A Nott So Happy New Year

Alexander:

It had been Alexander's first Christmas when he wasn't returning home from Hogwarts. Instead he'd managed to book two weeks off work, although those two weeks hadn't been stress free. His dear Mother had practically forced him and Isadora to host a Pureblood Social at their cottage at the New Year. For a start the cottage wasnt the best venue. It didn't impose that regal power onto it's guests, nor was it big enough to host the entire Pure Blooded society of Wizarding Britain and secondly Alexander was nervous, a feeling no confident person was ever used to. Of course his Mother didn't care for these excuses. She insisted that he hold the social at the cottage. As a result the two weeks Alexander had spent off work he'd spent cleaning the cottage, enforcing undetectable expansion charms on the room. It was hard work but, alas, the cottage was ready.

Although the cottage was no twice it's original size Alexander had still managed to make sure it held that homey feel. There were wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, a real log burning fireplace and window frames set deep into the stone slabbed walls. Naturally, being a Pure Blood, Alexander had a high taste that he wanted recognised and had spent almost two months wages purchasing expensive portraits for the walls and gold plated statues to sit along the fireplace. As for the food he'd ordered the family house elf to slave in the kitchen until the best pastries and cakes were the best that they could be.

'You look beautiful.' Alexander told his wife as he walked into their master bedroom (which he had also enchanted to appear bigger if the guests desired a tour). 'Twilfitt and tattings really have outdone themselves this year.' He added, his eyes scanning her dress. Their relationship sure had developed. Perhaps what happened on the first of September had brought them closer, kept them from divorcing when the marriage law was evoked.

During the werewolf attack Alexander had been mauled, almost bitten. Not that anybody but Isadora could see the scars for they were on his chest, hidden beneath a luxury set of wizard robes. However it wasn't just the physical scars that Isadora had brewed healing potions for but any cooking that she did she had to take into consideration his new diet: rare. Alexander Nott was a red blooded meat eater who enjoyed his steaks on the rarer side. Moreover his behavior in the very room where they stood had become more animalistic. However that wasn't the only reason they'd grew closer. Alexander had developed a further dislikening to werewolves since his attack and the poison Isadora had created only seemed more lucrative and given him a burning ambition to take down as many werewolves as possible. Fortunately, working for the Being Division, he had the privilege of knowing his future targets.

-----


Anastasia:

Yet again her Mother was forcing another Pure Blood social upon her. Unlike her older siblings Anastasia wasn't a fan of them. All she did was sit in silence or get told off by her parents for doing something out of line, maybe laughing when she wasn't supposed to or interrupting a Rookwood. When she was younger Ana didn't mind so much, she enjoyed spending time with the other children however pretentious they were. Granted they were mock her, shunt her to the side for not sharing their elitist interests but it was pleasant all the same.

This New Year it was the Nott's turn to host and Pansy had pressed this pressure upon Alexander, which made it all the more exciting for Anastasia. She hadn't seen her brother for ages and had only been to his cottage once. It would be nice to see him and she instantly signed up to help their house elf in the kitchen... Something that she soon regretted two hours after arriving at the cottage for she'd only been shifting snow out of sight. Most of it went outside but towards the end the Gyffindor had gotten a little tired and instead hidden it within cupboards, closets and underneath the stairs. However just because the snow was shifted that didn't mean her job was over. Alexander was missing a few masks that he thought were necessary for the study - not that Anastasia understood the meaning of these masks. To her they were hideous, ugly and every pure blood house she visited and they were there it only made Anastasia want to leave. Of course Alexander shrugged off her opinion and instructed her in collecting them from Knockturn Alley ready for the evening.

After taking the floo network to Borgin and Burkes and collected the desired masks Anastasia decided to do a little exploring. She'd never been allowed to wander the streets of Knockturn Alley on her own before and a slave-labour chore had turned into an exciting adventure of endless possibilities. However the image of a fun afternoon had been buried with the snow and the fact most of the shops were closed. Giving up on her exploration Anastasia headed back to Borgin and Burke to use the floo network back to Alexander's.

