Shades of Grey
3. And So The Story Begins
Disclaimer: Sometimes I dream about owning the Harry Potter universe. Not really, but it's far-fetched enough to be a dream.
Author's Note: I know, I know, why is it taking me so long to get these things out? Well, I'm sorry! I actually have distractions. Anyway, my original goal today was to finish this and have it out for Harry's and Jo's birthday, but seeing as it's 2:30 in the morning, I missed that deadline. But, regardless, Happy Birthday Harry Potter, JK Rowling, and Joey Richter. (I decided Joey deserved to be included as he does, technically, portray Ron Weasley.) Enjoy the chapter!
She turned slowly on the spot to look at Blaise. He stood in the middle of the room with his mouth open slightly. After a few seconds, he sat on top of one of the desks. She stared at him for a moment and then said,
"I'm guessing you didn't know."
"No, I didn't," he answered slowly. Then his confused expression turned to one of irritation. "You'd think I would know, right? I mean, I'm supposed to be the guy's best friend. Leave it to Draco to pull something like this. He told Crabbe and Goyle for Merlin's sake! Crabbe and Goyle! He has better people? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I have half a mind to punch him in the face, or throw a few curses his way, at least. This is ridiculous. You know what I think it is? He's jealous. Yeah, that's it! It has to be! He's jealous that if he told me what he was up to, I'd end up doing it better. Can't believe I didn't think of this sooner. He was always jealous of me, you know. I don't exactly blame him. How could he not be? I'm smarter, richer, more handsome, have more friends—Wow! It's so obvious now!"
He continued to rant to himself as Rose slipped out of the door inconspicuously. She could hear his nonsensical monologue all the way down the hall. As the sound of his voice grew dimmer, the stone wall of the Common Room became visible. Muttering the password, she stepped in to find the place nearly deserted. It must have been getting late. She headed toward the dormitories, but stopped when she saw a blond head out of the corner of her eye. She paused, thought about her options, and continued walking toward her room.
She could have confronted Draco now about what she heard, but there were several reasons that ran through her mind in those few seconds after seeing him on the sofa that convinced her not to.
One, she didn't want to admit that she had been eavesdropping. On the one hand, she didn't do it on purpose, but on the other hand, it was so below her to hide in a broom cupboard and listen in on other people's conversations.
Two, previous encounters taught her that confronting Draco about his private matters usually ended with him telling her to piss off, maybe not in so many words, but the message was always clear. So, why would she waste her time and breath asking him questions to which she would get no real answers?
Three, it wasn't her business. If he hadn't bothered to tell his best mate, why would he tell her? They weren't that close of friends. The two of them have been skating along the comfortable line of friends and acquaintances since their first day at school more than six years ago. She wasn't about to cross that line into the "friends" territory over something that didn't even concern her.
Three and a half,—after deliberation, she decided to make this three and a half because it was too closely related to point three to be point four, but not closely enough related to be in the same point—she didn't even want to be friends with him. He wasn't exactly her type. She didn't dislike him, of course not. Being close enough to be friends with him would definitely throw things off balance. It wasn't even him that was the problem. It was the people he called his closest mates. Crabbe and Goyle, for one, were stupid as stupid can get, and Rose, while not the exactly the brightest witch of her year, didn't enjoy the prospect of being in close ties with them. Then there was Pansy. It was wrong to say she hated anyone in her own house, let alone her year, but boy did she hate Pansy! She couldn't exactly pinpoint why, but something about her made Rose grind her teeth together. As for Blaise, he was just an annoying little twit. He tried much too hard to be just like—or even better than—Draco, and it was pathetic and a pain.
Three and three quarters,—last one in the three category, promise—being more than just barely-friends with Draco would be succumbing to her parents' wishes, and that is a territory into which she will never venture. It's been years, and she hoped they would have gotten over it by now, but of course they're too stubborn for that. They just needed to find their daughter useful, she guessed. Now's not the time for that gruesome back story, though.
She shook her head, letting the thoughts fall out of her mind. Grinding her teeth together, she tried to get back on track. What was she thinking about? Oh, yeah, the points.
Four, she didn't care. Simple as that. Sure, it bothered her some that there was something going that she didn't know about, but when it really came down to it, she didn't care about what was going on with Draco so much as she cared about what was going on in the school. Whatever Draco was going through probably would never affect her or anyone else directly, so she just had to ignore it.
