Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

AN: Hey there, let's see if uploading this chap goes smoother. Because...wow...the first was like the disappearing reappearing cabinet.

Chapter 2: Bagshot Nonsense

Walburga followed the train of Lucretia's dark blue dress along the carpet runner leading to the MacNairs' ballroom. She had to admit their hosts had outdone themselves. She admired the floral arrangements on either side of the hall; roses, hydrangeas, and Bella Donna Delphinium made for lovely, fragrant displays.

She was happy to break up the monotony of her calendar with an event like this. Father had scoffed at the invitation, but he didn't make any fuss over her attending. For the most part, he let her come and go as she pleased.

Walburga made surreptitious glances to her reflection in a large ornate mirror—assuring herself that her makeup was immaculate, her hair twisted into a pleasingly intricate coil spangled with jeweled pins, that her neckline emphasized the ampleness of certain aspects of her shape without being distasteful .

It was a favorite dress of hers; satin green and comfortable but flattering and...though it would sound absurd to say aloud...lucky.

And she needed that tonight.

Already, Ignatius Prewett, Lucretia's husband, had done precious little to disguise his dislike of her sharing their carriage with them. He'd remarked rather grumpily, that Orion's carriage could've borne her more easily; for it was only carrying one occupant.

She'd admitted to her cousin-in-law that she hadn't known Orion was coming alone this night. Unwilling to endure another hostile carriage ride, she even entertained the notion of asking Orion to take her home when the party's excitement waned (she was nervous to apparate in her finery and lose jewelry along the way, but...judging by the eyes he was making at Georgina Flint as the two downed champagne and laughed with one another, he wouldn't be leaving alone. And asking him for a kindness could very well annoy him.

He'd already started accompanying her for her weekly trips to the Ministry on her father's behalf. She didn't want to seem too terribly needy.

It was important to give space when one could afford to. While she was certain he'd honor her request as family, she didn't want to spoil their friendship by demanding too much of him and so soon.

She delighted in the ice sculptures cradled in each crystalline punch bowl and indulged in an hors d'oeuvre or three and saw Lucretia do the same.

This ball had been set at a late hour, signifying that meals were meant to be eaten beforehand, but her cousin's husband couldn't be troubled to take them out to dine first.

She didn't envy Lucretia...having to deal with that on a regular basis. Walburga was a creature that craved luxury, just thinking about a life where every purchase was a battle...

She wondered at how Ignatius had managed to woo her cousin at all; was it all sunset walks and meadow flowers because the purse strings wouldn't open?

Though the pool of eligible men had dwindled she was pleased to have a fair amount of dance partners in the form of old schoolmates through the night. Some were already spoken for, but some were not.

She danced the minuet with Avery, married. The allemande with Crabbe, engaged. But he had a bachelor cousin who'd made his introductions and as they whirled around, he didn't seem too terrible, though his nose was unfortunately long and thin, flute like...and it gave him a nasally sound whenever he spoke. His manners were very good though. However, he was a halfblood so she couldn't dwell on him; her family would never approve. And he just...wasn't very handsome so she didn't really mind that it couldn't be a match.

Between dances and sometimes during them, she glimpsed her cousin growing increasingly reckless and a harem of admirers seemed to be forming. He never guarded his tongue especially well when he was inebriated and compliments for their...physical attributes were likely flowing quite freely from him.

She'd need to scold him soon before he made himself hopelessly ridiculous.

Whilst waltzing with Abraxas, because his wife was busy initiating a new mother to a circle of ladies who prided themselves on their fecundity (so single, childless Walburga wasn't really welcome), they spoke about the contest freely.

"So you mean to go through with it?" he murmured, lips pulling into that mocking smile she knew well.

Her lips curved. "I should be asking you that. You've far more at risk than I."

He had the decency to look a little chagrined at that but shrugged it off.

She couldn't tell if it was wistfulness or resignation she felt as they twirled with a grace unique to them. They were two personalities and spirits that were well-matched.

At school, there'd even been a rhyme about them, for they'd often been in each other's company, having similar humors and temperaments.

Pitch night and winter frost, and each you'll find are cold and harsh.

She held in the sigh.