On her way she came across a familiar face: Nessarose Bridgewood. Ana knew her to be a pureblood girl, a couple of years older than herself, who she'd spent time with at pure blood socials. Unlike the other children Nessa hadn't shown the same distaste to her that her older siblings had shown, meaning Ana was quick to invite Nessa to the 'small get together' Alexander was hosting that evening. When Anastasia arrived back at Alexander's cottage she arrived with Nessa and a little more optimistic about how the evening would play out.

'Alexander has made it bigger to fit all the guests inside.' Anastasia told Nessa whilst kicking her shoes off and dumping the bag of ex-death eater masks in a nearby arm chair. 'Who knew he could do magic like that.' She added with a giggle.

'Do you want a drink or anything, a bite to eat? The house elf has made some cakes for the guests when they arrive later.'

Hopefully if Ana gradually brought Nessa into the party atmosphere then she'd be less inclined to leave, especially given the way she'd reacted when Anastasia had mentioned a party, which she'd quickly managed to tone as a little get together. Little did Nessa know that her parents would possibly be arriving in less than an hour.

It still bemused the witch of particular peculiarities that she was no longer a resident at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite his hesitation, the Headmaster and close relative – though through what means Isadora could not claim to know personally – had allowed her to continue living as she wished to; i.e. in Hogsmeade with her husband. The law had been broken some time ago. She would not have liked to have attested to whether their negligence to file for a separation had been out of laziness, inbred contempt of the idea, or perhaps even real affection. In truth, it was possibly a combination of both but more so the first and a general contentedness with the way their lives had been elapsing more or less unburdened. Until of course, New Year.

The wonderful, pureblood, party princess could only wear such a façade for so long. There was a reason she was in Ravenclaw, after all. She was much more interested in winding her legs underneath herself and setting a book demurely in her lap to peruse while sipping at cocoa that that their elf had dutifully made. As the decorations for the party had gone up that afternoon, she’d eyed her chaise lounge from her periphery, her hands grasping absently, mournfully by her sides. Nevertheless, both Notts knew that there had to come a time when they would be thrust rather unceremoniously into the limelight but however much Isadora enjoyed parties – which, mind you, wasn’t much sometimes – she didn’t know how long she could fix a smile upon her face and thus it had led her to sit before her mirrors for the latter part of the afternoon, practising.

When the door to their bedroom opened, the full measure of vanity in which she had been indulging washed over her and the painful smile she’d been trying to stretch across her face dropped like a sack of bricks. She rubbed her mouth, glancing up into the mirror to look at her husband. A little colour, not painted their by her own careful hand with aid of brushes and powder, rose in her cheeks and Isadora looked down at her table, eyeing the diamonds peeping out from under a white sugar paper wrapping, amidst a powder blue box with that famous logo imprinted in black upon the top – one made famous by Audrey Hepburn, a man, and a cat named Cat. The earrings had been a present from her father, seemingly in gross refute of the reason why she’d had to marry into the Nott family in the first place. Apparently penniless was no longer something quietly associated with the Malfoys. What timing.

“Perhaps,” she considered modestly, pressing absently against the silken material. The blabbering witch had promised a dress that felt like water and flowed like a river of silver. Isadora, upon slipping it over her narrow frame, had even been granted the meander of the river within her body. It made her feel grown up, as bizarre as such a statement was. She’d never considered herself a child, of course, but caught within the silken confines of this grandeur with shimmering diamond waiting to be placed through her earlobes, she felt all of a sudden caught between a childhood she’d never had and a womanhood she was not entirely sure she wanted. She couldn’t deny the strange feeling of sexual control. She felt attractive and, devoid of humility or not, indeed, as beautiful as he said. Suddenly, though, she wanted her nighty back, and her book and her cocoa.

Isadora’s fingers snuck beneath the sugar paper and she lifted out one of the earrings that immediately began to shimmer in the low light of the bedroom. She held it up to her ear, balancing the hook on her finger, and sucked her lower lip into her mouth. Bringing her other hand up, Isadora gently pressed the wire through the small hole in her lobe. Then, with the weight of the earring, and then the other, came the inevitable feelings of anxiety as the weight of hope and the oppressive reality that they needed to make a good impression settled on her shoulders. With shaking fingers, Isadora picked up her liquid liner and gently applied it before putting more eye shadow on to smoothen everything in that area and make it blend nicely. It was all she could do, really – preen and poke at herself. She felt as though the longer she did that, the less time she’d have to spend downstairs – but Alexander’s presence meant her time in hiding was up. They had to go and be pleasant now.

