Chapter Nine: Dinner and a Murder?
Katie played with her straw wrapper, looking around the hip coffee shop called Painted Beans. Every other girl in here aside from Katie had either a facial piercing, visible tattoos, or an edgy hairstyle. The girl at the table on her left had all three. Half of her head was shaved to the skull and the other was flamingo pink. And then there was Katie, the boring square.
She was wearing a navy dress patterned with sunflowers and sandals. Her hair was in a messy bun. She even thought phrases like "boring square" for Merlin's sake. In contrast to her comparatively schoolmarm outfit she had an aubergine colored dress in her closet that was floor length and satin. Next to the dress on a shelf was a box of amethyst jewels worth more than her parent's entire livelihoods. She had a rich, fake boyfriend and a wand strapped to her ankle, a habit from the war, and a purse in the shape of a tropical fish. What the hell was she doing here?
The door chimed from another customer coming in, but it was a couple wearing matching leather jackets and holding motorcycle helmets. Katie picked up her iced coffee and took a sip, just to give herself something to do.
No one else paid Katie any mind but the flamingo haired girl glanced at Katie, her eyes lingering on the fish purse, and rolled her eyes.
That was it. She should leave. She should have never come here in the first place. Then again, she should have never done anything she'd done the last few weeks.
The door opened again just as Katie had made her mind up to leave, to come to her senses and stop making these reckless choices and go back to being the staid war heroine who carefully, very carefully lived her life according to plan.
"Hello," the man said who walked in. The flamingo haired girl glanced up, eyed the new occupant of the coffee shop, and raised an eyebrow when he walked directly over to Katie, sitting down with a smile, "I was beginning to think I'd lost my shot with you, Katie."
Katie smiled, her fingers twisting the straw wrapper again.
"Not at all," she told Nate the bartender.
What was she doing? Had she lost her mind?
"You look beautiful," Nate told her, his lip ring catching the sunlight.
"Thank you," Katie said, feeling herself blush like an idiot. "I do feel a little out of sorts here, I've got to admit."
Nate laughed. He was wearing a rather tight t-shirt, and Katie could see all of his lovely muscles and pretty face far too clearly in this nice lighting. He was even better looking than she remembered.
"A girl like you fits in anywhere," the bartender said.
"Well, I wouldn't say that," Katie said, twisting the straw wrapper again as the flamingo haired girl glowered at her.
"Let's get out of here," Nate said, "you seem uncomfortable, and I want you to have fun with me. Bad enough we met cause some idiot was pawing at you, yeah?"
Katie saw a flash of his tongue ring, remembered how it had felt in her mouth, and blushed.
"But you were my hero," Katie said.
Her eyelashes even fluttered. Her friends would be proud of her for trying out this technique of seduction. Of course, they would be very displeased if they knew it was being tested on another bloke. As much as she tried to tell Alicia and Angelina everything, she hadn't told them the truth of who she was meeting when she left their flat. They didn't need to know that she'd lost every last shred of her mind.
"I try," Nate said, smiling. He took Katie's hand, like a gentleman, even if his appearance would make her father faint, and led her from the shop and into London.
"Did you get in trouble for helping me?" Katie asked, casting about for a topic of conversation.
"Not at all," Nate said easily, "I got some claps on the back for scoring your number. It's not every night the prettiest girl in the bar kisses you and lets you take her out again."
Katie laughed airily. It sounded false to her own ears. She was acting like a simpering idiot, the kind that Montague loathed so much. But this was the type of boy she should be pursuing. Nice, but rough enough on the surface to still make things exciting. So why wasn't she excited?
"Although I'm mucking it all up by taking you to a pretentious coffee shop," Nate said, "aren't I?"
"No," Katie said automatically, as a pit sunk in her stomach, "I like pink hair." She had actually considered dying her hair turquoise a year ago, to match her eyes, before remembering she was too boring for such flashy things. Or so she had thought.
He's mucking it up by not being Montague, a little evil voice said in her head, and she pushed it away. Of course he wasn't Montague. That was the whole point of seeing him for a date. That was the whole appeal. Wasn't it?
"You'd look nice with pink hair," Nate said, "but really, you'd look good with any hair. Or no hair. I don't discriminate."
Katie laughed. "That's good," she said, "I'd rather fancy you with an orange Mohawk, myself."
"Oh yeah?" Nate said, "well, I hate to disappoint, but that might take a while to grow out."
"That's it, you've lost your shot," Katie sighed.
"A new record for me," Nate said cheerfully, "what can I do to win you back?"
You're already succeeding by not being Montague, Katie's brain said snidely, but was that true? Was it really? Why wasn't her stomach fluttering like it had when she'd last seen Montague outside her game? Sure, that stomach flutter had been fear and panic, but-
"Oh no," Nate said, "I've ruined everything already, eh?"
"No," Katie said quickly, and too loudly. She winced.
"Great," he said, throwing an arm around her shoulder with ease, like they were a couple on a date and Katie finally felt that twist in her stomach. It had nothing to do with the fact that she'd pictured Montague running into them like this and how he'd react. It had nothing to do with that.
"Say, how's your fella feel about us going about together?" Nate said, reading her mind.
"Montague's not my fella," Katie said, "I mean… who do you…what are you talking about?"
They walked by a park and turned in, the sun so unusually shining on them as they strolled among the frolicking Muggles.
As usual, when Katie was surrounded by Muggles she felt like she was home. If home was somewhere where she no longer quite belonged.
"Well, that wasn't suspicious," Nate said, "not that he doesn't have it coming, but I don't usually kiss girls with blokes. It's not my style."
"He's my sworn enemy from school," Katie said, "we ran into him by accident that night. My friends hadn't met him before, so they didn't realize what a pillock he is."
"I see," Nate said, "well, that's good news. Not that I couldn't take him a fight, mind you, but-"
"There will be no fighting," Katie said hastily. There wouldn't be. Montague would never know what she was doing. In fact, Katie didn't even know what she was doing.
"Excellent," Nate said, "not that you're not worth it, luv."
"Thanks," Katie said, automatically.
This was the type of bloke she should've scratched her itch with. Sure, the likelihood of her finding her long-term partner in a pretty and tattooed Muggle bartender were low. He was probably a player, for one. Her parents would have strokes, for another. He might freak out when she'd eventually have to tell him about the whole witch thing. But this Muggle boy was still a thousand times better for her than Montague. And when she was done toying with her Slytherin bastard, and had gotten her knickers and reputation back, she needed a nice, healthy alternative.