It was stupid to have put so much into a childhood promise. But at twelve, Abraxas, in that blunt 'I'll-fix-this-if-it-will-stop-your-complaints' way that males embraced...had promised to marry her...and she'd believed him.

And having that great source of doom and anxiety triumphed over was such a relief, she'd never dedicated time to polishing herself up like her other female relations. Certain that she'd prove her mother's concerns false when they stood at the altar, it never crossed her mind to think he'd renege and that she ought to have developed her womanly wiles.

She wasn't enough as she was. She knew that now.

She understood that Obsidia was younger, charming, less obstinate, and all in all easier on his ego to deal with but...

He'd promised.

It wasn't even that Walbura imagined married life as a Malfoy to be particularly happy. She and Abraxas could clash like pieces of flint. But they understood one another and he'd never expected her to be anything other than what she was.

She'd seen him with his wife acting far more gentle than he'd ever been with her in his life. And rather than swooning at such sights, she shivered at the insincerity. It was clear from his ice blue eyes that poor Obsidia often bored him and he didn't respect her.

And Walburga couldn't muster any envy.

The song ended and another tune was struck up by the band, this time for the Varsouvienne.

"You always dance this with me," Orion declared, suddenly close.

"So I do," she agreed and exchanged partners, pleased he'd managed to extricate himself from what would've been a brewing scandal if he'd committed himself to enjoying all those ladies' attentions for the whole night.

He was coordinated enough to remember all the steps but alcohol had robbed him of that certain joie de vivre that made his movements light and elegant and playful.

He was much coarser than usual. The footfalls harder and the hand on her waist heavy and firm. There was also a briskness and power in how he directed her to follow him. It was important to keep up if they were to move smoothly across the dance floor.

It wasn't malicious though. He never pulled her forth or trod on her feet or anything like that.

And soon enough she was smiling through the turns. She'd always preferred him for this dance above all others. He just had the right energy and spirit for it. The few times she'd tried it with her brothers they tired before the end.

While she did have to lean her head back uncomfortably to make eye contact, it was worth the effort; he was very handsome. And he'd dressed himself well in a nicely tailored black suit and robes. She was pleased with him.

Only...

"I do wish you hadn't indulged yourself, quite so fully. People will talk."

"Yes, Maman," his features settled into a frown.

"Well, you reek of alcohol, now, dear."

"That isn't...Georgina spilled a bit on me. That's probably why-"

Walburga moved closer during a turn, draping an arm around his shoulders more fully. "You see how near I have to be to catch your cologne?"

He adjusted his hold on her accordingly, keeping her there. They spun faster.

"Orion Black, I swear if I trip and fall-"

"I'll catch you. Better, I'll carry you for a spin. That'll make for a scandal and get people talking. I'll show you how it's done." He smiled mischievously and pulled her nearer.

If she breathed too deeply their chests met.

"Don't you dare-"

"It'll be fun," his breath puffed past a curl by her ear.

"Orion, I am perfectly serious. I'm certain everyone's staring by now and thinking us positively bizarre."

"Black!"

They startled to a stop and she bumped into his chest. He held her there to steady her.

"Black!"

They both turned to the addresser.

He seemed vaguely familiar. Halfblood maybe? Ravenclaw?

"You ruined her!"

Orion stared at him, nonplussed.

Oh dear. Another one. She'd been wondering if this would happen.

"You ruined her, you fiend!"

And it seemed Orion wasn't in the mood to be delicate, for he scoffed, "If I ruined her, whoever her is, it was likely that she begged me to do so. And I must've been feeling charitable. Or lagered. Or both."

Which wasn't the proper thing to say at all, but she'd make her disapproval known later. Right now, she needed to side with her kinsman.

She moved herself out of his arms and by his side.

She waited for the inevitable declaration that a duel would follow on the morrow and resigned herself to Orion appearing on her doorstep later in the afternoon, bruised and somewhat chastised but cheerful. From what her brothers told her, since they were often the ones he asked to back him, there'd been more than one bout where both primary duelists knocked one another out and the next round had to be fought by one of them to determine a victory.