Rising from her stool, the dress shimmered and flowed down around her as promised – like water. Indeed, she even possessed the meandering curves she’d been thinking about, that she could never have imagined that the seamstress would be able to create. Twilfitt and Tatting’s had outdone themselves – in a big way, too. She supposed that their custom and their gold was enough to make any extra little bit of bother worthwhile. After all, Isadora was a giant beacon of advertising for them that evening and the cream of the pureblood crop would be there, all dull and uninspired, just waiting for the next thing to fritter their money away at. A dress they couldn’t hope to wear and do justice to was probably just the thing they needed. She could already imagine Cora Yaxley splitting the sides of a reproduction before screaming that they hadn’t done enough to make her look beautiful, all of the seamstresses unwilling to vocalise that a buffer on her face, injections to take the fat from her backside, and all the make up in the world couldn’t make her look beautiful.

“And you,” she appraised, walking towards him to straighten the lapels of his robes – a habit, more than there being anything amiss with them, “look very handsome.” Isadora smoothed the fabric out under her palms. “Tonight will either be wonderful and we’ll have to host again or it’ll be dreadful and your mother can spare us or bask in the satisfaction of showing us how a real witch runs a party,” Isadora sniffed affectedly and rolled her eyes with a derisive look. She was torn on that front. She wanted to do well but not at the expense of having to host another party any time soon and though she would have been happy to fail – bizarre though the idea seemed to her – she also didn’t want her mother-in-law to enact the example of how it should be done. She didn’t think her short temper would spare her an entire evening of humiliation without one tantrum or perhaps a glass hurled furiously at something – or someone, most naturally an elf.

“Perhaps we’ll only be pressed to take the New Year,” she suggested optimistically, brushing invisible lint off of his shoulders, stroking her palms across him in broad, soothing motions. “That can be our party piece in the pureblood calendar of outings,” she rolled her eyes again and passed a smirk up to him, the sparkle in her grey, Malfoy gaze reflecting her facetiousness. It was as important to her as the next pureblood, of course, but even so, she couldn’t help but feel put out by all of the madness such an event had required and she wished that Alexander hadn’t been forced to go to all the trouble he had done. Yet, it was their first party and she knew that it was important really. Perhaps her pragmatism was getting in the way of splendour she’d not really known unless with her grandparents. Perhaps the trouble was going to be worth it. Perhaps.

Out of everything her parents had tried to teach her, Nessa was the most vehemently against parties. It wasn't because she didn't like getting dressed up or anything like that - more because she had never found herself to be someone that fit in. Now, everything was much worse. She had no choice but to pretend she belonged, when really she couldn't. She hadn't spoken to her parents in months - had not replied to their furious letters after she disappeared. But a part of her thought that they must be especially dense to not have realized that she was still in London proper.

When Anastasia had mentioned a party, Nessa had seized up, knowing that her parents would undoubtedly be there. If she even considered them parents anymore. She certainly wasn't theirs. She couldn't remember who had asked - maybe it was Nathaniel. But apparently it was strange that she cared more to find out about the girl they had sent away than about who her parents were. Nessa had started to doubt that she was anything other than a Muggleborn, if only because it seemed rare that witches and wizards were up for adoption unless the parents were dead. And a part of her felt like that could not be true. Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. But somehow this other girl was more important.

For someone with a vendetta, and someone so angry, even Nessa herself found it strange that all of her anger led to wanting to help someone else. At least she wasn't simply doing it to be spiteful, she supposed.

Anastasia's words caught her attention, though, and Nessa looked up from her hands. She was not, by any means, dressed for the party she did not see coming. But at least she was comfortable, unlike the crazy women who would don absurdly high heels and deal with being off-balance the entire night.

"Guests?" she asked slowly, lifting an eyebrow.