"So," Katie said, falsely cheerful, "tell me all about you!"
"You traitorous little hussy," Ginny said as Hellman sauntered into the locker room, "I should've known you were full of shite when you were being nice to us on Saturday."
Juliet, Shelley, and Marielle watched from their lockers as they all stripped off to get on their practice gear. The second and third string girls watched avidly. If anyone disliked Hellman more than the first-string girls, it was the backup girls. It wasn't just that Hellman thought herself far above them in talent and worth, but that the sponsors and fans had the audacity to agree with her.
Katie cringed. She had wanted to confront Hellman, wanted it with every fiber in her body, but she'd made Ginny swear she'd keep her mouth shut about the newspaper article. The last thing she needed was more drama in front of Jones, when her slot on first string was already so tenuous. Ginny, she thought, was an honest Gryffindor to the bone and her promise could be trusted. But she should've remembered who her elder brothers were.
"How much did Skeeter pay you, Hellman?" Shelly called over from her locker. Shelley Smathers had been the Seeker for the Harpies for years, and no one was more essential to a team then the star seeker. It gave most of them a bit of a prima donna attitude, except for Harry, bless him. "And are you that desperate for money?"
"Obviously she is," Annie Simmons from second string called out, "look at how she's always calling Witch Weekly's photographers for exclusive photos of her in the skimpiest robes."
Hellman, who had tricked Katie into thinking she might have a shred of niceness in her, tossed her hair without an ounce of shame.
"You all sound jealous, girls," she said, swaying her hips on her way to her locker, "I would think you would thank me, Bell," she threw over her shoulder, "for not saying the identity of your man."
"Rita knew who he was, you slag," Ginny said, outraged, her face as red as her hair, "don't act like you made her keep the secret!"
"You read the article, clearly," Hellman shrugged, "wasn't I quoted as begging Rita not to reveal who dear Katie is shagging for fun? Wouldn't want to cause strife in her life, of course, us being such mates and all."
"You absolute bitch," Juliet, the fist string Beater said, her voice almost admiring, "this won't get you on first string, you know."
Hellman made eye contact with Katie; whose tongue felt numb. She knew Hellman was a viper, and she'd been tricked anyway, just like she had with Anastasia Higgs in her fifth year. When would she learn? When would she learn that you could only trust your friends that had proven themselves, and not cutthroat witches trying to steal your dream job, and wizards with more money than morals?
"This has nothing to do with first string," Hellman said, still looking at Katie, "I was helping out a friend, is all."
"Katie isn't your friend," Ginny snarled," and neither am I. No one likes you, Hellman. No one."
"Your boyfriend was very friendly to me when I spoke to him," Hellman said, and Juliet and Annie gasped at the audacity of her bringing up Harry, "but then again, he's a real hero, isn't he?"
"All of you stop gossiping and sniping like a group of middle aged witches with no lives," Jones barked as she emerged from her office, making them all jump, "I'm tired of hearing this nonsense." She stopped in front of them, an intimidating figure, despite her slight stature and deceptively round eyes. "This is what the boys expect of us as the only all woman team, you know," she chided, "gossip. Backstabbing. Petty little fights over men," she glared at Ginny and Katie, "preening in a mirror instead of practicing dive drills," the glare moved to Hellman, "are we champions or not?"
"Yes, sir!" Juliet barked, standing up, thumping her Beater's bat into her hand. No one did motivational speeches quite like Jones.
"Are we going to show those boys why they should fear us?" Jones barked.
"Yes, Captain!" Shelley said, also leaping to her feet, but as she was topless still, it had a slightly less impressive effect.
"Are we going to practice hard so we can win our next game?" Jones thundered, pacing.
"Yes, Captain!" Marielle said.
"And are we going to keep winning," Jones was now shouting, "until we make the playoffs?"
"Yes, Captain!" they all said in unison.
"And then," Jones positively screamed, "are we going to win the cup for the first time in twelve years?"
"Yes, Captain!" they all screamed back, so loud the locker doors rattled.
"Then go out there and start practicing!" Jones shouted, "and I don't want to hear a bloody word about anyone's lipstick, weekend date, or fuck buddy, is that clear?"
"Yes, Captain!"
"Good!" Jones turned her gimlet stare at Katie, who shrank down even though she had a good five inches on her Captain. "Bell, Weasley, Hellman, my office. Now. And the rest of you, don't think I want to catch you outside my office eavesdropping. Get out on that pitch!"
"Yes, Captain!"
Katie followed Jones, her heart sinking. How many more chats did she have with her iron-willed captain about her distracting behavior before she was kicked off the team for good? The only consolation was that Hellman was enraging Jones just as much, and the rest of the second-string chasers weren't up to snuff. Ginny was still red faced with rage, and Hellman sauntered after Katie, still in her street robes.
Jones waved her wand and her office door slammed shut so hard all three of them jumped.
"So," Jones said, glaring at them, and then she waited.
Ginny crossed her arms, lips pursed. Katie shrank further, her eyes lowering to the floor. Hellman yawned audibly.
The office was so silent as Jones's glare burned into Katie's lowered head that she could hear the rest of the team in the locker-room changing, even though the gossip had stopped for the time being.
The silence grew unbearably.
"It's her fault," Ginny said abruptly, "don't blame us for that attention hog running to the papers."
"I don't blame you," Jones said, and Katie looked up hopefully, "I blame Bell and Hellman for that one."
Katie cringed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Hellman glancing at her nails with faux affected boredom.
"I do, however, blame you for starting drama in my locker-room, Weasley," Jones barked.
"She started it," Ginny repeated mutinously.
Katie wasn't sure how she was the only one wilting under Jones's stare like an under watered plant, but then again Ginny didn't really have to worry. She was one of the star female Chasers in the entire league, girlfriend to The Chosen One, youngest member of the infamous Weasley family, all of whom had obtained heroism during the second world war. Ginny sold the most jerseys of any woman in the league aside from Jones herself. Ginny didn't actually have to be concerned about getting fired.
"I saw you pick a fight," Jones contradicted, "not her," she jerked her head at Hellman in disgust.
"She started it by ruining to the press to smear Katie," Ginny snarled, "I thought you were against that, Captain? Making us look like vapid little girls? Selling our secrets to the papers? Selling out your own teammate?"