Now that she thought of it, it was odd that he never asked her aid in such matters. Before, she'd been relieved and would've accounted it toward his being sensitive of her nerves and her delicacy as the fairer sex...but now...well, now, it seemed like good practice that she hadn't been able to take advantage of.

"I'm his second," she volunteered. "Who's yours?"

Orion choked. "Wot? What're you-"

"If you care to recall, I'm an accomplished due-"

"No. That's absurd. Now, get back."

A flicker of movement caught her eye and she realized their enemy's wand was out and he had no sense of decorum. Not even caring that his foe's eyes weren't on him.

Coward.

She reached for her wand, which she had tucked in her left evening glove. "Orion, watch o-"

Rather than move himself, he squandered the moment to push her fully out of the way and opened himself to an even worse hit.

The halfblood hadn't even been aiming at her.

Idiot. Chivalrous idiot.

There were two cries of "Expelliarmus!" One from her, from her spot on the floor. One from Abraxas, over by the punch bowl. And the man was hurled hard across the room.

Abraxas collected the wand and gave pursuit.

Walburga focused on tending Orion, who was in a very bad way.

Honestly people, the screams that arose at his condition weren't helpful at all.

The spell had been a cruel one; there was a deep gash from his chest to his neck.

The halfblood had probably been aiming to just injure him in the shoulder, but his target's moving had worsened the result.

And since it was Orion's life shooting and spilling from him, there just wasn't the luxury of being squeamish.

She had to staunch the flow one way or another if he was to survive. So she ignored how it coated her hands and arms and splattered over her face as she ordered bystanders to find a healer and towels.

If she could ignore the taste and feel and horror, than they could make themselves useful.

"Walburga," he breathed raggedly.

She did him the service of looking at him, despite the mess, and not reacting.

"Shh," She had to press hard against the wound to staunch the flow and she knew she was hurting him from the grimace on his face. But it had to be done.

"W-walburga…" he spluttered.

He looked so afraid.

"Shhhhh," she repeated.

"I...I want you...to-to know…"

She could see Healer Macmillan approaching. Thank God.

He gripped her. "Wal...burga...I-"

"Shut up and let me concentrate," she hissed, which seemed to work on him.

He made no further attempt at conversation and stared at her in a kind of downcast stupor.

Walburga entered her cousin's bedroom with a measured step. It was nearly a week since the ball and three days since he'd been given leave to convalesce in the comforts of his home.

"Come to see me at last? Nothing more pressing to attend to? Are you quite certain?" he snarled from his bed.

"I'm on my way to the Ministry for Father and thought I'd step in to check on you," she replied coolly.

"On the way? On the-Soooo glad you could squeeze me into your busy schedule, mademoiselle. You'd think you'd have more pity!"

"You think you'd be more grateful," she countered.

"Grateful! When it was you that distracted me?!"

That angered her more than she liked to admit.

"If you'd like me gone, I'll oblige you and-"

"No. Accio chair."

She nodded and took it up and sat down beside his bed, pulling books out of her handbag.

He fiddled with a cord and tassel hanging from his four poster bed. "I thought...I thought you would have come to see me. Given how...that night...you..."

It was too embarrassing to say she tried three times and failed. Once, when she readied herself in her room. Once, in the threshold in front of her father no less. And once, which was most humiliating of all, in front of the counter of Mungo's. She hadn't even been able to ask what room he was in.

She wasn't that lucky breed of woman who was beautiful when she cried, so when she knew she couldn't master herself, she limited her contact with the outside world as needed.

"Well, I'm here now." She cracked open a book of chronicles by their ancestors during the Dark Ages. But he didn't appreciate it. Even though it was her go-to reading material for whenever she was ill, and he'd read segments of it to her one holiday break when she'd spent too much time outdoors and caught a bitter case of pneumonia.

She was a little disappointed; she'd assumed they had similar tastes.

"Fine." She changed material.

He didn't restrain his derision.

"Bathilda Bagshot? Oh, you must be joking. I graduated Hogwarts, thank you. I never have to read her works again. Praise the lord."

Walburga frowned. "I find her admirable."

He gave her a flat look, "Oh?"

"Yes."

