SPELLBOUND | remus lupin

twenty-one - keep your head up

JUL, 1976
ATHOLL HOUSE

Lorelai Sanders pulled hard on her daughter's hair, but she didn't flinch. Didn't move a muscle.

Barely a month and Camilla had displeased her mother into the silent treatment already. Only a stage two on the scale of displeasure, nevertheless it was bound to get worse. Without speaking to her, she had somehow convinced Camilla to let her do her hair for the gala that was in full force beneath them. Eerie waltzing music drifted up the stairs, and when it was over it would be trapped here, gathered in the walls like webs and dust, an echo and a reminder of what was happening here tonight. Camilla would be the last to appear downstairs this evening. After all, it was her birthday. Her engagement.

Her mother tugged on her hair rather hard again, and Camilla had to entertain the idea that she had reached the third stage already.

The door to the bedroom squeaked on its hinges, and only the top of Parby's head and ears were visible in the vanity mirror as he announced, "The guests are waiting for the young Miss Sanders, madam."

"Tell them we will be down shortly," her mother dismissed, and the door closed again. Camilla looked up in the mirror, and green eyes met green eyes. The silence remained, even when her last curl was pulled into place, the last touches were added to her eyes and lips, and she was ushered to the top of the steps to make her descent. Nor did her mother relent when she thanked her for her help, which quashed the tinge of hope and resigned her to an evening wondering what more she could possibly do wrong.

Keep your head up, Camilla told herself, and entered the gala. While the music swelled, the noise of the guests died down, and she let a careful, arrogant smile cross her face. The room was filled with the upper echelons of pureblood society. In fact, she could probably trace the lineage of every witch and wizard in this room several centuries back. In the brief moments she was above the crowd, she was able to pick out the Black sisters and their cousin, the lanky Regulus (though no Sirius - Camilla wouldn't dare ask but she would wonder about it all evening). On the other side of the room by the fireplace stood Lucius Malfoy, seemingly entirely uninterested in her entrance. Keep your head up. In the centre of a gaggle of elderly witches and wizards were her grandmother and grandfather, her mother's parents and the ones who gifted Atholl House to them those many years ago. And there was her father, just beyond. His look of faint pride reminded her of the person she needed to be tonight. That pride could vanish in moments, and the last thing she wanted was to disappoint him. Keep your head up. Camilla approached the bottom of the steps and when she could no longer keep her head up, she had to look ahead and see what was waiting for her. Evan Rosier, dressed impeccably in dress robes of pure black and burgundy lining, with a hand extended towards her.

Camilla didn't hesitate when she reached him. She took his hand and did her best to not to look him in the eye as he led her into the first dance of the evening. She needed to be perfect, and did exactly what was required of her. She moved through the steps, through the motions, and when the floor once again belonged to the rest of the guests at the gala, Camilla stepped back, eager to not be touched by him once more. The hard part was over. The bile that had been rising in her throat subsided now his hands were no longer on her, and only now did she fully look at him. He was looking back. Rosier's eyes were as cold as usual, almost unsettlingly so, but there was a curious expression on his face. She wanted to slap it right off. Disfigure it. Teach him that he could never look at her like that.

Before her hand could even twitch towards her wand, the true star of the gala entered. Her mother loomed above them all only part of the way down the stairs, a perfect picture of elegance and grace, but so sharp that her edges seemed jagged to Camilla, like cut glass. A violet dress swept her long figure, accentuated by the coiffed red up-do and an emerald the size of a bird's egg nestled at her bosom. The emerald was a Yaxley heirloom, and it was ever more apparent that this gala was a gift to Camilla's grandparents, a show for them to let them know their daughter didn't make a mistake in marrying out of the true pureblooded families. That by forcing her daughter to marry back into the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she wasn't a failure and that their family line would stay pure.

"Thank you all for coming tonight." The music fell silent momentarily. "This ball is in honour of my beautiful daughter, Camilla, who has truly become a capable young witch this year. And it goes without saying that our gathering is also in celebration of her betrothal to a fine wizard of the Rosier family. We hope to forge an even stronger allegiance in the years to come." And with that, the music swelled once more around them. Camilla almost expected her mother to break her silence now and turned to anticipate a soft word, but as she breezed past, she didn't even glance in her direction. The violet-clad woman vanished into the crowd.

"You know, I can see why your mother is your boggart." Camilla's eyes snapped to Rosier's face, which had grown amused. A sharp blade of anger stabbed at her sternum. It twisted the more he spoke, but she stood in place, acutely aware of what she might do if she moved. "Your father too. They're very intimidating. Practically bullied my poor parents into this match." She set her jaw. The effort it took not to explode was immense. Rosier dangled these things above her head, his twisted idea of a taunt, or even threat. But... there was nothing she could do, not at an event as public as this. Not with her mother, father, grandparents, and some of the most important families in the Wizarding World mere steps away. And he knew it.

"Nothing to say, Camilla?" She bit her tongue, and Rosier took the silence as an invitation to approach her, the volume of his voice dropping with proximity. From the outside, it would look like the newly engaged pair were having a private moment, even more so as his hand on her back pulled her closer. "That girl though... She was so familiar," he leaned in close to her ear, "but then again, you've hurt a lot of little Mudbloods in the past." Claws gripped her stomach and she had to stop herself from jerking away from the breath on her skin. Did he really know? Did he really remember what happened at the start of their second year? Triumph bloomed across his face, in the twist of his smirk, and then that look again.

Sudden, fierce panic jolted Camilla and elicited her default response; she reached behind her to clasp Rosier's wrist, and whispered to him lowly, coolly, "Keep your hands where they belong, or I'll kill you." When she pulled back, he had gone exceptionally pale. She had never made a threat she didn't follow through on. Her reputation had been built on it and Rosier had been around long enough to fear her still. When she released his wrists, he stepped back and muttered something about going to get a drink. He disappeared so fast he could have disapparated.

Camilla excused herself to go to the bathroom, and promptly threw up.