"I am," Jones said, "and she'll pay for that," Katie was vaguely gratified to see Hellman freeze in her show of boredom. "But you should have let me handle it, Weasley."
"Yes, Captain," Ginny said stiffly.
"You can go, Weasley," Jones said, and when Ginny lingered, shooting looks at Katie, she added, "your loyalty does you credit, Weasley. But get the fuck out of my office before I regret not punishing you."
"Yes, Captain," Ginny said through her teeth, but she left.
"As for you two," Jones barked, "I've had it about up to here with both of you."
"Sorry, Captain," Katie said, finding her voice at last.
"Sorry, Captain," Hellman said contritely, "but I thought I was helping! Rita Skeeter found me after our victory party and told me she was going to write about Katie and her boyfriend unless I agreed to give her some good quotes for her story!"
Katie turned to look at her. Hellman looked like she was telling the truth. But Hellman was untrustworthy. Wasn't she?
"I find that hard to believe," Jones said, "Skeeter doesn't do favors like that. No, she's got her own agenda."
"But, I'm telling the truth!" Hellman said earnestly, "I didn't mean to—"
"Shut up, Hellman," Jones snapped, "as for you, Bell, you're lucky you distracted Adams with your tits, helping us win the game."
Hellman's eyebrows flew up.
"With her tits?" she echoed.
"I told you to shut up," Jones said, not even looking at her, "I'm at my wits end. Consider yourselves lucky every other Chaser we've got is rubbish."
"Yes, Captain," Hellman and Katie said together.
"Both of you better do well next match," Jones said ominously, pointing at Katie, "and at practice," pointing at Hellman, "and not cause any drama in the meantime."
"Yes, Captain, "they chorused again, but when Katie saw the gleam in Hellman's eye, she wasn't so sure it was a promise that she was going to keep.
Katie stared at the owl in disbelief. It was next to another sixty-two howlers on her wardrobe, all thankfully nullified with George's Bellowing Banshee Counteracting Powder. The furor over her dating a mystery pure-blood Slytherin had not died down, in fact, it had grown exponentially after Rita had written a follow-up article with choice quotes from Flint hinting about her being the league's chosen broomstick, the Bell 3000 he'd so quaintly dubbed her. From Pansy Parkinson Rita had gotten hints about Katie's suspicious relationship with Harry, Oliver, and now Zacharias Smith of all people while they had been at Hogwarts.
There had been a slew of pure-blood young girls quoted in the article on how Katie had stolen one of their few options from them, shameless hussy that she apparently was, with a suspected dose of love potion since Katie was so old and dried up, poor dear, and so manly and gauche with the professional Quidditch and couldn't have possibly snagged a rich pureblood heir any another way. Even worse, Rita had hinted delicately at Montague's identity with vague descriptions of his family's mansions and father's dealings with various sketchy Death Eaters. As many pure-blood wizards could fit that description, it thankfully had not been enough to make it obvious who Montague really was. Ange had vowed the vilest of retaliations for the worst of the accusations which, of course, was the slur that Katie had once dated Zacharias Smith. It was a new low, even for Rita.
"He's not coming to get me?" Katie said, her voice rising to a squeak, "he said he was!"
"Stop moving about, Katie!" Alicia said as she pinned and wrapped her golden hair into some elaborate concoction on her head.
"Shouldn't he come get me?" Katie demanded, turning to Ginny, the only sacred twenty-eight pure-blood girl in the room and therefore, the most likely to know the etiquette of the situation.
"Don't look at me," Ginny shrugged, "I was raised in a pig barn according to his lot, remember?"
"Hermione?" Katie said in desperation. Surely the girl had read it in a book somewhere. If anyone had tortured themselves with a book on pure-blood dating etiquette it was Hermione Granger.
The bookworm in question had been staring at Katie with arms crossed and arms narrowed, like she was a difficult rune translation.
"Shouldn't she get more on her eyes," Hermione said to Alicia.
"I haven't even started on her face yet!" Alicia said indignantly, the designed peacock of the group and therefore the one tasked with making Katie presentable for the evening. She could only imagine how Hermione would have reacted to seeing Sassy doing Katie's hair and makeup when she arrived, had Katie agreed to her offer of help.
"Why isn't he coming to get me?" Katie said, louder. She was only in her knickers and her hair was half done but she'd go out to where the boys were playing games and drinking in the other room to get answers from Percy if she had to.
"Calm down," Angelina said, "why are you freaking out like this?"
Because what if he heard about the date with Nate, Katie thought, fear gripping her heart. Nothing had happened. They'd talked and wandered around a park and Katie had drunk her overpriced iced coffee and he'd kissed her on the cheek and promised to call again. He hadn't, though. Maybe because it had only been a few days. But maybe because he'd wanted a girl with more sparkle then Katie. Or maybe he had figured out that she'd spent the whole excursion with intruding thoughts of Montague.
"I'm not panicking," Katie said, "who is panicking?"
"It's normal," Hermione shrugged, "you're going to his family's home for a dinner party. Why should he need to come pick you up?"
"It's polite, and he said he would," Katie said, as Alicia finished her hair and moved on to attacking her face with magical makeup, "and if I have to go into a snake's nest by myself..."
"I don't envy you," Hermione agreed, but somehow that shamed Katie more.
Everyone knew how Hermione had gone into the Malfoy lair and lied to save the sword of Gryffindor from falling into the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange to her own peril. And here she was whining to the girl about a dinner party.
"I think this has gone far enough," Ange said unexpectedly, "everyone knows you're sleeping with a Slytherin now. Game's up. Just cut him loose and move on, Katie. Call that cute Muggle boy."
Katie squirmed.
"I don't have Nate's number," Katie said, which was true, he only had hers, "and you're wrong, it could still get worse. People don't know who it is."
"How could it get worse?" Ginny demanded, but then in the next breath she demanded Alicia put more eye-shadow on Katie. "Hellman knows the truth, and is holding it over you for reasons unknown, Katie!"
"Well, Montague hasn't told anyone, for one. It's not actually common knowledge yet. He hasn't sold the details of our…err…encounter to Rita," Katie said, feeling herself go red under all the makeup.
"God what did you do?" Alicia giggled, "you really need to tell us one day, Katie."
"Everyone already knows you slept with a pure-blood Slytherin from sketchy familial background," Ange said, "or at least, they assume."