Nodding her head satisfactorily to herself, she climbed into bed and tried to sleep, with immediate success.
. . .
The next morning, the dormitories were in a frenzy. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the Christmas holiday. They made plans with each other, handed out invitations for parties, and promised to keep in touch. Rose rolled her eyes as she heard Pansy bragging about the custom-made dress robes that she planned to wear on Christmas Eve. Rose made to leave before the conversation turned to Christmas Eve festivities, but she wasn't quite coordinated enough to make a stealthy escape. She knocked into the side of Daphne's trunk—which sat at the foot of her bed like it did every day of the year—and yelped loudly. Pansy turned her ugly brown eyes on her.
"Roselyn," she drawled annoyingly. "I was just telling Millicent about the gorgeous periwinkle dress robes I'm wearing for Christmas Eve. Draco is wearing his in navy, to match. Who are you wearing to match with, Rose?"
Her tone dripped with condescension. Pansy knew perfectly well that Rose never went with anyone to the Christmas Eve party, but she always found the need to point it out publicly, even if no one but the two of them were listening.
"I'm not matching with anyone, Parkinson," she replied. Pansy's smirk widened. Rose finished, "Because that's stupid, and I'm not eleven."
"You say that now," Pansy sneered, "But if you had an actual date, you might not be so pathogenic about it."
"Pathogenic?" Rose repeated with raised eyebrows. "Parkinson, you really shouldn't try to exert your brain with big words, because unless I'm contracting or creating some sort of disease by disliking matching dress robes, you're misusing the word."
"Whatever," she spat dismissively and turned back to Millicent.
Rose rolled her eyes a second time and continued walking out of the dormitory. She walked—tripped—into the Common Room to see Daphne sitting on the sofa with her sister, Astoria. She was clasping a necklace onto her neck. She heard Daphne complain that Astoria was moving too much and Astoria complain in return that Daphne was taking too long. Rose stifled a giggle.
"What are you doing?" Rose asked.
"Trying to fasten this necklace, but Astoria is moving too much," she scowled.
"I wouldn't be moving so much if you would hurry up," he sister sniped back.
"I don't know how to tell you this, Daph, but you're kind of a witch," Rose interjected. Daphne looked at her, raising an eyebrow. Rose sighed, took her wand out of her pocket, and flicked it at Astoria who's necklace snapped itself shut.
"Oh, right," Daphne said, blushing a little. "Did you finish packing, then?"
"Packi…," Rose trailed off, the realization hitting her. "Shit!"
She could hear Daphne laughing behind her as she sprinted to her dormitory. Throwing her trunk open, she threw everything in at once. Her alarm clock, clothes, school books, quills, cauldron, wand, parchment, shoes—she paused to fish her wand back out, muttering to herself. Everything was thrown in very hurriedly and it made shutting the trunk a more difficult feat than usual, but she eventually managed to lock it. This happened ever goddamned time.
. . .
She clambered off of the Hogwarts Express, walking to the stack of trunks in order to locate hers. Sighing because her wand was now officially useless to her, she heaved her trunk with more force than necessary, and fell backwards.
An envelope was thrust into her face. "Here, Martell, give this to your parents," Draco said. Rose took the invitation and looked up.
"Do you want to help me up?" she snapped.
"No," he said simply and strode off to join his parents. Rose stared after him. What-a-jerk.
She stood, grumbling, and wiped off the back of her robes. Unfortunately, she knew this was just the beginning of the holidays. It could only get worse from here. Nothing was good about coming home for Christmas. Nothing.
"ALEX!" she shouted and ran, full force, into the waiting arms of Alexander Martell. Okay, well, maybe there was something good about the holiday break.
Alex laughed, hugging her back. "Relax, Rosie, I'm not going to disappear."
"You're here early!" she accused, pulling away. She looked straight into his piercing blue eyes, searching for some hint of bad news, but all she found there was her deep buried jealousy. Piercing blue eyes. She hid a scowl.
"Yeah, well, Sora is spending the holiday with her mum," he shrugged.
"She won't be here?" frowned Rose.
"She'll come for Easter," he assured her, then looked over her shoulder. "Your trunk?"
"Oh!" she cried, and pointed toward it. Alex summoned it with his wand, and took her home.
. . .
