Chapter 1:
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Wh: Bottom line is, even if you see them coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change. Not really. But it does. So what are we? Helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are.... You'll see what I mean.
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It's never a blur. The people were swirling and twirling around in their flaring gowns and robes of color and ebony, each undoubtedly trying to appear the most extraordinary of the casual peacocks coming out to roost in these gala events- (incomplete sentence) cloaks and capes resting unnaturally and uncomfortably on mismatched cold and lukewarm shoulders. Extraordinary but, in their vast numbers, unremarkable. Kept in place by clips, brooches, medals and clasps both the recently new and the ancient disrespected heirlooms dragged through the ages through a family line.
The level of sobriety among the crème de le crème of society ranged from stone cold, to tipsy, to flat out inebriated as in any common bar to be located throughout London city.
The laughter, the gossip, the whispered words. All added to the cacophony of sound provided by the chorus of cornered instruments playing in what was commonly perceived to be harmony although some debate did ring out from the neuvoue listeners who undoubtedly would have changed their opinions by morning yet furthering another inconsiqencial debate.
Elaborate, over-sized chandeliers hung pristinely at intervals in the great arches that gave the ballroom a deceptive sense of vastness that it should not truly possess. Each wardrobed with a hundred fading candles, the glass and metal entities strained to separate themselves further from the common rabble of the ceiling.
It was never a blur. It was a consistency of flashes. Sharp, clear, striking flashes.
As they had yet to be given a more worthwhile and purposeful task to occupy their limited time- before of course their restricted lids would remove the world from their realty- his silver irises trailed the area, taking in everything they were able to reach. To his knowledge the accumulation of these so-called sophisticated people consisted of only muggles, mudbloods and muggle-loving fools.
And he the only sane one among them all.
This however, came as no surprise as the celebration was being held by some wealthy muggle with dealings with the British Ministry of Magic. The only reason he had even bothered to grace these fools with his presence was due to the misfortune of receiving an invitation from the Minister of magic himself, Cornileus Fudge.
He already had enough difficulties in his reputation without having to insult the Minister by refusing his offer. He found, however, that thirty minutes after arriving with the Minister and his wife, Mrs. fudge - chairwoman for the local association group for bored house wives- were conversing with her socialite associates about the upcoming charity event. The Minister had retired to the shadow covered balcony with a bottle of champagne, two glasses and his latest mistress, with whom, on a previous occasion, he had had the opportunity to become rather well acquainted. Malfoy, however, had been left to wander the ballroom, knowing that social etiquette forbade his absence until being spotted by that oversized insect and recent bane of his existence, Rita Skitter, queen of the gossip columns.
Circling the hall, he tried once more to spot the bejeweled, humanoid, praying mantis that was Skitter so that he could get the hell away from all these dirty-blooded imbeciles before becoming contaminated by their very disgusting, nauseating stench.
Whether or not he would take the time to steal someone's date to keep him company that night was yet to be determined.
He spotted a tall, tanned brunette who appeared to have some potential and began to make his way over to her. It didn't appear she had a date, and if she did the naive fool was nowhere near enough to protect his quarry from becoming just another pair of soon to be forgotten underwear, lost and forgotten on his bedroom floor.
It was then, at that moment, when a small head on collision occurred, forcing him to dispel some of his fairly earned oxygen.
He looked down to see had impacted him to find a small mass of brown curls. Familiar brown curls. Disturbingly familiar brown curls that he could annoyingly not quite match to a face. The diminutive figure stood up and dusted off her 'cute' green ballgown to reveal what appeared to be a small six-year of old child.
She had a small frame and a slightly pointed, heart shaped face with rounded cheeks. Her chocolate brown nest of curls were long enough to reach down her back and were held out of her face with two twin green hair-clips. Each sparkly device on either side of her face, slightly above her ears.
She giggled and squeaked a quick "Hi!" before turning to look behind in her original direction of origin and then dodged around him to hide between his legs and ebony cloak.
Malfoy spun, and although his mouth was hung open prepared to allow his vocal cords to dance with his thoughts to produce a strain of communication, no matter how impolite, he had been shocked into silence by her behavior. He turned in time to miss seeing a pale hand reach for the child's arm and pull her away.
"I'm so sorry-"
Red hair. Freckles. A Weasley.
Ginny gapped at the stagnant face that, until moments before, had been the friendly back of a stranger's head. Once realizing who the victim of Shyrian's inappropriate game of hide and seek was by the familiar scowl- the likes of which she had successfully managed to avoid for the past eight or nine years she could not quite create the passing pleasantry she had been so prepared to share.