As much as Nessa had always wanted to look after Anastasia - which probably stemmed from having been completely unable to protect the girl she had been unaware of for so many years - she could not help but be irritated. The Nott girl was rather like a sister to her in some ways, though Nessa had never been too brilliant at family things. Now, she wished she had not agreed to drop by for the evening. What had she been expecting, though, really? In hindsight, she registered that Anastasia was the sort of person who would help her make a good cover story. Nobody would suspect her of doing anything... well, suspect, if she had a little sister figure in her life. If she seemed so kind and so genuine.

That wasn't, of course, to say that Nessa didn't care. She did. But just because something could help her down the road did not make that something illegitimate.

"I thought you said there were only a few of them? Why does the place need to be bigger?" She asked, hoping that Anastasia's brother was merely trying to impress the little group that his sister had suggested. Nessa crossed her arms in front of her chest, furrowing her brow in Anastasia's direction, not quite sure if she was willing to stay and find out.

Alexander:

Alexander smirked as Isadora sidled across the room to pamper and pat him down. He certainly liked the loving attention she gave him, even if it was only second nature. To Alexander it mean't that he was doing something right, something that had kept her bound to him like the ring on his finger.

His hands found her waist although his eyes remain fixed upon her steel grey eyes. To some they would perhaps seem cold, uninviting, hard to read. Why it certainly held true that Isadora was difficult to get to know they were anything but cold. Mystifying would be the word the handsome Nott would used. He liked that she didn't show much emotion, it made her more direct and intriguing.

He hadn't thought about hosting again for he'd been too busy focused on hosting the current evening. Hours spent planning the itinerary, hours spent sneaking into the Nott Manor and stealing boxes from the attic that had antiques and belongings he could use to decorate the cottage and hours of expanding the size of the house had distracted him from anything past new years eve. Isadora had suddenly caused quite a panic inside of him.

'It wouldn't be too big a problem if we hosting again, Dora.' Alexander told her, his cheek bones raised into a sort of smile at how his wife had thought of not wanting to host again. Isadora was unlike the other pure bloods, she was unusual and much like her eyes it made her evermore intriguing. She didn't care much for socials and parties instead she'd much rather curl up in bed with a book and a slightly crackling fire.

'Look at it this way. If we're asked to host again then it just means that we did a splendid job.' He added, his finger tracing up the side of her body and lifting her chin so that the blonde was gazing up at him.

'Did I tell you that you look beautiful?' He repeated kissing her lightly on the lips.

-----
Anastasia:

Anastasia, who had began to make her way across the room to the kitchen to fetch some cakes before Nessa could reply, froze in her tracks (and this time not because of the snow). She'd suddenly become some comfortable with her victory of finally persuading Nessa to come to the party that she'd completely forgotten how much she'd downplayed the whole thing.

'When I said a few people I mean't, like, maybe forty...' Anastasia replied guiltily plucking a number from mid-air which only made sense. After all if the Notts and Malfoys arrived then that'd be almost twenty and then... Anastasia soon began to realise that the number of guests would perhaps be closer to sixty than forty. Not that Nessa needed to know that.

'But don't worry!' Anastasia added hastily hurrying back over to the fireplace and sliding the box of floo power into a pocket to prevent any chance of Nessa leaving. 'Most of them will just be Notts and Malfoys, maybe a few others and no doubt people will want to see what Alexander has done with the place there'll be people everywhere so we can easily sneak off.' Rounding off her sentence with a sweet smile.

A carefully crafted blonde eyebrow arched curiously at the Nott man’s assertion that it would be no tragedy if they had to throw another party. A dubious look curled his wife’s upper lip in a vague sense of disdain and she sighed, offering a half-shrug. In truth, she despised people in her home. It reminded her far too much of what it had been like before they’d lost the Manor, when Death Eaters wandered in and out freely as though it was their home, too, and not a once great seat of pureblood influence and power. It was neither now; in fact, it was the home of Death Eaters. It mad her skin crawl.

“I could live contentedly without the company,” she articulated her thoughts somewhat evasively, reminding herself that it was not completely her home. There was no blood tie to this cottage. She didn’t feel it within the dull thud of her heart. She wanted her manor. She wanted her home. But of course it was left to ruin in the tasteless hands of vampires and dirty little Half-Bloods on the make under desperate Death Eaters without a sense of wit in their sum, barring her husband and other marriage relatives of course. Until she had her way, this was home – and she didn’t want people in it.