As Rose unpacked her trunk, she immediately regretted leaving it to the last minute. Most of her quills lay broken, parchment ripped, clothes wrinkled. She grimaced at her broken quills, then frowned at her wand. If there was one thing she was looking forward to about being seventeen, it was being free to do magic outside of school. At this thought, an owl swooped in through her open window. She snatched the letter off of it's leg immediately and read it.
You need to have a date for Christmas…Just come over.
Rose looked at the bit of parchment, and sighed. She grabbed the travelling cloak she had just recently draped over the door of her wardrobe and went downstairs. First she went to the broom cupboard by the front door and retrieved her Cleansweep Eleven, then she stuck her head into the kitchen.
"Alex, I'm going over to Daphne's," she announced.
"You're flying?" he asked.
"It's dark," she dismissed, and he shrugged an agreement.
When Rose stepped outside, the air hit her like a bucket of ice. She hadn't realized it was so cold, and thought about summoning a scarf and some gloves, but remembered that she couldn't do magic. Muttering to herself, she pulled her hood securely over her ears, and gripped the broom tightly, rising into the freezing air.
She flew over the houses of Upper Flagley. The rooftops were all a nearly-identical shade of red-brown, the lawns all the same kind of green,—which admittedly looked almost black now due to the lack of light—and best of all, there wasn't a muggle house in sight. She smiled as she left the town and began flying over Gravel pond. She flew low, just barely a foot from the water. She could clearly see her reflection in the dark water and was almost startled by it. The shore came all too soon and she pulled the broom up, stopping just before she crashed into Daphne's house. She flew the broom to Daphne's bedroom window, upstairs on the left, and rapped on the glass. Daphne jumped, startled.
"Let me in; it's cold!" Rose complained. It took Daphne a second to recognize her friend and throw open the window, through which she steered the broom agilely.
"You made it," Daphne stated.
"Oh really? I hadn't noticed. So, what am I here for?"
"You need to have a date for Christmas," answered Daphne.
"Right, well, I've deduced that much from the owl. But why do I need to have a date for Christmas?" Daphne mumbled something unintelligible. "Sorry, what?"
"I've already got one," she said a bit louder.
"What!" cried Rose. "What do you mean you've got one? Who?"
"Theodore Nott," she whispered, wincing.
"Okay, first: Ew. Second, we've gone stag to this thing since first year. Admittedly, we weren't really looking for guys at the age of eleven, but when we were both thirteen, and we couldn't round up decent dates, you promised me that we would go together every year. What gives?"
"Rosie, I'm sorry, okay? It's just that my four-month mark is coming up soon, and I really need to get moving."
Rose looked at the red-haired girl's pleading expression and sighed. "Okay, fine, but Theodore Nott?"
"Well, it was either him or Crabbe! I was backed into a corner," she defended.
Rose paused for a moment to consider Crabbe as the alternative, and nearly gagged. "Why not Blaise? At least he's nice-looking."
"I thought you and Blaise were…," she trailed off, seeing Rose's horrified expression. "Nevermind."
Rose set her broom against the wall, and walked over to the dresser, looking at the pictures moving on the mirror. She grimaced as she saw a rather embarrassing one of herself from second year. She turned to see Daphne pulling out dress robes from her closet.
"Also," Daphne said, "You'll look really stupid showing up alone. I mean, even Millicent got a date. Look at these. Do you like these? I think I might wear them."
"Millicent got a date?" Rose repeated.
"With Goyle," shuddered Daphne, and Rose followed suit. "Just ask Blaise."
"Number one, he can ask me himself. Number two, I don't want to go with him! And besides, it's not like I'm going to be conscious long enough to give a damn."
"Oh, please behave yourself this time."
"I always behave myself," Rose said.
"No, you don't. You always get way too drunk, way too early, and then I'm the one that has to look after you."
"That was, like, one time!"
"Four!" Daphne argued. "The Christmas party last year, Draco's birthday, my birthday, your father's birthday, and—oh, five—Marcus and Evanna's wedding!"
"My father had a birthday party?" Rose asked, incredulous.
Daphne smacked her palm to her face, shaking her head. "Just behave this time," she begged. "Now, about these robes," she continued.
"They're nice enough," Rose shrugged. "You should charm them. Remember that really lovely one your mum had cast on her own robes for Marcus' wedding? Something like that."
"It's not even worth it," Daphne groaned. "I need new ones."
They continued deliberating what Daphne should wear to the party for another half hour or so, until Rose finally decided it was time for her to get home.