"Thanks to Flint they assumed I've slept with half the Quidditch league," Katie said.
"So, what's the harm?" Ange said, "damage done. Own it, Katie. Who cares? We're in the 21st century! A girl's allowed to have some fun."
By the sideways look Ginny shot at Angelina Katie knew she also thought Ange was probably thinking about her own situation with George and the ghost of Fred Weasley.
"Yes, she is," Hermione said firmly.
"Oh, I agree," Alicia said, "and that's why Katie's got to give us some fun by toying with Montague more."
"That wasn't my point," Ange said.
"I know," Alicia said, painting Katie's lips now.
"I know I shouldn't care," Katie said gloomily, "I know. But people have refuted those things Flint said." She was absurdly grateful, considering she'd barely known half the Quidditch blokes who'd loudly gone on the record that Katie Bell was NOT the league broom and that Flint was a liar. "And I can't bear my parents and everyone I've ever met being able to hear about me in that...intimate of a way."
"Who says Montague would even sell you out like that?" Ange said, but when they all turned to look at she acquiesced. "I mean, he probably would."
"Slytherin," Hermione and Ginny said in unison.
"I've got some strong elf wine," Alicia said, "drink a glass, Katie. That'll help."
"You're turning me into an alcoholic," Katie said, but she accepted the glass, and a second glass, and a third, as they squeezed her into the ridiculous dress, her chest half out. It would be a lot more scandalous for a gown if her chest was actually large, or even medium sized. But as it was, the pure-bloods were still sure to faint from her horrible Muggle dress combined with the Montague family jewels. But really, wasn't that the point?
When she tottered out to greet the boys for a morale boost, still trying to remember why she was clinging to this stupid plan when Rita Skeeter had already foiled most of the reason for it, she was rewarded with four sets of eyes bulging out of their heads. Percy, of course, was too analytical to react. He circled Katie, doing his Jones impression again.
"Er...nice dress, Katie," Harry said awkwardly, then he averted his eyes when he saw the glare of death on Ginny's face.
"Good choice," George said, "you'll explode pure-blood brains for sure."
"Um...yeah," Oliver said, his face beet red when he looked away. Poor Oliver. He'd been getting some blow-back from the article as well, and now he was being confronted with the fact that one of his former Chasers was in possession of tits. This must be confusing for him.
"Great," Katie said, drinking more wine. She was going to snap an ankle, and she was now close to six feet tall, but oh well. Her friends insisted this and her smokey eyes and burgundy lips would make Montague go nonverbal, putty in her hands, and she supposed that was the goal.
Katie caught a flash of herself in the mirror, and she almost dropped her wine. She looked like a grown up. She looked sexy. And on top of that, she looked rich. But really, the jewels were probably to accredit for that.
"Well," she said, "guess it's time to face the music." she hiccuped slightly. Now that the time had come, she wanted to jump in the deep end of the pool and not linger over strategies, growing more terrified all the while.
"Great," Percy said, pouring a small flask into her wine. "drink up."
"What's that?" Katie asked suspiciously, but she took a sip anyway.
"Flavoring," Percy said innocently, but of course it was a sober-up potion and Katie now was back to full terror.
"Why did you do that!" she snarled, "You know what? Ange is right. I'm wiping this slap off and going to bed."
"It's barely past seven at night," Hermione said.
"Whatever," Katie said rudely, picking up the bottom of her dress, to her knees, "it's not like I've been sleeping well lately."
It was the way the boy's eyes followed her now mostly bare legs, clearly against their will, that gave her pause. Wouldn't it be delicious to get Montague under her spell? Wouldn't it be wonderful to get a little power over her life for once?
"You better not," Alicia said, "I spent hours helping you get that dress!"
Katie hesitated, and then her eyes fell on Hermione again. She was frowning at Katie like a disappointed parent. She was wearing a light jumper rolled up at the elbows. On her forearm the word Mudblood was scarred in the pale flesh.
"Give me that portkey," Katie said grimly.
Everyone had assured her to arrive precisely half an hour after the start of the dinner party, so as to not be the first person there.
"It's fashionable to be late," Percy said, and since Hermione, the other person in the flat who was a walking book nodded along and Percy was a pure-blood Katie had assumed they were right. She had not factored in the fact that Hermione was Muggleborn, just like Katie, and Percy had been raised by the Weasley parents in a modest home that bucked almost every pure-blood tradition there was.
"Ah, here she is at last," a man said as Katie straightened up from her portkey, raising a hand to pat at her hair and then dropping it fast.
Katie looked up directly at Montague, whose jaw was clenched as he stood stiffly in dress robes worth more than her entire flat's building. It was strange seeing him in wizard's robes at all, she had gotten so used to seeing him in Muggle wear, but now his clothing was robes of dark blue brocade lined with purple floral satin. Katie hated it. It did match her dress well, though.
"Well let's get a good look at you," the unknown man said, and Katie turned her head, and spotted the middle-aged man that could only be Montague's father, Edgar. He was turned out even richer than his eldest son, still a good-looking man who bore a strong resemblance to Montague in features, if not in expression.
"Stand up straight, girl," Montague's father drawled, "slouching is so gauche. But of course, you haven't been taught that."
Katie felt her face burn and turned in mute appeal to Montague, who wasn't even looking at her, but instead glaring at the side of his father's head.
"Yes, I see I've won our little wager," Edgar Montague said as he strode forward, and Katie foolishly held out her hand which was ignored. It fell limply to her side as Montague the senior circled her like she was a horse he'd just bought.
"I didn't make a wager with you," Montague said stiffly. His voice sounded weird, like he was speaking through his teeth. Which of course, he probably was.
Edgar Montague was in front of Katie. She was a tall girl, even without the ridiculous heels she was currently sporting, but he still loomed over her. His eyes dropped down to the Montague family jewels, one eyebrow fractionally raised. Katie had kept her joke promise to Montague and bought an aubergine dress mad of satin, floor length and loose in the skirt but tight in the bust, cut practically to her waist. It had seemed funny at the time, to picture pure-blood reactions. It was less amusing to experience it.
Katie felt her cheeks getting redder.
"Are you done ogling my girlfriend?" Montague said loudly, "only, Mother probably won't be thrilled about you staring at-"
"Your mother said she'd have more sense and know to wear dress robes, like a proper lady," Edgar said, like Montague hadn't spoken, his eyes still traveling up and down Katie's body like she was a peculiar insect, "unfashionable ones, of course, low in quality, but I knew she'd trot in wearing something like...this."
