is still early... you shouldn't go home yet..." Edmund drawled as he helped her into her cloak and steered her towards the door, "I was just thinking that perhaps... you might want to go somewhere more personal... the crowds here can be somewhat... intrusive."
Crowds? What crowds? The thrice-damned place was probably the most superciliously-run, exclusive establishment in Diagon Alley! Cass's eyes were snapping savagely as he steered her out of the restaurant. Oh, where were mad, scary mobs of Quidditch fans when you needed them? They would have frightened him away, if nothing else.
"You do look beautiful this evening, Cassandra," he asserted languidly. Oh, again with the bloody Cassandras! She was CASS, not Cassandra... he did not notice her hands clenched into fists at her sides, as she walked stiffly next to him.
"Thank you, you're too kind," she hissed.
"Oh, no... you look quite the attractive young woman when you're cleaned up properly like today. Much better than the coarse, grubby garb that you usually wear. You really should wear something like this more often." Edmund looked at her from head to toe once again, and she crossed her arms, eyes narrow and fierce. Not that he noticed. "Oh! I know! I should contact Gladrags, and have them send you a new wardrobe of dress robes. You can be beautiful all the time if you tried harder. Consider it a present, hmm?"
Cass seethed inwardly, "I'm afraid I cannot accept you generous offer," she ground out between clenched teeth, her voice dripping with cold sarcasm.
"Oh, think nothing of it... I can certainly afford it..." Edmund Baddock smiled at his own munificence and bounteousness, and looked at her again, his hand on her arm now a controlling, possessive grip, "Well, it is of course, my astonishingly good luck, that you are mine for tonight."
"I'm not yours, Edmund, whatever gave you that idea? You make it sound like I'm some cheap, trashy bit of muslin you pick up at a whorehouse!" Cass retorted, "And I don't want new bloody dress robes!"
Edmund Baddock looked frankly shocked and astonished at her bad temper, "Well, Cassandra... it would do you a world of good. I'm sure that you understand the necessity for women to be... well, more ornamental than you have a tendency for achieving..."
"What in Merlin's name do you think I AM?! A bloody porcelain doll?!" Cass snarled, "I will dress exactly the way I damn well please to, and it's none of your BUSINESS! Who do you think you are?!"
And Edmund Baddock, finally, scowled at her, his civility collapsing like rotten wood under a varnished veneer, "You had best watch your mouth, Cassandra. And remember who you are speaking to."
"Oh, I remember. I'm speaking to a bloody chauvinistic bastard who is the world's biggest patronizing wanker, who seems to want me to become some sort of mantelpiece ornament for him. Well guess what, Edmund Baddock... it doesn't fucking work that way! How dare you presume to try to control my life? What right do you have?!"
His hands gripped her wrists like steel manacles, and he glared at her. "You're just a little girl who doesn't know what she's doing with her life, Cassandra. I think that it's time that someone taught you what is your place in this world..." he pushed forward, making as if to kiss her.
Eyes blazing in fury, Cass yanked one of her hands out of his inexorable grip, wincing slightly at the soreness in her wrist, and caught his jaw sharply with her fist. Then, as he stumbled back, recoiling in pain and swearing, she whipped out her wand with her freed hand and yelled out "Petrificus Totalus!"
He froze, stiff as a board, and fell to the ground heavily and ungracefully. Cass gave his flattened form one last icy glare, and stormed off to the Leaky Cauldron.
"Three glasses of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey," she said to Tom as soon as she'd sat down. The old man gave her a questioning look, but when she gave him a quelling, defiant stare, he went and fetched her drinks in silence.
It was not a good thing to drink on an almost-empty stomach. Cass knew this, of course. It was not a good thing to be drinking Firewhiskey anyway. Not for an athlete. Alcohol of that potency was very bad to put in one's system.
And she was not very bulky at all. Only slightly over medium height, slim and wiry, certainly no giant by any stretch of the imagination, alcohol was very easily absorbed into her system. A few drinks would be all it took to make her entirely sloshed for the rest of the evening.
Cass knew all this, of course.
And perhaps, had she not been in such high dudgeon, she would have reconsidered.
But as it was, with a reckless, furious sort of defiance, she downed the tall glasses of Firewhiskey, one after another, seething internally just the same way that the whiskey burned a trail down her throat into her practically empty stomach. Normally, she would have been approached for autographs, photos, or questions by other patrons in such a popular establishment, but somehow, it seemed that the others sensed that she was under duress. In any case, the other people in the pub gave her a wide berth and left her to her drinks and her rage in solitude, with only the occasional wary glance sent in her direction.
The door to the Leaky Cauldron opened, and a tall, stalwart form walked in. She looked at him with bleary eyes, but he seemed foggy and swam in her vision. He looked familiar somehow. But for the life of her, she had no idea who he was.
She should go home and sleep. Really... she felt awfully tired. And her head was starting to hurt. And the room was spinning, the voices and words of the people tumbling and drowning and bleeding into each other. She would sleep. And maybe everything would go away in the morning.
Wearily, she set her head down on the table.
And the footsteps came closer. And someone shook her. "Go 'way... lea-me-lone..." she slurred.
Oliver Wood, after a grueling day of Quidditch practice, had decided that a drink at the Leaky Cauldron would be just the thing. After Apparating to the pub, he had just been about to greet Tom, when his eyes had landed on a familiar but peculiar-looking form sitting alone. Cass Flint. Sister of Marcus. Crazy antisocial Harpies Chaser. The girl who had been with him in the hospital. She was all dressed up in fancy attire... but she was alone. And she was in the middle of drinking herself into oblivion.
Deciding that his drink would have to take a rain check, he had walked over to see what was the matter with her.
And realized that she was utterly and completely smashed. The three glasses... empty glasses, at that, of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey on the table, showed what had happened.
"Oi, Flint... wake up!"
"Head... hurts... Baddock... bastard..." she moaned, burying her face in her arms on the tabletop, "Room... spin."
"You can't stay here... where do you live? I should probably call the Knight Bus and have them take you home."
"Live... home..."
"Yes... yes, I know," Oliver said patiently, "Where would that be?"
She shook her head numbly, her hair a dark, tangled, shiny mass on the top of her green-clad, muscular arms. Oliver sighed.
"Look, I'm going to take you out of here. This is ridiculous... a Quidditch player, getting smashed like this in the middle of the season..."
"Edmund Baddock... bloody wanker... sodding..." she murmured, her voice muffled and forlorn. Oliver raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, I'm sure he's an arse... but he's not worth you getting drunk over, hmm?" Whoever this Baddock character was... he must be a prat. Oliver decided that he hated the git. Even though he had no idea who it was. But just to... to make a fellow Quidditch player put herself in such a state... Yes. That was it.
"Horrible... evening..." Cass slurred. Oliver grimaced.
"All right... I don't think you can Apparate home, hmm? And as I have no idea where you live, I shall have to take you to my flat... bloody terrific..." he sighed, and put an arm around her shoulders, half leading, half carrying her out of the pub after laying a handful of coins on the table, "Flint, you really owe me one."
*~*~*~*
Okay... okay! That's Chapter 7! More to come soon, and leave me a review!