When she got there, Alex was waiting for her.
"Mum and dad are pissed," he said when she walked in through the front door.
"Shocker," Rose mumbled under her breath.
"They're pissed off you went out the night before, well, tomorrow, you know."
"Alex, I was gone for 45 minutes, half a kilometre away at Daphne's, and it's, like, nine o'clock. I don't see a problem here!"
"Don't shoot the messenger, sis," he said, holding his hands up in a defensive position.
"Guess I'll have their shit to deal with in morning," she sighed, and trudged upstairs.
. . .
As predicted, she received a lengthy lecture from her parents the next morning. Much too early in the morning, she might add. Although, according to her parents, if she hadn't been "out half the night doing God knows what" she wouldn't have been so tired at eight o-bloody-clock. Yeah, right.
She pulled on the pair of lilac dress robes she had worn for the Yule Ball two years ago. They still fit well enough. She threw her hair up into one of those it-looks-like-I-spent-hours-on-my-hair-but-this-took-four-seconds kind of hairstyles, and walked downstairs. Her parents scowled. She grimaced. Alex smiled. She grinned back. They sat. They waited.
Rose fidgeted in her seat, impatient. In her opinion, the preliminaries were an unnecessary waste of time. She has known about this day since she was a little girl, and didn't need to hear every detail in a long, boring speech. But, alas, there was nothing she could do about it. This was all just part of the process; she had no choice but to endure it.
There came a knock. Rose's father, Christopher, went to open the front door behind which stood five familiar faces. Rose watched them file into the sitting room, all wearing dress robes of varying colours. Crabbe in burgundy and Goyle in rust-orange colour robes. Theodore sported very plain black robes, which stood in shocking comparison to Blaise's blue ones beside him. Draco stood with an air of arrogance surrounding his usual, green, tailored attire.
Christopher cleared his throat. "Well, now that we're all here. Let's get started, shall we?"
Rose bit back a retort. Christopher motioned for Rose to stand up. Alex and his mother had discreetly moved to stand against the back wall. Rose's father turned to look directly at her now.
"Roselyn Claire Martell," he began, while reading from an old piece of parchment, "Birth date 26th of April 1980. As a member of the Martell family, you are bound to certain traditions. As dictates ancient Wizarding tradition, though admittedly only kept now by the purest and truest of bloods, you have exactly four months before you come of age—that is, turn seventeen—" Rose resisted the urge to spew a rather colourful comment regarding her intelligence. "—to choose a respectable suitor which you will then be married to before your 18th birthday. Do you understand and accept these terms?"
"I do," she responded automatically. Christopher turned to the boys.
"Vincent Alan Crabbe, Gregory Raymond Goyle, Theodore Brian Nott, Blaise Darcio Zabini, Draco Lucius Malfoy," he continued, still reading the parchment, "Before the date of the 26th of April 1998 you will each be of the age of 17. Your status as wizards, and your family's participation in this great and ancient tradition, makes each of you an eligible candidate as Roselyn Claire Martell's fiancé. If chosen, you will be legally wed to Roselyn Claire Martell, unless otherwise decided by the Martell family. Do you understand and accept these terms?"
"I do," muttered Crabbe.
"I do," grunted Goyle.
"I do," nodded Theodore, bored.
"I do," agreed Blaise with an arrogant smirk.
"I do," purred Draco, not taking his eyes off of Rose.
Rose looked away, suddenly understanding why he was watching her with such intensity. The moment eye contact was broken, she felt Draco's gaze move away from her and, presumably, rest on her father. She settled for looking there, too.
"As the host family, we invite you for tea. If you would please follow my son Alexander into the dining room," he finished, and motioned for Alex to lead the boys through a door to the adjoining room.
Her parents waited for the door to close behind the last in line before rounding on her.
"This is the last time we have a chance to tell you this, Roselyn," her mother whispered hurriedly. "You've been a disappointment thus far, do not fail us here, too. Choose the Malfoy boy. He is our last hope of being what the Martells once were."
"I can't, mum," she spat the word with malice. "Draco has already been claimed by Pansy Parkinson."
"He can not be claimed," her father bit back. "Each one of those boys in there are eligible for you, so choose wisely."
"I believe we have a tea to attend," she replied icily, and strode past her fuming parents into the dining room.
A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? PRAISE? Yeah, I take it all. Review :)