Katie tried to speak, she really did, but her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.
"You mean something that makes her look better then every woman in this entire house? I agree," Montague said, even louder, and then he'd stepped forward, grasping Katie by her bare elbow.
Edgar Montague looked amused.
"Not by your mother's definition," he said mildly, "But I suppose by certain standards, yes."
Katie couldn't take her eyes away from Edgar Montague, her throat constricted, tongue still glued to the roof of her mouth. She could see the portkey had deposited her in some decadent parlor like room full of books, a roaring fire, and crystal vases but she was mesmerized by Montague's horrible, Lucius Malfoy like father who was not even looking at her with disapproval. That would be expected. He was looking at Katie like she wasn't even human.
"Meaning?" Montague said, and Katie felt his arm snake around her waist. The jewels sat on her chest absurdly, cold and heavy and she wanted nothing more than to rip them off and transfigure her clothes into a Harpies sweatshirt and a pair of jeans before fleeing.
"I understand, boy," Mr. Montague said, his eyes lingering on the amethyst jewels again, "did you think I wouldn't? I told your mother the same. Of course, you'd want to play with a tropical little bird like this before you settle down with some dull sparrow your mother has chosen for you. Did you think I didn't do the same, as a young man?"
Montague made a sound like vomit was choking his airway. Now it seemed his ability to talk had fled with the reminder that his parents had sex.
"I'm a human being," Katie said stupidly, her tongue finally moving, "not a bird." It wasn't her finest retort. What was wrong with her? But it seemed to rally Montague.
"Yes, your manners are abominable," he said to his father, "you promised you wouldn't-" he paused.
"Wouldn't what?" Katie said, looking between them.
Edgar Montague's right patrician eyebrow was still raised the tiniest bit, but Montague had fallen silent again.
"Well, you're a lovely girl," Mr. Montague said, "my son at least has working eyes. I can say that, at the very least."
He raised his hand again and Katie instinctually moved to shake it again, even though she'd much rather use her hand to close into a fist and drive it into Mr. Montague's smug face. At the very last second Edgar Montague's jaw clenched and his hand dropped to his side, his will to touch the Mudblood clearly leaving him, Katie's hand hanging again absurdly. She left it in the air, stubbornly.
"Father," Montague hissed.
Edgar Montague raised his hand again and took Katie's hand swiftly, bring it to his mouth for the most fleeting of kisses. He dropped her as fast as possible.
"That is how it's done in the finer circles, Miss...Bell," he said, "not...whatever you were attempting."
Katie's mouth fell slightly open against her will. She knew tonight was going to be torture. But she hadn't figured she'd have to enter a portal to 1892 and a world where handshakes were tacky.
"Noted," she said finally, but if the Montague's thought she was willingly letting all of the gross pure-blood scions sure to be at this party kiss her hand she was going to deliver that punch instead.
Montague's arms tightened around her again as he steered her out of the parlor and into a hallway of marble and rich rugs, crystal chandeliers and magical portraits that all stared at Katie down their noses, waiting until she walked past before they did something so common as dart into each other's frames to whisper about her to each other.
"You're late," Edgar Montague said as they walked down the austere hallway that both filled Katie's expectations down to the last detail of marble busts and silver candelabras and yet was thrice as terrifying as she expected it to be. "That won't please my wife. But to be frank, Miss...Bell, there was nothing you could've done to make my wife happy with you. I'm afraid I'm your only ally in the manor tonight."
Katie turned to Montague in disbelief. He didn't meet her eyes, but his jaw was clenched tighter than his father's.
Something about his cowardice riled her up, and Katie felt a fire rising in her. She'd promised Percy and the others that she'd be a dutiful girl to win over Montague's family. If she won over his family as well, he'd be even less likely to slingshot her knickers at her mid game in front of Rita Skeeter when she finally ended this farce. Katie straightened, throwing off Montague's arm with such force that she wobbled a bit in her ridiculous heels. Alicia had picked them out. They were black, pointy, and high of heel and had velvet ribbon wrapped many times around the ankles to tie in a little bow. Why she had to wear such torture devices when no one could even see her feet…Montague reached for her when he saw her wobble, and she swatted him away.
"And with a friend like you, who needs enemies?" Katie said sweetly to Edgar Montague's back as he led them to a set of heavy mahogany doors inlaid with silver tooling.
Edgar Montague turned to her, now both of his stupid eyebrows raised, and Katie stared at him like he was a Quidditch opponent. Unexpectedly, he laughed.
"A swan," he said to her after his little rich man laugh was done, "that's what you are. Beautiful and prone to attack. Well, that sounds like my son's taste."
He shot Montague a look of disappointment, and Katie felt him sink further next to her. What a spineless little shit he was. All that big talk of his, and he wilted before his father like Dolores Umbridge in front of Firenze.
Katie felt the fire burning in her as she threw back her shoulders and walked inside the doors Edgar Montague gestured her through with a little smile. She didn't miss the way his eyes had lingered on her arse, but filed it away later for a barb to throw at Montague. It was the fire she associated with battle. The Montague's didn't know what they were in for.
It was good her courage had returned, because inside the room was a group of richly dressed witches and wizards in robes of the finest order, sitting around a dinner table laden with silver plates, glasses of wine in hand. Pucey wasn't there, which was surprisingly upsetting. At least she knew he could be civil to her now. It was clear that Katie was so late for the dinner that the evening was going to be a disaster. Why they hadn't started just eating without her was beyond her, but perhaps it was a way to humiliate her, or perhaps it was a weird pure blood etiquette she'd never understand.
"You're late," a woman said from one side of the table, but she was far too old to be Montague's mother.
"Dreadfully late," a younger girl echoed, nodding her head.
"Your attire is frightfully inappropriate," a third woman sniffed.
Montague made an angry noise behind her but didn't come to her defense at all.
"Do you think so?" Katie said, gasping, "oh, how embarrassing. I was worried about being overdressed."
A madness had overtaken her, and she pulled her wand out of a hidden pocket and murmured a spell, and the skirt of her dress shrunk to well above her knee, tightening, her absurd shoes fully visible.
Montague choked, but Katie sauntered to the table of disapproving faces and sat down in one of the empty chairs between two younger men.
"Better?" she said sweetly to the woman across from her who'd told her how inappropriate her dress had been.
