[Dalemain Estate] All is Vanity, All is Fair (Astoria)

Guests were not a regularity at Dalemain. The centuries old manor house and estate of the Abercrombie family was notoriously secretive and private. Set in the midst of several square miles of hill and forest in some of the most remote land in the country the estate had been home to the family since their migration down from Scotland nearly 1000 years ago. Unless one was an Abercrombie by blood there was no way to aparate into the property.

Since before the war the vast halls of Dalemain had been a somber place. Shrouded in secrecy, collusion, and paranoia the house had been all but shut down from 1997 to 2000 for the war and then the death of the lady of the house, Victoria Abercrombie. The family and the staff were well aware that the war and fallout had been abnormally difficult for a young woman of Farren's tender age. Now the lady of the house, the young heiress seldom had company at the house even once the house had come out of mourning. Though no one spoke of it there was no great secret in the fact that the majority of the lady's companions had perished in the war.

News that a one Miss Astoria Iolanthe Greengrass was coming to stay for a weekend had not been taken lightly in the great northern stately home. The trip from the southern coast of England to the north west Lake District was nearly as far as one could go within their country and anything but a port key would be too tiring and risky as Miss Greengrass had never been to Dalemain before. The port key, an old french fashion magazine, had been delivered to the Greengrass home on Friday evening when elves arrived to pick up her trunk and carry it to Dalemain in advance of her arrival.

Dalemain staff and residents made no short order of preparing for Miss Greengrass. The rooms were cleaned and polished, new magical candles installed in all the sconces and chandeliers, floors polished, rugs beaten out and cleaned, and more food than any two girls could ever consume had been ordered for the kitchens. As Pyxis was already occupying one of the guest apartments in the guest wing, Astoria would spend the weekend in an elegant family room at the end of the hall Farren lived on.

The truth behind all the fuss was that there were very few ladies like Miss Greengrass left. Like Farren she was a relic of yesteryear when pureblood ladies were raised to be valuable first and productive second. Where manners and breeding were more important than nearly anything and society was controlled from opulent parlors and ballrooms. Not only had the war changed society it had literally driven ladies like this into near extinction, the death of many of Farren's peers and friends in the war had put a serious dent in the already minuscule pool of young purebloods of influential and wealthy status.

Though Farren was only 3 years older than Astoria it had been even longer since she had seen her with regularity. Though they were well aquainted from society affairs and Astoria's older sister whom shared a dormitory hall with Farren, the Abercrombie girl had departed Hogwarts at the end of her 6th year long before Astoria was to graduate. Even with some society events having passed in that five years between where Farren and Astoria would have seen each other it wasn't like they had time to continue any kind of relationship. Closer in age with her elder sister, Ren had stayed slightly better in touch with Daphne but now as she was away that too had fallen off. Not that the lack of correspondence was a reason to be truly out of touch in their world what with the papers and the gossip and news about town sort of mentality people of their breeding had.

LIfe moved quickly during times of war and much had happened. Farren's life would have been easily followed in the Prophet and general gossip. However distorted those truths might be there tended to always be something of truth behind even the most sensational stories. Now though there was very little for papers to wag their tongues over as far as she was concerned. Her adult life was positively boring compared to her teenage days. The fact that her cousin, Pyxis the debonair ex-Death Eater, lived under her roof since his release from Azkaban the previous year did nothing to improve the quiet life of the heiress. Most of her public appearances were at the ministry where she was becoming something of a self made lobbyist for traditionalists.

It was arranged that Miss Greengrass would arrive via port key at 10am on Saturday. Plenty of time to have breakfast cleared away but more than enough time for the young lady to settle into her room before lunch. She'd be greeted by the full household staff in the memorable red foyer before being shown to her room by Farren's lady's maid, Amelia. They assumed she'd want to freshen up and take a brief rest after the long distance trip. At 10:45am the guest would be escorted to the east drawing room where Farren would greet her and they would begin their afternoon of catching up.

At five after ten an elf appeared in the music room where Farren took her weekly piano lesson and notified her that the guest had arrived safely and was settling into her suite with the help of Farren's maid. Until 10:30am the heiress kept at her lesson, though she was already playing at a professional level Farren never stopped pursuing her music and of late was focusing on the works of Liszt for their extremely difficult technical aspect.

