Chapter 7:
The Edge of the Kaleidoscope


"The moment of change
is the only poem."


The night was soft, like the gentle rustle of a beautiful dress, or the touch of wind on a shut window-pane, and Ginny slept soundly, with no unpleasant dreams to unsettle her. Her night was a calm, peaceful sort, and even the lack of the typical warmth of the Burrow failed to disturb her, or force her to wake up in the middle of the night.

Aunt Muriel was to give her a tour of the entire mansion, the day next, and the redhead woke up in a tangle of soft sheets, only to rush to dress up, as she realized she had overslept. Aunt Muriel would - no doubt - have her head on a steel platter for such a mistake, and Ginny was soon bounding down the staircase. She jumped down three, even four, steps at a moment, and the natural result was that tripped halfway down the staircase. Her ankle twisted rather painfully, and she was sent flying most gracelessly down the remaining length of the flight of steps.

-- She fell in a little, rather crumpled heap at Aunt Muriel’s feet.



“How unladylike,” the old woman sniffed, quite truly shocked at this state of affairs, the moment she saw that Ginny had not injured herself, and the fall had been one that led to no grave hurt. “When will you learn the manners of the rich and the famous, Ginevra?”

“When I become one of them,” Ginny replied through gritted teeth, as she helped her own self to her feet.

The fact was, she knew more manners than most – and that was a surprise in itself, for she had been raised in a house with six elder brothers, none of whom [save Percy] could ever eat in a very gentlemanly way – and, to be honest, she did not wish Aunt Muriel to think otherwise. She had hoped she would impress the old woman, at least through her knowledge of proper etiquette, but it seemed now that fate had other things in mind, for her.

It always did.

“Ah yes, that is quite a drawback,” Aunt Muriel admitted, quite generously. “I understand you are not used to such magnificence, Ginevra, and I am glad I could offer you a chance to prove your worth, and marry into a family that is - let us hope - much better off, fortune-wise, than your own.”

Ginny let her rant, because she knew that, at the end of the day, Great-Aunt Muriel was Great-Aunt Muriel, and no amount of interruptions could make her otherwise. They had breakfast in one-sided silence – Ginny pursed her lips, and forced herself to keep quiet throughout the length of the meal, while Aunt Muriel relentlessly plowed on about things that would be “better if weeded out of your personality” and might “earn you a marriage in a decent family."

When the meal had finally been wrapped up, the tour that followed almost came as a relief. Not because it meant that Aunt Muriel was silent for a while, but because it ensured that Aunt Muriel became too smug by - and too interested in describing - the glory of her own place, to pay much attention to the way Ginny’s hair stood up "in all twenty-thousand directions," or what was wrong with her “gait.”

Thankfully for Ginny, her Great-Aunt left her in absolute peace, after the tour of the Mansion. But that was, of course, too good a thing to last – come evening, Muriel had pushed open the door of Ginny’s room without question, and stepped in. The first thing Muriel did, after that, was to tell Ginny of for “lounging on the bed like a lazy, little baby monkey.”

“Excuse me?” Ginny asked incredulously, too stunned by the comparison to even protest properly. “You are talking to your own niece, Aunt Muriel, not to your pe -- forget it, what the heck.”

“That word,” Aunt Muriel said. “Is most uncouth. I shall not have you say it again, at least while within the confines of my own house, Ginevra.”

“Do you mean 'forget it', or 'the heck'?” Ginny asked cheerfully, but Aunt Muriel’s face seemed to swell like an angry, angry red balloon, and Ginny hastened to correct her mistake. “I meant –”

“You meant exactly what you said,” Aunt Muriel cut through. “Your unladylike behaviour appalls me, Ginevra, and I shall write to your mother about it, let that be known to you. It seems your parents –“ she glance at the watch, and her mouth formed into an 'O' of surprise. “Seven o’ clock already? Oh my. I came to inform you, Ginevra” – and Aunt Muriel's voice turned, once more, a lofty that Ginny was beginning to loathe more than ever – “That the Count of Albastor has thrown a grand ball today, in honour of his son. I have, of course, received an official invite.”

Aunt Muriel looked quite smug at this declaration, but Ginny only raised an eyebrow. “So?” she asked, very pointedly.