She grabbed her glass of wine and drank deeply. Might as well go full hog and show them all she was just as tacky and uncouth as they all thought.
"I'd say so," the man on her left said, "but then, what would I know, right Aunt Celia?" he directed that last viciously at the older woman who has fanning herself at the expanse of leg Katie was currently flashing. She could only imagine how the women would have reacted if Katie had large breasts. As it was, she was mostly exposing clavicle.
"Frankie Montague," he said to Katie as the table continued to stare at Katie like she was a rampaging Blast-Ended Skrewt. Ah. That explained it. He was the one who was dating an American half-blood, if she recalled correctly.
Katie held out her hand. At least this Montague wasn't going to be so bad. She had been counting on Montague's brothers being her friends at least. They shook hands and Auntie Celia sniffed again.
"Move over, Frankie," Montague said from behind them, his hand briefly resting on Katie's shoulder. She fought the urge to shake him off. Of all the things Montague had done to disgust her, his lily-livered behavior in front of his family had topped them all.
"No," his brother said rudely, as Katie watched them over her wine glass. On her right had to be Christopher, based on the resemblance. On Frankie's left was another sneering man. Interesting. The American half-blood girlfriend was missing, "I want to get to know your saucy little girlfriend."
"Graham," a woman with a tower of hair and jewels said from the head of the table, her dress robes cream and gold, "come sit next to me."
"Yes mother," Montague said stiffly, squeezing Katie's shoulder once before her departed.
Katie took another sip of wine as everyone stared at her and she stared at Montague's infamous mother. She was one of those rich women who looked as if she spent every second of her spare time preserving her beauty against aging, and it was working. Katie just imagined her own mother, a nurse with short, no nonsense hair whose ankles often swelled after a shift meeting Mrs. Montague, Isla Bell dressed in scrubs while Mrs. Montague had literal diamonds perched in her shiny dark hair.
"Now that everyone is here," Mrs. Montague said, her eyes boring into Katie, the "finally" silent but apparent to all, "it's time for our first course." she clapped her hands and everyone's bowl filled with a creamy soup that smelled of lobster. Katie thought suddenly of Hermione Granger and S.P.E.W. and Sassy telling her she wouldn't see her because a good elf wasn't seen at a party and her fake smile dropped.
"What's the matter?" Frankie asked on her left as polite chatter resumed at last around the group, "you don't have an allergy to shellfish, do you?"
"No," Katie said, surprised, "and if I did, why would that-"
"Oh, well I know Muggles have loads of allergies," Frankie said, "So I thought maybe-"
"I'm not a Muggle," Katie said, "didn't you just see me use a wand?"
"How could I miss it?" Frankie said slyly, and his eyes darted for a moment to her legs as well, "It's just, Muggle gee-ings-"
"Don't you work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?" Katie demanded "shouldn't you know better? And it's genes. Genes." Well. There went her one hope of an ally. He might be dating someone as unacceptable as Katie herself, he might be working for Arthur Weasley, but he was still an idiot pure-blood who leered at her.
Frankie, oddly, looked hurt.
"I got an O in Muggle Studies," he said stiffly, "but of course, you can't learn everything about Muggles from one course in school. Especially after Professor Burbage was murdered."
There was a hush at the table. Katie hadn't realized, but of course most everyone had been straining genteelly to hear her conversation with Frankie, most likely hoping it was offensive and they could make jokes about her later to each other.
"She was a good Professor," the previously silent man she suspected was Christopher on Katie's right agreed. She didn't miss that he was the only other person downing their wine with the speed she was.
"Oh yes, it was an easy class to get O's in," a twenty-something year old wizard from nearby said with an affected titter, "that's why you took it right, cousins? Bring up the grade average?"
"Yes of course," Aunt Celia said swiftly, "the perfect reason to take such a class."
"Graham never had to take this class to bring up his grades," Mrs. Montague said coldly. She still, Katie noticed, had not deigned to introduce herself or welcome Katie to her home.
Katie was sure, quite sure that there was some pure-blood code being thrown around that she didn't quite understand but was surely meant to offend someone in the room, most likely her.
"I heard Professor Burbage was a great teacher," Katie said to Frankie, "not that I knew personally of course. Since I didn't need to take Muggle Studies."
She looked directly at Montague, who was staring down at his hands and the stupid crested ring. Coward. What on Earth had happened to his assertion that bringing Katie to a pure-blood event would be sure to amuse him beyond belief? Was that, like everything else with Montague, a total lie?
"This is really not a topic of conversation for a dinner party," Mrs. Montague said, "Celia, did you say Narcissa has announced Draco's-"
"Yes, by all means let's not talk about my favorite teacher being murdered at Narcissa's house," Frankie said loudly, "while Draco watched."
"It is your mother's birthday," Edgar Montague said, his voice cracking like a whip, and Frankie sullenly muttered an apology, also picking up his wine glass, and everyone was forced to endure a twenty minute discussion on Draco Malfoy's engagement announcement while Montague kept avoiding looking at Katie and his brothers kept silent and got drunk right along with her.
"This is all for your benefit, you know," Christopher muttered after another hour of decadent food and talk of varied engagements droned on.
"Why?" Katie muttered back, as Aunt Celia strained to overhear them and Frankie covered by banging his utensils more than necessary, "is your mother hinting I should propose to Mon – Graham after dinner? I'm afraid this dress isn't made for kneeling."
Frankie choked on her left.
"You should leave," Christopher said, unsmiling, "make some excuse and go. Trust me. I'm doing you a favor."
Katie looked over at Montague. His mother was talking to him, but he was staring at Katie talking to his younger brothers, white faced.
"But your brother is enjoying me being here so much," Katie said. She was getting a perverse, vindictive sort of enjoyment out of Montague's suffering. She certainly wasn't staying for any other reason. The food was excellent, of course, but she'd been sitting in silence for near an hour while the men around the table gave her covert glances. Or at least, her cleavage and legs. The woman were acting like she didn't exist, except the formidable Aunt Celia, who was sniffing with deepest disapproval from time to time, shaking her head and smelling a handkerchief like Katie was causing her to faint.
"My brother's right," Frankie said, "you don't belong here. Just go home and tell Graham you never want to see him again."
Katie opened her mouth to say "done" but then a pair of women nearby started loudly discussing the scandalous attire of young witches nowadays and the young girl on Christopher's right simultaneously said how out of fashion all shades of purple were.