"Your brat daughter is as foul mannered as the rest of your rabble family, Weasley."
At that moment, Ginny felt like she would have willingly sold out to You- Know-Who for Harry's ability to handle sudden, intensely bad situations. Her young companion however did not share her flaw.
"Aunt Gin's not my mom. My mom's H-"
The naiveté of youth, though, was a greatly underestimated pain in the rear.
Shyrian was slightly puzzled as to why Aunt Gin's hand was suddenly attached to her mouth but as the red headed woman stuttered out another apology before turning to flee with her arm, Shy decided to relieve her confusion at a later stage. Right now she should rather will her feet to move before their stagnation resulted in the removal of her now mobile arm from her stationary body.
Draco Malfoy watched uncomfortably as the red head disappeared into the crowd. The child could not even be seen in amongst the tall, weeded adults between them. The attractive brunette was discarded, albeit reluctantly, from his thoughts as his instincts demanded to be proven wrong. Had to be proven wrong.
He wove his way around the crown, choosing to circle the great staircase rather than follow the direct path the mismatched pair had taken.
As the heir to the Malfoy fortune swiftly glided past her, Rita didn't know whether to be annoyed by his ignorance of her presence or curious to that uncommon furrow that had recently inhabited his forehead. She followed.
Malfoy completed his journey though the throngs of people choosing to encircle the marble staircase in time to see the young Miss Weasly hand off the child's arm to a shapely, but reserved brunette circled by a small, comfortable crowd. A crowd, which happened to include a tall, redheaded male and a bespeckeled black-haired annoyance.
'Oh god.'
He watched as all three of the new adults leaned in to hear Ginny's haste whispered words.
'Dear Lord no.'
The brunette's head immediately lifted and with wide eyes she cast her quick, inaccurate gaze around the great room, searching unsuccessfully for his form.
'You can't be serious,'
Without waiting another moment and before he could react he watched her take a small box out of her purse. She bent over and with a word offered a large marble, still inside the box to the disruptive child. Within another second the child and the port key had disappeared.
Using her talents as a witch, and with a *pop* audible solely in his mind, the mother immediately followed.
Rita swore to find out why one of the magical community's most eligible bachelors was banging his head against the side of the stair's railing.
End chap 1
Don't you just love kids?
Quote for the day: "Eagles may soar high above the clouds but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines."
Be a weasel.
Wh: Bottom line is, even if you see them coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change. Not really. But it does. So what are we? Helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are.... You'll see what I mean.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It's never a blur. The people were swirling and twirling around in their flaring gowns and robes of color and ebony, each undoubtedly trying to appear the most extraordinary of the casual peacocks coming out to roost in these gala events- (incomplete sentence) cloaks and capes resting unnaturally and uncomfortably on mismatched cold and lukewarm shoulders. Extraordinary but, in their vast numbers, unremarkable. Kept in place by clips, brooches, medals and clasps both the recently new and the ancient disrespected heirlooms dragged through the ages through a family line.
The level of sobriety among the crème de le crème of society ranged from stone cold, to tipsy, to flat out inebriated as in any common bar to be located throughout London city.
The laughter, the gossip, the whispered words. All added to the cacophony of sound provided by the chorus of cornered instruments playing in what was commonly perceived to be harmony although some debate did ring out from the neuvoue listeners who undoubtedly would have changed their opinions by morning yet furthering another inconsiqencial debate.
Elaborate, over-sized chandeliers hung pristinely at intervals in the great arches that gave the ballroom a deceptive sense of vastness that it should not truly possess. Each wardrobed with a hundred fading candles, the glass and metal entities strained to separate themselves further from the common rabble of the ceiling.
It was never a blur. It was a consistency of flashes. Sharp, clear, striking flashes.
As they had yet to be given a more worthwhile and purposeful task to occupy their limited time- before of course their restricted lids would remove the world from their realty- his silver irises trailed the area, taking in everything they were able to reach. To his knowledge the accumulation of these so-called sophisticated people consisted of only muggles, mudbloods and muggle-loving fools.
And he the only sane one among them all.
This however, came as no surprise as the celebration was being held by some wealthy muggle with dealings with the British Ministry of Magic. The only reason he had even bothered to grace these fools with his presence was due to the misfortune of receiving an invitation from the Minister of magic himself, Cornileus Fudge.
He already had enough difficulties in his reputation without having to insult the Minister by refusing his offer. He found, however, that thirty minutes after arriving with the Minister and his wife, Mrs. fudge - chairwoman for the local association group for bored house wives- were conversing with her socialite associates about the upcoming charity event. The Minister had retired to the shadow covered balcony with a bottle of champagne, two glasses and his latest mistress, with whom, on a previous occasion, he had had the opportunity to become rather well acquainted. Malfoy, however, had been left to wander the ballroom, knowing that social etiquette forbade his absence until being spotted by that oversized insect and recent bane of his existence, Rita Skitter, queen of the gossip columns.
