chapter 4
"Oh, MY...." said Molly Weasley, in amazement. Ginny pivoted before the mirror, amazed. From the neck up she was still plain Ginny, with Weasley red hair and freckles, all awkward bones and long braids. But from the neck down...
"It's amazing what a good set of robes can do for a witch," said the designer, a tall thin witch with a messy cap of black hair. "And she has the figure to carry them off well. I couldn't sell these to just anyone." Ginny blushed. Verna Satcheverel didn't hand out compliments at random.
"I normally wouldn't...but it IS a formal occasion...." her mother said consideringly, and Ginny felt a spark of joy going up in her heart. These robes, these grape blue robes with a silver shimmer to the folds and a daring cut to the top that revealed a bit of cleavage and most of her shoulders, they would be hers. And she would need jewelry to go with them. And a hairstyle. And makeup. And shoes. And....oh, even if the party was foul, it would be wonderful, because she would finally get to be a witch, not a little girl, a witch in a dress that was a success even just hanging up on a hanger. Ginny managed not to wiggle with pure glee, but it was a near thing.
"I don't think you can do anything with me," her mother said, with a sigh, and the woman smiled at her.
"Well, not if you want to look like your daughter," said the designer, who had a six-month waiting list, but was willing to let the family of the new Minister of Magic jump the queue. "But there's a lovely witch in there, and I think we can manage to show her off."
Ginny stepped down from the platform and moved to get dressed again as Molly and the designer began unrolling bolts of fabric.
Hours later, the two women stepped out of the kitchen fireplace carrying boxes and wearing looks that led the men of the house to ask if they'd been drinking.
"No, not at all," said Ginny. "I....it's just, Ron, LOOK at this ROBE!"
She opened the top box, and he understood, looking down at what appeared to be moonlit dark waters. "Merlin," he breathed, "that must have cost...."
"AND shoes. AND a hairstyle. AND jewelry. AND makeup." She was a bit giddy.
"But it's worth it," her mother said firmly.
"Hey...." he said suddenly and with a tone of intense suspicion, "Does this mean I have to..."
"Yes, Ronald," his mother said. "With your father, tomorrow."
"Hmph," Ron huffed. "If I'd known Dad getting this job meant I'd have to dress up and sip soup..." His tone made it equivalent to "eat shit".
"With the people who hire people in the ministry," his mother said. Ron shut his mouth with a snap, and said no more. Ginny smiled to herself. Ron wanted to get on, badly.
She knew herself why her mother was being so very careful with her dress and hair. Ginny might not be done with school quite yet, but she was quite old enough that she could catch someone's eye and negotiations could start. Ginny could see a fight coming. She had interests in going to college and a career; in this, her mother was being oldfashioned. After all, Ginny thought, just because she got married right out of Hogwarts doesn't mean that I have to! But she kept her mouth shut. She'd learned when to keep her own counsel, and that dress could still be returned, after all. And she really wanted to wear that dress.
Besides...she was curious. A formal reception like this was an experience she hadn't had yet. This was a safe way to go into it...there would be tons of Aurors there, plus her mum and dad, and marvelously overprotective Ron. She just hoped he didn't start something with Draco Malfoy. As the son of the host, he was sure to be there. Then again, his father was rather in a politically perilous situation. Perhaps that, if nothing else, would keep Draco's sarcastic tongue muzzled that night.
Draco slid the new set of dress robes over his shoulders, and ran his hand up the front, feeling the fasteners slip into place. He glanced at himself in the mirror, and smiled. The robes were very impressive indeed. Black, of course, but with a matte finish and drape that screamed expense, and a silver shimmer that was woven into the folds, making them glint pewter grey in spots as he moved. Their cut managed to combine formality with the cutting edge of wizard fashion in a way that only Satcheverel, the latest hottest designer in Diagon Alley, could manage. Good thing I have an account there, and she likes to dress me. She says this will probably sell more robes for her than advertising. The black shirt beneath showed a glint of matte silver cufflinks as he reached up to run a hand consideringly over his hair, which he had had cut into a daringly short style that stood up on top and tapered down to rigid precision at his neck. He looked damned good, he thought, and put his wand into his sleeve.
Getting a new dress outfit was the least of the things that had gone into preparation for this. His father had spent days with him, going over the guest list. He knew who to flirt with, who to pay court to, who to stare down and who to be accomodating to. Who would undoubtedly come, who would come unwillingly, afraid of giving offense, who would stay home and claim illness. He was already armored with subtle spells that prevented drunkenness and ensured clear mindedness. Nothing would muddle him tonight. No one could cast a spell to make him confide the wrong things to the wrong person, or mistakenly think someone wanted a kiss who didn't. He had enough self control to take care of the rest.
Perhaps the reception would take his mind off the dreams. They'd gotten worse and worse, and he'd actually had to take Dreamless Sleep last night in order to get any peace. If this kept up, he'd have to see a mediwizard. But he put it out of mind as he walked out of his bedroom and down to the rooms where the reception would take place. After all, the show must go on.
Ginny had about Had Enough. Her mother was acting as though she'd never been out in public before,and had no more sense than a Flobberworm to boot.
"Remember when we come in to look our hosts in the eye and curtsey, and then move on so you don't hold up the line. Be polite to everyone," her mother had said as they ate an early supper, "and don't drink any alcohol. A young witch can get into so much trouble by drinking too much at the wrong times..."
Ginny hadn't been about to tell her that she had intended to have a single glass of wine, same as at home, after that. Her mother's fussing and commentary had put her back up pretty thoroughly. They'd gone to Ottery St. Catchpole to find someone to work the hair spells, since her mother always tended to do those sorts of things with half her attention elsewhere and make things come out lopsided. The hair spell didn't turn out to be too difficult, and Ginny quickly memorized it so she could have it later. And the witch did their makeup too, with a wink, saying she wanted to make sure they looked good enough for their dresses.
Ginny knew she did. She had stared at the mirror, barely recognizing this poised woman whose chestnut hair gleamed in an elegant braided coronet, tendrils brushing her cheeks and shoulders softly, silver-mounted pearls (her father's gift for her birthday, a little early) ornamenting her ears and circling her neck above a gown that shimmered softly like the night sea under a full moon. She had never worn anything this low cut before. She took a deep breath, and told herself to forget the feeling of nakedness. It was strange to see this vision of adulthood surrounded by her childhood bedroom, looking in the mirror that she had looked in since she was tall enough to see over the dresser.
"Gin, you..." Ron put his head around the door, and forgot what he was going to say. "You...wow," he finally managed.
She smiled.
"You're looking pretty good yourself," she returned. Ron looked like Bill, actually, she thought, when he got dressed up. He'd grown into his hands and feet, and the robes accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and that particular shade of black managed to make his hair look a little more subdued while bringing out the foresty glint in his eyes. Good tailoring is SO worth it, she decided.
"Seriously?" Ron tugged at his robes awkwardly. "I feel like I'm playing dressup," he said quietly.
"No, you look really good. Like Bill."
"Huh," he said thoughtfully, and moved around to look in her mirror. It whistled at him. "I do, don't I?" he said, with a little bit of wonder. "Maybe this won't be so bad after all."
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