"What if I don't want to?" Katie said instead.
Gryffindor's came in all sorts of shapes and types. You'd get your Neville Longbottom's, who were brave beyond belief when they really needed to be, the Hermione's who were practically Ravenclaw's with a streak of sheer nerve, and your classics, the Ron Weasley's, the loyal friends who ran into battle without a second thought. But one thing all Gryffindor's secretly had in common was stubbornness. Katie hadn't met a single one who didn't share that trait. She'd even joked with Ange one year that the hat should add a line about the pig head foolish stubbornness of Godric Gryffindor and his students. She had wanted nothing more than to leave minutes before. But if these bigots wanted her to leave, then by god now she wanted to stay. Aunt Celia and the girl on the right were listening to every word.
"You don't fit in," Christopher said, like she hadn't understood, "I'm sure you're very...nice and all, and we all value your bravery, but-"
"Oh, do you?" Katie said, "do you want to thank me for my bravery, while everyone else in this room was...what? Fighting in masks? Running away through a tunnel?"
Christopher and Frankie had surely been at Hogwarts, younger Slytherins who'd fled instead of fighting. "Giving money to the cause, at least, I assume. It doesn't matter how much money you all spend on stupid wards named after Snape or statues or scholarships for Muggleborns, the rest of us know what you did and didn't do. You should thank me," she turned to Frankie, "I killed one of the men who was in that room with Professor Burbage when she got eaten by Nagini, you know. Selwyn. me and George Weasley, we killed him together. You should really be thanking me, if you actually cared about her."
Too late, Katie realized the room was pin drop silent. Mr. Montague had that stupid eyebrow raised again. Aunt Celia had slumped dramatically to the floor. An elderly witch was fanning herself. The wizards around the table were angry. Beyond angry. Mrs. Montague's face was still and cold, but her eyes glittered with rage.
"Geoffrey Selwyn, he was an especial friend of yours, wasn't he, Uncle Henry?" Montague said loudly into the loaded silence.
"Of course not," Uncle Henry said stiffly, "I am not a Death Eater sympathizer. My war record is spotless."
"Spotless?" Montague said, "really? As spotless as hers? Bell, did you see my Uncle fighting with you against-"
"Enough," Mrs. Montague said. Her voice wasn't raised, but it cut through the din like a blade, "Graham, if you can't behave yourself you will escort your...friend out of my home at once."
Katie gripped her wand in her dress as half the room glared at her for ruining the evening. She was outnumbered twenty to one. Ten to one, if Montague stirred himself to help her more. At least he was finally showing signs of life.
"We haven't even had dessert," Montague said belligerently, "I had the house elves make a special chocolate cake."
Mrs. Montague's eyes softened. "How thoughtful," she said.
"Your mother doesn't like chocolate," Edgar Montague said, the second stupid eyebrow raising.
"Oh, I know," Montague said, "it wasn't for her. It's Bell's favorite."
Frankie choked again, but Katie laughed.
Mrs. Montague went as white as a Death Eater mask.
"Get out," Edgar Montague said, "right now."
"Gladly, I'm bored to tears," Montague said shortly, getting to his feet and making his way over to Katie in record time. "Ready to go somewhere that's actually fun?" he asked her.
"Past ready," Katie said, standing, watching with sick satisfaction when every man but Christopher eyed her body again when she stood. Filthy fucking hypocrites.
"Take that creature out of my house," Mrs. Montague said, her voice wavering, "and then return. It's my birthday. I want my son here," she said the last to her husband, who was watching Montague with cold eyes.
"Don't think I will," Montague said lightly, putting his arm around Katie's waist again, "I've got better things to do. Namely, anything else."
"Get out," Edgar Montague said, finally raising his voice, "and you better return tomorrow with an apology so convincing I don't disinherit you." He was red in the face. "And get my grandmother's jewels off of your whore."
They had almost reached the door when that last was said, and Katie felt herself flush at that last, she couldn't help it.
"I don't see any whores here," Montague said, "So I'm afraid I don't know who you mean. Unless you mean Carlotta? I know she's serviced quite a few-"
The young girl to Christopher's right screamed wordlessly and threw a plate of roasted chicken at Montague, who dragged Katie out through the door, the platter missing them by a solid three feet.
There was shouting behind them, but Montague was half dragging Katie out of the mansion of horrors as the portraits whispered and gawked at them. The woman on the end was clapping wildly, however.
"Thanks, Nan," Montague said quietly as they passed.
"I'll leave the jewels," Katie said stupidly. She could think of nothing else to say. Her ears were ringing. She thought she'd been prepared. She hadn't been.
"You will not," the portrait said, "I love my jewels on you. What a lovely girl."
"Oh," Katie said, "thanks." They hustled out of the hallway back through the parlor, as the shouts increased in volume, into a glittering side room full of golden leather books and statues.
"There's a fireplace here," Montague muttered, searching for some floo powder, "it's here somewhere, I swear-"
"Listen, did you just get disowned?" Katie blurted.
"I don't know, maybe," Montague said, his hand groping, "let's just get-"
Katie grabbed him by his robe collar and pulled him around, dragging his face down to hers, planting her mouth firmly on his, and in the most awkward of circumstances, they were snogging again, Katie pushed up against the wall next to the fireplace, tongues sliding together, her arms around his neck, Montague's around her waist.
Montague had acted like a complete coward at first, but he'd found his courage at last, and if she was being honest with herself, courage had always been Katie's biggest turn-on.
Montague groaned into her mouth as they kissed heavily, pressing her tightly against the wall, his mouth latching onto her neck again, and then somehow they were both on a spindly couch with golden brocade fabric and golden legs and accents, Katie's right leg hitched up around Montague, his hand on her bare leg as they kissed eagerly, a warming sensation traveling directly between her legs.
Someone's throat cleared.
"Ahem," Frankie said.
"Fucking hell, go away," Montague groaned, pulling his mouth away from Katie to rest on her chest and the jewels.
"Not that I blame you for groping a pair of legs like that, big brother, but if you actually fuck your little act of rebellion on mother's favorite couch while she's wearing father's favorite grandmother's jewels you might actually get disowned this time."
Montague sat up, pulling Katie with him until she was in his lap, rubbing his eyes.