As the many clocks of the house chimed at half past the heiress moved from her music room to the planned parlor. She was not afraid to admit to herself that she did feel a tinge of nerves at receiving a house guest like this. Perhaps it was odd but she felt like the girlish friendships of her youth were so far gone she may not know how to conduct herself on such occasions. There had to be a significant difference to holding a friendship with another than with those of your own blood. Her close relationships with her female cousins were hardly comparable, they had to like her, she was their matriarch to be after all.

The room where she was to greet her guest was beautifully appointed. It like most of the parlors or receiving rooms of the home was lined with books, the family collection overflowing from their already massive library. She'd dressed in her usual fashion, a straight silhouette, a modern judgement on what may have once been traditional. Today though she was softer than normal, her long hair was loose, pulled back only at the crown to frame her face. She wore no fine jewels only a pair of opal studs and the long heirloom sterling locket from her mother. Harsh clicks of the small metal hands on the clock were chipping away at her moments to finalize and perfect the meeting. Perhaps she should turn on the wireless to one of the music channels to make the place seem more jolly? No that was bizarre for an afternoon in a parlor. No matter really, everything would be fine, Astoria would be expecting this and nothing more. They were not so different, it was likely the younger woman was feeling nervous about her visit as well. These days a formal visit to a country manor and being well attended by other's servants was hardly the norm.

Across the large room the door was opened and the family butler entered. "May I present a Miss Astoria Greengrass," he announced formally the guest whom he then ushered politely into the room.

Farren rose from her seat on the sofa a warm smile lighting up her sharp features at the appearance of the familiar woman in her parlor. Still petite and fair though much grown since she'd last seen her Astoria was still very plainly herself and a Greengrass. "Dear Astoria, welcome to Dalemain, we're so pleased to receive you," she held out her hand to her companion, leaning in to politely hug her and mock a kiss on her cheek the way girls in Slytherin house always greeted each other as school girls. "You look so mature and fair, how long has it been since you lost your girlish charm and pluck?" Farren couldn't help but fuss over her a bit the way older girls should do to the younger ones coming up. With enthusiasm she motioned her guest towards the sofa to relax.


@Astoria Greengrass

Dark brows had arched in picturesque disbelief as the green-hazel eyes situated below them flew over the stiff parchment, taking in the elegant, sprawling script. Astoria had needed to re-read the formal invitation several times before she was able to fully process its meaning, so unexpected it was. She had shown her mother to ensure she wasn’t imagining things, and Dahlia Greengrass’s expression of equal surprise reassured her that she, in fact, was not: the youngest Greengrass had been invited to visit the Abercrombie estate in the Lake District for the weekend. Astoria had never been to Dalemain but she was quite familiar with it; in fact, no Pureblooded family with roots as old as Astoria’s did not know the name, especially since the end of the Second War. For at least a year, hardly a day went by that the Abercrombies were not mentioned in the Prophet to some extent or another. Astoria knew the general premise as far as the papers disclosed with a few added details from various pieces of circulating gossip – though, admittedly, the extent of their veracity could not be confirmed – but that was about it. The circumstances were a bit puzzling, – had it to do with her betrothal to Draco, perhaps? – but in any case the Greengrasses had graciously accepted the invitation.

For days afterward the Ravenclaw alumna entertained herself by mentally exploring the possible scenarios. The two young women were friendly with one another, but felt more like acquaintances than actual friends. Astoria and Farren had been schoolmates (though three years apart and in different Houses), but had otherwise had only relatively superficial interactions in years past. Farren had been Housemates with Daphne and was only one year her senior, and thus that pair had built more of a relationship. Astoria was not fond of idle talk – she strongly preferred intellectual discussion – but knew full well that it would be necessary at the onset to establish some sort of common ground. It had been some time since the youngest Greengrass had needed to exercise her “court manners” (as she referred to them) given the political goings-on of late, and was admittedly the tiniest bit apprehensive as to how the encounter might go. With any luck, Farren would have similar misgivings and the weekend would go on without a hitch.