A true smile cracked the steely features of the Malfoy woman – well, Nott woman now technically speaking. She met the kiss, wishing despite herself that it would last longer and that she could entice him backwards, across the sheets before dipping under them to hide with her in the comfort of each other. It was a strange sort of comfort, now. She didn’t expect that it had embroiled any love for the other in either of them but she supposed familiarity bred some sense of likeness in feeling. She liked having Alexander near. She couldn’t explain her reasoning for that but it comforted her that he was, especially in that moment.

“It never hurts to hear it,” she replied softly, lifting her hand to brush a stray eyelash from his cheekbone. She let it twinkle away to the carpet and leaned up for another kiss, smiling into it before pulling away, knowing she’d lose her lipstick if she lost herself in the kiss as well. It didn’t matter that she wanted her arm chair back and the book on rare potion ingredients she’d been reading. One had been changed into a dining chair, the other had been air lifted upstairs and out of the way. They had a party to go to; to run. She honestly couldn’t wait for them to leave.

“We had better go and show our faces so we’re about when they arrive, hadn’t we?” She asked with a dismal look, a smile twitching at the sides of her lips despite herself.

Nessa's look of shock morphed into one of outright disapproval, the anxiety playing across her features without much thought to how it might make the younger girl feel. It wasn't intended as a slight on Anastasia's person, but there was a high likelihood that it would seem that way to the Nott daughter. "Forty?" she questioned slowly, trying not to bite her words out or seem too very angry by it. She had some sense of propriety, after all. And she did care about the girl. So it wasn't as though she truly meant to offend. It was more that she was so ill-prepared to take on meeting with her parents again that it had gotten the better of her.

Typically, she did not let her emotions show so plainly - unless, perhaps, she felt somehow superior to the person in question. That did not apply to Anastasia, though. So she did what she could to rain in the sick feeling that tore through her stomach at the idea of having so many pureblooded family members around her.

"You can't pretend that only Malfoys and Notts will attend, though," Nessa replied, giving Anastasia a look that clearly suggested she could read what the other girl's worries were. "It never seems to work that way when parties like these are held. We know that as well as anybody."

And she truly did, even as someone who was not properly from a pureblooded family. But no one around her knew the truth, so the charade could be kept up. It had to be, really. Otherwise her family would be scrutinized, and as much as Nessarose was comfortable with the idea of making their life harder, she wanted to be the one that caused it. Not the confused glances or disapproving comments of the other families around them. She wanted them to know that it had come from her, and that she wasn't going to lie down and pretend that the other girl had not existed.

Although she, herself, doubted her actual blood status was that of the people she would be around that night, it hardly mattered now that she was also a werewolf. Perhaps she should have mentioned that to Anastasia before walking into her brother's home. But then, she had no way of knowing whether or not that would cause any disarray within their friendship. So she decided to hold that information back until she got a handle on what she would be facing in the event that she stayed for the evening.

"I don't intend on ditching you, Ana," she decided finally, letting her shoulders deflate slightly. "But if we see my parents I make no promises that I will stay and play nice. The fight we're having is far too big to try and tackle at a party as public as this one," she added, trying to add layers to her story so it would seem less like a daughter avoiding her parents and more like a disagreement that would take resolving in a more quiet and personal setting. It wasn't entirely untrue, of course, that she would prefer the conversation - or argument, if it came down to that - to be between the three (or four, if The Girl was still safe) of them. "Just tell me if I need to wear something nice. Because I obviously didn't bring anything too spectacular, and I know how our sort can get."

Anastasia:

All of a sudden Anastasia was thinking that she would have been best leaving Nessa in the snowy streets of Knockturn Alley by her reaction. Anastasia had completely forgotten that Nessa's parents could possibly arrive, perhaps because Ana never really noticed the adults of who they were unlike her brother. Maybe that was one of the reasons her Father seemed to be disappointed in her? The Gryffindor simply wasn't interested in a pure blood heavy society. On trips to Diagon Alley she'd noticed the homeless over the displays in Twitliff and Tattings.

'I didn't think - I'm sorry - I'm sure they wont turn up!' Ana blurted out rather disconnectedly in an attempt to save the situation and hopefully make Nessa feel more at ease, not that she would do.