"Not likely," he snorted, "I haven't been the first hundred times. It's all air, we both know that. If I'm disowned, then it will be you. And you'll get disowned for talking about your favorite professor, and Christopher will be the heir, and never make heirs of his own because oh yes, he's dating a man. Speaking of your act of rebellion, where's Isadore?"
Katie pulled down her skirt. Her hair had come half undone. A piece was sticking to her cheek. Montague's right arm was around her waist again, the left hand and it's stupid ring resting on the outside of her left thigh.
"Guess," Frankie said. He was still holding a glass of wine. The shouting could be heard in the background again.
"I'm surprised I was allowed to invite Bell if you weren't allowed-"
"You're the favorite," Frankie snapped, "You know you're the favorite. That's why you get away with everything. Even-" he started to gesture at Katie, his eyes angrily raking over her.
"Careful," Montague said, "I don't think I like where you were going with that."
"Whatever," Frankie snorted, "just get out of here. I'll tell mother your...friend spiked your drink with a babbling potion and you can come back tomorrow with some weak apology and some flowers and you'll be fine."
"No, I don't think so," Montague said casually, "I think we'll stay."
"What?" Katie and Frankie said together.
"Well, I can't trust you to tell anyone the truth," Montague said, "so I'll have to say it myself."
Katie laughed nervously. She had enjoyed it at the time, but her blood had been pounding from rage, and then she'd felt the sweet relief of escape. She had no desire to have Montague's family catch her sitting in his lap in her now extremely revealing dress, still wearing the jewels she'd been ordered to take off by the family patriarch.
"You'll thank me later," Frankie said, taking another drink of wine, "Uncle Henry was about to curse her or fuck her, I don't think even he knew which one. And if you keep pushing, maybe you'll actually get disowned."
"Oh no," Montague said in a deadpan voice, "what a horrible shame. And if Uncle Henry tries either, I'll break his wand and the hand it came in."
That shouldn't have made Katie squirm on the inside, but it did, god help her.
The screaming was louder. Closer.
"Let's go, Montague," Katie said, "we could have way more fun somewhere else."
She had meant they could literally do anything, even watch paint dry and have more fun but Montague's eyebrows flew up, and Frankie's eyebrows flew up, and the hand on Katie's legs squeezed and that was unacceptable.
"I'm having fun here," Montague said.
"Do you two really call each other by your last names like you're in school still?" Frankie said, but they both ignored him.
"You can't possibly be having fun," Katie said, and she reached up to tug at the jewels. She felt suddenly constricted.
"Ahh, au countraire, this is the best time I've had at a pureblood gathering in... I don't even know when. Ever, maybe?"
"Really?" Frankie said, "Even more then the time I caught you in a wardrobe with-"
"Yes," Montague snapped at his brother.
"With who?" Katie asked sweetly, tugging at her necklace again, drawing both brother's eyes to her expanse of chest again. Thank god she didn't have Ange's tits. It wasn't a thought she had often.
"No one," Montague said swiftly, "My brother is joking."
He clearly thought she'd be upset at the implication that he'd been frolicking with other girls but on the contrary, Katie was relieved and grateful for the reminder that she shouldn't think anything positive about Montague.
"Yeah, right," Frankie said, "so I imagined that pair of tits I saw, or your bare-"
"Leave those on, Bell, what are you doing?" Montague said, his neck red, "You saw how great grandmum liked them on you. They belonged to her, so she should get final say."
"His bare what?" Katie said, arching an eyebrow. She didn't care. There had been no way Montague was a virgin, no matter what she taunted him with. Even if he'd been hideous, he was rich and a pure-blood. And he'd grown handsome at some point, damn him. He'd proven it to her in his bed. There was no way a virgin would perform that successfully.
"Never mind," Montague said hastily, patting her leg, "maybe we should leave."
His Aunt Celia chose the perfect moment to barge into the room, a teenage boy behind her that must be her son, based on the identical pointy nose, and screamed at the top of her lungs upon spotting Katie perched on Montague's lap.
The scream drew more witnesses to Katie's loss of dignity. She might as well be topless from the way the men were looking at her. Celia swooned to the floor again, still wailing. Montague's lips went to Katie's ear as she stared, wide eyed at the scene in front of her.
"Now's the time to entertain me some more, Bell," he whispered, "what do you prefer? I can stick my hand up your dress or you can say something scandalous. Or my preference, both at the same time."
Katie had one horrifying moment where she thought of Montague touching her between her legs right now, in front of everyone, and she actually felt a throbbing sensation when she thought it, and she blurted out an insult to Aunt Celia in a panic.
"You're screaming like you just saw the reanimated corpse of Voldemort."
Celia shrieked one last time and laid all the way down in a dead faint. Montague burst out laughing, and buried his head into her neck, kissing her briefly.
God help her, she wanted him to keep kissing her neck, and then down her shoulder, and push down her dress straps, and down her stomach, and down down down to where his mouth had spent a surprising amount of time a month before and that for no other reason got Katie lunging to her feet, terror stricken at what she'd become, tottering on her heels, as Aunt Celia's son actually licked his lips at her and Frankie caught a flash of her knickers and his jaw dropped. With her Quidditch reflexes, Katie righted herself as Montague reached to help her, her other hand flinging the jewels up and over her head. They hit the couch with a clank.
"Hey, I said to keep-"
The Montague parents had arrived, and Katie knew desperate measures were necessary. If she stayed, she might get attacked by a crowd of pure-bloods. If she left with Montague, the odds were alarmingly high she was going to end up naked. She lunged to the fireplace, threw a handful of floo powder, and yelled out the address for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
"Bell, where are you-"
Katie dove in, spun in the fireplace, and fell out the other end onto the floor, ashes smudged on her cheek.
Verity was writing in the shop's ledger, the bright magenta robes matching a new streak in her blonde hair. She shrieked as Katie fell out of the fireplace and made her way to her feet, legs shaking, her right boob almost out all the way.
"Katie?" Verity said, standing, "is that you?"
"Good to see you Verity, got to go!" Katie said, trying to run in the heels. What if Montague followed her?
"Katie, what are you-"
"If anyone comes after me tell them I died in a tragic floo accident," Katie shouted, and ran.
Author Note: I have a feeling Katie might anger some of you this chapter lol. Hopefully I made it clear she's confused and doesn't believe Montague is genuine...for good reason. I kind of consider this chapter the bizarro world version of chapter 14 of "Mudbloods of the Death Eaters."
Thanks so much for all of your support, it really means a lot!