Circling the hall, he tried once more to spot the bejeweled, humanoid, praying mantis that was Skitter so that he could get the hell away from all these dirty-blooded imbeciles before becoming contaminated by their very disgusting, nauseating stench.
Whether or not he would take the time to steal someone's date to keep him company that night was yet to be determined.
He spotted a tall, tanned brunette who appeared to have some potential and began to make his way over to her. It didn't appear she had a date, and if she did the naive fool was nowhere near enough to protect his quarry from becoming just another pair of soon to be forgotten underwear, lost and forgotten on his bedroom floor.
It was then, at that moment, when a small head on collision occurred, forcing him to dispel some of his fairly earned oxygen.
He looked down to see had impacted him to find a small mass of brown curls. Familiar brown curls. Disturbingly familiar brown curls that he could annoyingly not quite match to a face. The diminutive figure stood up and dusted off her 'cute' green ballgown to reveal what appeared to be a small six-year of old child.
She had a small frame and a slightly pointed, heart shaped face with rounded cheeks. Her chocolate brown nest of curls were long enough to reach down her back and were held out of her face with two twin green hair-clips. Each sparkly device on either side of her face, slightly above her ears.
She giggled and squeaked a quick "Hi!" before turning to look behind in her original direction of origin and then dodged around him to hide between his legs and ebony cloak.
Malfoy spun, and although his mouth was hung open prepared to allow his vocal cords to dance with his thoughts to produce a strain of communication, no matter how impolite, he had been shocked into silence by her behavior. He turned in time to miss seeing a pale hand reach for the child's arm and pull her away.
"I'm so sorry-"
Red hair. Freckles. A Weasley.
Ginny gapped at the stagnant face that, until moments before, had been the friendly back of a stranger's head. Once realizing who the victim of Shyrian's inappropriate game of hide and seek was by the familiar scowl- the likes of which she had successfully managed to avoid for the past eight or nine years she could not quite create the passing pleasantry she had been so prepared to share.
"Your brat daughter is as foul mannered as the rest of your rabble family, Weasley."
At that moment, Ginny felt like she would have willingly sold out to You- Know-Who for Harry's ability to handle sudden, intensely bad situations. Her young companion however did not share her flaw.
"Aunt Gin's not my mom. My mom's H-"
The naiveté of youth, though, was a greatly underestimated pain in the rear.
Shyrian was slightly puzzled as to why Aunt Gin's hand was suddenly attached to her mouth but as the red headed woman stuttered out another apology before turning to flee with her arm, Shy decided to relieve her confusion at a later stage. Right now she should rather will her feet to move before their stagnation resulted in the removal of her now mobile arm from her stationary body.
Draco Malfoy watched uncomfortably as the red head disappeared into the crowd. The child could not even be seen in amongst the tall, weeded adults between them. The attractive brunette was discarded, albeit reluctantly, from his thoughts as his instincts demanded to be proven wrong. Had to be proven wrong.
He wove his way around the crown, choosing to circle the great staircase rather than follow the direct path the mismatched pair had taken.
As the heir to the Malfoy fortune swiftly glided past her, Rita didn't know whether to be annoyed by his ignorance of her presence or curious to that uncommon furrow that had recently inhabited his forehead. She followed.
Malfoy completed his journey though the throngs of people choosing to encircle the marble staircase in time to see the young Miss Weasly hand off the child's arm to a shapely, but reserved brunette circled by a small, comfortable crowd. A crowd, which happened to include a tall, redheaded male and a bespeckeled black-haired annoyance.
'Oh god.'
He watched as all three of the new adults leaned in to hear Ginny's haste whispered words.
'Dear Lord no.'
The brunette's head immediately lifted and with wide eyes she cast her quick, inaccurate gaze around the great room, searching unsuccessfully for his form.
'You can't be serious,'
Without waiting another moment and before he could react he watched her take a small box out of her purse. She bent over and with a word offered a large marble, still inside the box to the disruptive child. Within another second the child and the port key had disappeared.
Using her talents as a witch, and with a *pop* audible solely in his mind, the mother immediately followed.
Rita swore to find out why one of the magical community's most eligible bachelors was banging his head against the side of the stair's railing.
End chap 1
Don't you just love kids?
Quote for the day: "Eagles may soar high above the clouds but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines."
Be a weasel.