"Her books so fascinate you? The table of contents leaves you dazzled? O what appendices? What wondrous introductions and work problems and-"

"She's leading a very interesting life. No husband. No children, true. But successful. Venerated even. She's proof we've entered different times. Where...where a woman might choose...differently...and be celebrated for it."

He stared and then he swallowed hard—adam's apple bobbing noticeably, as if her words had made him frightfully uncomfortable. He was very old-fashioned. It was probably cruel to have shocked him with such radical ideas, especially whilst he was recovering.

"And you...you find this...an admirable….influence on you?"

She nodded.

His eyes went wide as saucers.

She was about to apologize for springing such things on him when he said, in a very low voice, "But...I...It is...my wish to be married-"

Trust him, to miss the point entirely.

She frowned. "Well, of course you do, but there's less rush or condemnation on your decision. You have a wealth of possibilities-" It was why he could afford to dally as he did.

"-soon," he stressed through gritted teeth with a look of agitation.

That caught her off guard. And as much as the idea alarmed her, for it would change her world profoundly, she felt proud that he was growing up at last.

"Learned something about mortality from that spectacle, did you?"

Rather miserably, he asked if she thought about Bagshot's choices often.

"Naturally. The more I think on it, the more...influenced I feel." It leant a buoyant feeling in her breast, to know that her life wasn't over because certain milestones hadn't been met. Rather, it opened a world as of yet unexplored.

"Maybe you should...think less of it."

It was said so petulantly, she wanted to laugh.

But when she smiled, she saw a dark, hurt look on his features.

She was going against tradition. It was bound to cause injuries.

Wanting to smooth his feathers, she pointed to a book on his bedside. "Shall I read a chapter to you from there?"

"If you think you can manage it," he muttered.

She picked up where the bookmark left off, assuming she'd figure out the plot, which she did; it wasn't a terribly complicated work.

She started to have concerns about her cousin's reading level though and then it happened. Certain words sprang out at her from the next page, and she realized the book's purpose and gasped.

Orion laughed openly at her and she saw the same meanness there that Druella had sported.

"Perhaps, you ought to seek refuge in that chronicle you brought." He reached a hand to relieve her of the book and likely finish the chapter in silence.

She ignored him and continued reading aloud.

It was the second passage of that nature in the following chapter that she found her rhythm in the narrative. It became like a play.

Terribly melodramatic but amusing. And she'd always been rather good at pageants and the like. So she submerged herself in the roles and figured if the heroine opposite of the hero couldn't have lines as clever as his then she'd work hard to press passion there instead—breathy and desperate but earnest, if trite.

She replaced the bookmark when she'd finished, set it back onto the bedside table, and with a triumphant case of giggles looked up.

She found he'd gone completely red and that Lucretia was leaning against the doorframe with a smirk.

Walburga faltered a bit, "Sorry, Lucretia. I-I didn't see you approach-"

"I'm here to escort you to the Ministry, I heard you needed someone to chaperone you while Orion's recovering."

"Oh, are you certain?"

"Of course, of course. But it's growing late, and I must return for dinner with Ignatius."

Walburga hastily gathered her things and crossed the room, waving a farewell to Orion as she joined her other cousin in the corridor.

"But Walburga, dear?" Lucretia offered.

"Hmm?"

"When next you read, draw out the syllables."

"Luca!" Orion hissed.

Walburga considered it. "You think so?"

"Particularly, the O's," Lucretia smiled and then shut her brother's bedroom's door.

She promptly visited the next day because she had been concerned to know her absence had weighed so heavily on him. Naturally, she'd assumed he wouldn't have wanted for well-wishers—Lucretia had confirmed as much. His hospital room had been crowded with cards, flowers, and visitors.

It was tempting to point that all out and scold him for being spoiled, but she wanted no hard feelings to remain between them. She was perilously fond of him.

She noted with amusement that the saucy book was nowhere to be found. There was a ballad waiting for her instead, every bit as vapid and sentimental, but flowery and clean.

Though this time, to indulge him, she had to sit on the bed with him.

He fell asleep about a third of the way in and she took out her pet project.

She'd received an acceptance letter into the tournament that morning and since Orion was sleeping, succumbed to her impulse to fill the paperwork out. She had to sign in quite a few places signifying that she understood what she was getting into and all that.