Before she knew it, Saturday morning had arrived and Astoria was overseeing any last-minute addendums to her luggage, which consisted of only one reasonably-sized trunk: she was a practical woman, after all. By far, the most critical component was her arsenal of potions: she had been feeling fairly well all week, thank Merlin, but her attacks could come on quite without warning and the dark-haired witch wanted to be fully prepared. It would put quite the damper on the weekend if she were rendered incapacitated for the duration of her stay, not to mention the potential for gossip. Astoria’s questionable health was more-or-less common knowledge among the innermost Pureblood circles, – it was inevitable – but she was certainly not interested in providing kindling for that fire if at all possible.

At 9:55am, polished slender fingers began idly perusing the contents of the provided Portkey: an old French fashion magazine. Astoria herself was dressed smartly – though perhaps a hair less formally – in a full-length sage-green dress, and jade earrings inlaid in gold paired with several gold bangles around her birdlike wrist.
Ten o’clock ticked nearer, and Astoria braced herself for the familiar – but still most peculiar – jolt behind her navel that would whisk her away some three-hundred-and-fifty miles to the Lake District in just a few short minutes.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Despite her rather frail physical condition, Astoria had nearly managed to master the art of “landing” a Portkey, staggering sideways only slightly as her low-heeled shoes slammed against the flagstones. Her surroundings revolved slowly around her for a moment but her head cleared quickly, and she drew her traveling cloak closer to ward off the spring chill. With a brief nod towards the waiting footman, Astoria allowed herself to be handed up into the waiting carriage.

As Dalemain came into view some time later, Astoria raised an eyebrow approvingly. Her own Hartnoll House was a fine manor, certainly, but its grounds were somewhat less expansive than that of the older estates: Dalemain included, evidently. She sat placidly, hands folded in her lap, as the carriage trundled along to the main entrance. The Abercrombies were taking her visit quite seriously, it seemed: Astoria was greeted by no less than the entire household – minus the heiress herself, of course – and was subsequently shown to her room by Farren’s own lady’s maid, Amelia.
With a word of thanks to the other woman, Astoria allowed herself to sink down on the chaise lounge at the foot of the elegant four-poster canopy bed, resisting the urge to rub her face tiredly for fear of smudging her makeup and having to redo it. She felt well enough thus far but could already feel her energy beginning to drain. Grimacing, she went into her luggage to retrieve a small vial of Strengthening Solution to fortify her for the afternoon to come; it would hardly be good manners to appear dead on her feet so soon after her arrival. The potion also breathed some life into her otherwise-alabaster cheeks, and within seconds she was already feeling much improved.

At quarter-to-eleven there was a soft knock at her door, and moments later she found herself gliding down the hallway behind the butler, admiring the portraiture adorning the paneled walls as the pair made their way to the drawing room where the young women were to meet. Astoria was presented formally, and her heart rate spiked transiently with nerves. She took Farren’s proffered hand and returned the embrace and warm smile, feeling an odd wave of nostalgia at the motion.
“It is wonderful to be here; was delighted to accept your most gracious invitation. Your home is simply stunning,” she added, lifting a fine-boned hand gracefully to indicate her surroundings.
Astoria inclined her head politely at Farren’s subsequent praise, brushing back a stray sable-brown tendril that had sprung loose from her hairpin. She wasn’t quite sure how it had managed to work itself free of its restraints but found she wasn’t particularly bothered by it; comparatively, Farren’s own hairstyle was considerably less formal.
“You are too kind, truly.” The formal exchange of niceties felt like a gear slipping back into place after long disuse, and suddenly all of the manners and poise and what-to-says came flooding back to her.
“It has been much too long: I am so pleased to see you looking so well yourself.”

The nineteen-year-old allowed herself to be guided towards the sofa, politely waiting for Farren to take a seat before doing so herself, settling comfortably but still with her accustomed good posture. Deliberately avoiding the standard ‘How-have-you-been’ and ‘So-tell-me-what’s-new,’ Astoria offered the heiress a warm smile.
“I daresay that was you I heard at the piano when I first arrived? Beautiful – though I’m afraid I couldn’t quite catch enough to identify the composer.” The corners of her small mouth turned down prettily at that; but one side turned up again at her next comment. “My musical prowess seems woefully neglected in comparison, I regret to admit.”