The Gryffindor clearly hadn't thought her plan through. Of course Nessa would need to dress to impress, as all pure blood socials do. Anastasia her self had an evening gown hung up on the back of the guest room door.

'I'm sure you'll squeeze into one of Dora's.' Ana replied as she weighed up Nessa's size. 'She's just getting ready I think.' Ana added rather solemly thinking it could be rude to interrupt. Then again Alexander and Allyson always barged into her room whenever they felt like it, surely it only seemed fair that she had the right to do so too.

'Come on.' Ana said, turning on her heel and heading for the stairs.


'Hey, Isadora.' Anastasia said non chalantly as she invited herself into the bedroom and walked right past the married couple towards the wardrobe door, opening it as though it were her own.

'You don't have a spare dress do you? I bumped into Nessa and figured it would be nice to invite her over this evening whilst she wasn't doing anything. Only thing is she doesn't have a- Ah ha!'

Ana stopped her rambling as she plucked out a peacock blue evening gown and held it up to the light. 'What do you think of this? It'll go really nice with Dora's pearls too.' Anastasia stated ignoring Alexander's rather stunned silence.

The privacy and sanctity of the Nott bedroom was disturbed seemingly irrevocably and from the moment the door opened without any ceremony, Isadora knew that she would be spending the following weeks largely upset by the room which had lost all of its charm in a single breath. Her hands stilled on her husband’s lapels which a niggling feeling of anxiety had made her take to and readjust in order to smooth them back out once more. She shrunk in a little bit closer to him reflexively but her temper flared and all skittishness in the face of company evaporated as anger stabbed through her and a desire to reduce her sister-in-law to ash on the spot welled up within her. Perhaps had Alexander not been there, she might have done it, too.

Had there been a note of request in the younger Nott’s desire to provide her friend with some clothing, Isadora would have been a little bit kinder about saying ‘no.’ Instead, her wardrobe being rifled through and the suggestion that her jewellery be given up to be worn about someone else’s neck only served to make a little bit of magic fritz at the ends of her fingers and her eyes narrow into a stormy glare as she truly began to consider turning Anastasia into something other than her irritating self – preferably something small that Isadora could trap in a jam jar and leave in the cupboard to die.

Sliding her hands down and away from Alexander, Isadora had to remind herself that for tonight she was clad as a lady and a lady had to act as such. She wasn’t suddenly going to play the part of a charity-giver, though. She was perfectly happy to submit money into a useless fund but not her clothes and, above all, not her jewellery. She’d gone long enough without any – now, with a modest collection, she didn’t want to share, either. Sighing tersely, Isadora took her wand from her bag and flicked it at the wardrobe, sealing it shut with a touch of magic. She then turned fully to look at Anastasia before closing up her vanity, a pointed look accompanying the disappearance of the jewellery and other trinkets.

“You want something to wear do you, Nessarose?” Isadora asked airily, tossing her bag onto her bed before folding her fingers tighter around her wand. She approached Anastasia carefully, placing one foot purposefully in front of the other and extended a hand for the dress, slipping a cool eye scornfully over the Gryffindor’s features. When she took it, she cracked a smile that bore a darker edge to it and the undertone that followed was enough to reinforce that: “touch or presume right anything that does not belong to you in this house again and I will cut off your fingers.”

Then, in a louder tone she announced to the rest of the group as she turned, inspecting the dress: “I think this would be perfect for you, Nessarose. But perhaps not with pearls. You wouldn't suit ostentation -- and what is it they say? Less is more, isn't that right?”

Isadora turned her wand over and fetched the shoes that matched and drew out the jewellery that was cheap and cheerful in comparison to what she wore and the lines of pearls wrapped up in boxes and hidden by tissue paper. She held it out to Nessarose and gave a steadier smile but one that was still icy and this time it had a touch to it that insisted that there was no room for rejection. This was as much generosity as Isadora could manage for herself and so to reinforce her point she opened the door with her wand and gestured along the hall to the bathroom where she told Nessa to get changed.

“You had better hurry,” Isadora added, handing over the dress. “Before the clock strikes twelve and all that – the party begins soon.”