There was a questionnaire for hospital purposes outlining diseases, allergens, and the like. A release of liability and contacts for what funeral home should be arranged to take her should she be cut down. What make and model of wand she used, her name, her emergency contacts, her...age…along with a mission statement she had to compose; facts about who she was, what she hoped to accomplish, why she was participating.

She finished the other papers easily enough, but it was the last bit that she needed practice on. So she pulled out a notebook and began drafting.

She made herself comfortable, setting her inkwell on his bedside table and wriggling into the plush pillows.

There was the added bonus that Orion's mattress was very comfortable, and if she spilled ink on it, they'd blame it on him.

She was on her fourth draft and feeling rather confident about it when—

"What is that?" Orion asked, snuggling up under her left arm as he'd been wont to do when he was a first year and she was pulling an allnighter in the Slytherin Common Room to get her assignments done because she'd mismanaged her time.

"Mission Statement."

"Oh?"

"I...I've never done one before-"

"That much is obvious," he muttered, voice losing the lethargic quality it had a moment ago. "This reads like a personal ad...Walburga?"

"Well, I want it to sound friendly."

While she was very intrigued by the idea of being a career witch, she wasn't oblivious to the fact that she was going to enter a male dominated tournament. There had to be some eligible warlocks there. She needed to seem inviting and charming and...warm...from the onset.

Introductions were important. They colored the whole experience.

He took the notebook from her and scrutinized it more seriously. He shook his head and replied firmly, "No, you want it to sound professional. Else some might get the...the wrong idea."

The right idea, more like. "..."

"Is your father not giving you an allowance?" He scanned the other paperwork she'd filled out.

"No, nothing like that," she was quick to reply.

"What are you applying for then? Do you need additional income to save up for something? Does he disapprove and won't purchase it for you? A new vanity? Or a trip somewhere?"

She shrugged.

"Is this that Bagshot nonsense, again?" he grumbled.

She frowned. "I think it would be good to try my hand at something new."

"Like secretarial work?"

That was an idea too. Something easy to begin with in a career, though she wasn't excessively fond of the subservience of it.

Still, if this was the way her cousin reacted to the idea of her theoretically looking for employment, she started to doubt whether he'd support her actively participating in a dueling tournament.

Orion frowned in contemplation. "You've always had good penmanship and nimble fingers...maybe…Come on." He got up and pulled a house robe over his nightshirt. "Come on."

Despite her protests that he ought to continue resting, he led her to his office which his father had been all too willing to cede over to him a few years ago. She smiled as she remembered his enthusiasm, he'd even consulted her opinion for certain furniture pieces...and then cheerfully ignored her advice.

It seemed...even more masculine than the last time she'd been in it. No flowers. No art. The only crystal was on a silver platter on the great desk; the different graceful vessels held alcohol, likely the means of toasting various contractors.

There was a second desk in the room now, smaller, lower, though still fairly elegant. Atop of it stood a-a-what did they call it?"

"It's a typewriter. You see?"

"Like the newspaper?" she asked uncertainly. It was awkward and rather muggle-ish for her tastes.

"Precisely! Nowadays, certain clients prefer typed documentation. I understand you'd need time to acclimate to its use…though...I say that in theory, because no matter how often I practice I'm complete rubbish at it. My fingers are too...I hit multiple keys...I...usually have to call in favors or search for freelance typists."

"You...want me to work here?"

"Yes, you'd be here...with me. If you're up to it, of course. And you'd have a salary."

She supposed it wouldn't hurt to get some practice and she couldn't imagine her cousin being terribly exacting or cruel if she made errors, so he'd probably be a good employer to train up under. At least at the start.

Still, she was startled to hear a ripping of paper as he pulled the drafts and forms from her notebook and strode over to the office's small fireplace. He set the wood there crackling with a flick of his wand and extended his hand with the papers over it.

"Wait!"

He looked back and frowned. "What is it? I thought we were in agreement? You don't need to look elsewhere, you'll work with me."

She faltered. "Quite right."

He gave a nod and tossed them in.

She'd owl Malfoy later to secure her duplicates of the forms.

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