Muriel glared at her. “I am one hundred and twelve years old, Ginevra!” she scoffed. “You ought to know it is my place no longer to waste my time at silly, little parties, but to reign in my mansion like the queen that I am.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ginny said, and now she actually grinned – it seemed to her, for the first time in quite a number of years. Or, at least, since the moment she had stepped into this place. “I thought you believed balls like this were an honour – but, oh, forget that. Let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we? What do you want me to do, for you?”

Aunt Muriel smiled, a smile that was by no means grandmother-like or gentle. But it was a smile nevertheless, and it was the closest Muriel could come to being human, Ginny secretly thought. “You shall go in my stead, of course,” she announced, with some pride. “There are men of the finest station, invited to that ball! We shall hope that you have managed to ensnare one in your clutches, by the end of the night.”

“Excuse me?” Ginny asked, her mouth falling open. She was not what they call 'girly,' and she hated fancy things, and loved rough weather, and Quidditch, and the feel of a freshly-polished broomstick, and bitter winds; but, in her heart of hearts, she was also a girl, and could not deny that the nature of the ball pleased her – she had dreamed, many times, of pretty things such as these, and the fact that it could be turned into a reality was very beautiful. But if Aunt Muriel believed she would hunt out a man, on an occasion such a this, the woman was sorely mistaken – there was no way that Ginny going to ruin the realization of a childhood dream for the sake of some stupid whim of her Aunt!

“What?” Aunt Muriel asked, slightly taken aback. “Do you not adore the prospect, Ginevra?”

“You expect me to return with a man?” Ginny demanded, with narrowed eyes.

Aunt Muriel looked even more taken aback now. Outraged, even. “Ginevra Weasley!” she scolded. “Do you think that is honourable, or even ladylike? I would die of shock, if you returned with – returned with –“ she looked so angry, it was hard for her to string two words, together. “I only wish you to experience the beauty of such an event and to - of course - find yourself an appropriate man. That is why your mother sent you here, after all. We can not dash her hopes now, can we now?”

She sounded lofty again, and Ginny rolled her eyes, fully aware that this was not why her mother had sent her here. But argument with Aunt Muriel was like slamming your head, repeatedly and with great force, into the nearest brick-wall, and Ginny did not wish to attempt it in the least.

“Fine,” she said. "But you should know, I can't find a man. You see, Aunt, I'm not even pretty –“ Ginny knew very well that she was, but this way her one way out, and she was not stupid enough not to grab it, as quickly as she could - “and no one's going to fall for me."

“Don't be stupid,” Aunt Muriel snapped. “The hair can’t be helped, of course – must it always be so red, Ginevra? – but you're plenty fine, other than that. Of course, if your eyes could be a little less further apart, or your nose a bot straighter, or your lips more bow-shaped -- but, ah well, we shall have to make do with what little assets you do have, shall we not? I have said it before, and now I say it again: in the city of love, even the brainless land into good fortune. You don't have much of a brain, perhaps, but you have a bit of looks, Ginevra -" Coming from Muriel, that was like the world's biggest compliment - "and I'm sure you know how to make good use of them. If your mother is to believed --” Aunt Muriel rolled her eyes - "You've made plenty use of them, before."

This woman was, very clearly, impossible. Ginny nodded, and turned away, but Aunt Muriel stayed her with a hand on the former’s shoulder.

“What now?” Ginny asked, rather irritably.

“You don't have a dress for the ball,” Aunt Muriel said with a shrug. “You can't possibly go in your rags –“ she ignored the murderous look on Ginny’s face – “because I honestly don't want you to ruin my reputation, Ginevra. You go as a representative of my house, and I would have you bear that in mind at all times and costs, even on occasion of death – should that occasion meet you at the ball.”

WHAT THE HECK? Ginny’s mouth fell open, but Aunt Muriel absolutely ignored that. “Come with me,” she said, snapping her fingers, and then Ginny had followed her, out of her temporary bedroom and into the corridor outside, and they were descending the grand staircase, Aunt Muriel purposefully, Ginny with a roll of her eyes.

*

[] Reference:

+ "The moment of change is the only poem." - Adrienne Rich.