Farren thanked Astoria for her compliments on her home politely and the pair put their niceties out of the way. They were not exactly close friends nor even friends with a true emotional connection. Like most people the heiress still spoke to Astoria was an acquaintance who had some tie that neither girl had asked for that bound them together. A sort of misery loves company connection only their misery was that of most's fairy tales.

Seated comfortably again Astoria wasted no time in asking asinine questions about how things had been getting on. Anyone with a basic level of literacy and exposure knew how things had been going for the heiress. She'd lost her mother, she'd been informally investigated along with her family, her father was suffering some form of extreme grieving for his wife, and in his absence Farren had been given the mantle of family representative in the press. Just two weeks before a picture in the Prophet of she and her elder cousin, Pyxis Hartridge Abercrombie, at the ministry working together in a public forum had run at the top of the political section. It was very clear what she was doing and how her life had changed since Astoria last saw her.

"Ah, yes that was me," she confirmed with a little nod. Smiling at Astoria's self deprecating comment she waved her hand dismissively, "It just means your parents didn't force you to practice twice a day before you went to Hogwarts I assume." She almost smirked knowing full well Astoria would certainly understand how young ladies such as themselves were drilled from early in childhood on skills a 'lady' should have. "I imagine your drawing or china painting or embroidery are far superior to mine for such things I have no skill and am quite sure my level has not progressed since age nine," again she was ribbing the ultimately useless artistic pursuits ladies were expected to master.

"Actually music is one of the few hobbies I've been able to maintain all this time. I've actually played with the London Magical Symphony a couple of times - only in special situations. I don't fancy myself a concert pianist though I guess if you want to be technical I have the proficiency to do so if I were to ever be in need of a career," Farren was airy and easy going, perhaps something most would find surprising coming from the rather severe girl. "If you'd like I'm happy to play for you - or with you - if you'd like a duet. I know many, including The Chop Waltz," she was smiling now, it was a joke of course, The Chop Waltz being the proper name for the piece 'Chopsticks' most often taught to small children.

Her joke was interrupted by the arrival of a servant with a tea tray and a house elf with a tiered caddy of biscuits and small cakes. As the servant poured each young lady a cup of warm tea the elf set out small plates for each and set serving utensils out beside the fancy cake caddy set on the low table beside them. Farren explained that they would be taking lunch at 1pm but wanted to make sure the guest had something after her long journey. To some it might seem she was telling the guest not to fill up but really she was explaining why such an informal serving had come for them.

Waiting until the servants cleared the room Farren figured she should explain to her guest why she'd been invited. In days of old going on visits or calls was not uncommon. Their grandmothers and great grandmothers would have spent their youth doing such things as a way to both gain social exposure and keep young women from going mad with boredom in their own homes. Since the wars though, everything had changed.

"I do hope you weren't startled by the invitation. I know these sorts of calls aren't very common anymore..." she paused lingering for a moment on how to word her intentions. "I just got the idea from my Grandmother, since we two are some of the few ladies of society left if seemed perhaps we ought to be better acquainted." The heiress reached over to add milk to her tea. "I don't know about you but ladies worth spending time with are a bit.....hard to come by these days."

Delicately she swirled her spoon around her cup dissolving the milk into the tea. No one would ever accuse Farren Abercrombie of being a social butterfly. She did not make friends easily nor did she find socializing on a personal level with strangers easy. Her upbringing with her shrewd capitalist Grandfather and her power hungry mother had taught her that 95% of people were pawns at best. The other 5% were your crown jewels, actual friends, family, and mentors. The act of expanding her 5% was not something that came particularly naturally to Farren even if it was priority. If she sat and thought about the situation here she knew she would grow annoyed with herself, having called a girl here to make friends and yet having very little idea how to do so in a way that was anything less than contrived.

"So...I also heard that there is going to be some significant news on your end coming." There she'd pulled out her only hand. News that Astoria was to marry Draco was a poorly kept secret and at least something she knew they could talk about. Farren had been engaged to someone far more terrifying and older the Draco when she was near Astoria's age, everyone knew that, perhaps it would make it easier for the younger witch to discuss her plans. Or maybe they could do as she saw other women doing and prattle on about men for hours and somehow become united. "That must be quite exciting," she mused.





>>thestruggleisreal