Over the hills and far away. [Ira]

It was supposed to be the socialite event of the year. The woman who sold Darren had a bagel last week had said it, the man who fitted him for moderately priced dress robes yesterday had said it, and the front page of the Daily Prophet had been swearing on it for two days now. The Muggle-born Rights Organization (or M.R.O.) was throwing a charity gala to help the families of muggleborns after the war. Honestly Darren didn't really see the point, but he wasn't going to donate money... he was going to find his own charity jackpot. For months after he graduated Darren had been working for a 'syndicate' and they had been giving him odd small jobs. Petty crime, breaking and entering muggle homes, and muling items. Basically he had been a gopher. He was on the bottom most rung of a very tall criminal ladder and he'd been working hard to try and move up. Finally the chance came when he was given the job to rob a rich woman who was going to be at this charity ball. Darren's family told everyone that they were pureblood, and for the most part people believed them, but he knew if anyone ever really looked into their bloodline the truth could come out. His father was a muggle, his mother was a Half-blood with one pureblood parent and one muggle parent. So during the war and all of the mudblood hate the Hadditchs kept their mouths shut, they didn't stick up for muggle borns but they didn't terrorize them either.

It was because of that fact that Darren was chosen for this particular job. Even though the war was over that didn't mean security would be any less tight at this event. It was a gathering where multiple families of muggle born children would be, it was the perfect spot to take out any left over aggression from the war, and they weren't just going to let anyone inside. Because the Hadditchs were so neutral, he didn't think he'd have any problem getting in. Plus he had managed to get his hands on an invitation. Sure the invitation said his name was Barnabus Moot but he didn't mind. He spent all of fifteen minutes getting ready. His knew formal robes weren't insanely expensive but they looked nice, probably because they were new and he hadn't had the chance to damage them yet. His shoes were shined and his hair was combed so it wouldn't be all over the place. It took him only seconds to get to the place where the event was being held, thanks to finally being able to aparate. Landing just outside of what looked to be insanely well groomed lawns and gardens Darren walked underneath the large entry way and toward the house. The path headed up to the home was long and Darren was a little worried that he was going to get the dust from the rocks all over his robes. He knew he couldn't show up covered in dirt, he had to look rich if this job was going to work.

Pulling his wand out from his robe pocket he muttered a spell that would act as an invisible barrier between his simple, all black dress robes and the dust from the path. Smirking he was glad he remembered that spell and then crossed the rest of the way to the Estate. It was a large, quite old looking building with all kinds of windows. There were plants growing up the walls and about six chimneys jutting out from the roof. Darren knew he would never live in a place like this, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy pretending like he could. Tonight he was Barnabus Moot, Pureblood heir to the Moot family fortune. Darren was thankful that the sun was starting to set because he hadn't realized just how warm dress robes could be in the middle of July. He hoped that the building would be cooler as he stepped inside. Following other guests he was led into a ballroom and Darren took a minute to take in his surroundings. There were a lot of people already there but there was only one person in particular that he was looking for. Her name was Ira Ilyina and supposedly she was gorgeous. Most of the people here were either old and warty or they were obviously muggles. Darren didn't understand how they could think it was wise to bring the families of dead muggleborns into the wizarding world... wouldn't that just remind them of everything they lost?

Then he remembered they were going to end the night by donating money to those families and he understood. He wondered how they were going to transfer the sickles into muggle money though... did the ministry have a guy for that? Moving to the side of the room Darren headed for the bar. If he had to wait for her to show up he could at least get a couple of free drinks out of it first. "Scotch." he told the bar tender, if he was going to be at some fancy even then he minds well have some fancy drink. Taking a sip he was surprised by how smooth the liquid tasted, Darren had never had scotch this expensive and he loved it. He smiled and took another drink while eying the room and thats when he spotted her. The guys were not kidding about this one, she had that refined beauty. The rich, pureblood kind of beauty Darren had only seen from afar. The Hadditchs were poor, the glass he was drinking out of probably cost more than all of the furniture in his mothers living room, but he had to pretend like he was rich tonight. He had a feeling she wouldn't talk to him if he wasn't 'on her level'. Crossing the room he nearly bumped into a couple who was dancing. Darren Hadditch would of insulted them or even gotten violent but Barnabus Moot had to be civil so he smiled an apology and kept moving. Once he was within talking distance he put on his best rich, snob voice and spoke.

"Hello there," he wasn't entirely sure what to say after that. Would a rich heir introduce himself with titles, or would he not bring it up because he was so rich it shouldn't have to be mentioned... "Barnabus Moot. I was wondering if I could have this dance?" He held his hand up as a formal request and wondered then if he should bow to her. Trying to remember the one and only time he saw people dancing like this he remembered that they bowed when they reached the dance floor. He smiled brightly at her, trying to be as charming as possible.

Reputation was an important thing.  It corresponded directly with one’s power, influence and personal happiness.  This was something that Ira had grown up knowing; an awareness that had always provided her with an advantage, and a simple truth to the world that many of her peers either could not or did not wish to see.  And it was hard work, keeping up one’s reputation.  It required a keen attention to detail, a level of preciseness and perfection and balance that left no room for error.  It sometimes meant doing things that one did not necessarily enjoy.  She had never had any difficulty accepting that.  But this… this was something else altogether.  This was a betrayal of the highest degree – both to her heritage and to her very identity.

A charity ball to benefit the Muggleborns affected by the war?!  It disgusted her.  So much so that being involved was causing her physical pain – there was a knot in her stomach and a gnawing ache in the back of her throat.  Her face was twisted in an expression of visible displeasure.  Meanwhile, her father, mother and elder brother seemed virtually unaffected by the suffocating betrayal that hung in the air.  They conversed easily with their friends and acquaintances, while she stood by, clutching her champagne glass stiffly and speaking very little.

She was outraged.  Livid. She couldn’t believe her father had forced her into this.  Couldn’t believe that he was giving the family’s gold to the gryaznokrovke filth.  They were the perpetrators in this scenario – they deserved whatever misfortune had befallen them.  Just because the British Ministry had chosen to ignore all of the evidence laid out before them, suddenly everyone else had to, too.  This country was a joke.  An absolute joke.

Her father had pulled her aside for a long conversation before the event, explaining that, despite her personal convictions, it was important to support the Muggleborn equality movement when in public – that it would cast a favorable light upon their family.  And Ira understood… to an extent.  She had witnessed how, in the current political environment, it had become very socially dangerous to speak of the superiority of purebloods.  But she felt it was cowardly to attend an event like this.  If all of the purebloods were determined to lie down and accept the Muggleborns as equals, what hope did they have at all?

“If you cannot control your expression, Iraida Lvovna Ilyina,” a deep voice murmured in her ear, “then you will step outside until you have composed yourself.”  Startled, Ira’s eyes flitted to her father, her lips parting in surprise.  She was unaware that she had been glaring around mutinously at her surroundings.  He had already returned his attention to the conversation being held, and was smiling jovially as if nothing had happened.  Ira stared at him incomprehensibly for a moment before sighing impatiently and stepping away from the group, her movements stiff and abrupt.  She hated this, and hated that she had been dragged along.  He held her liable for her discomfort?!  It wasn’t fair.  She had expressed her desires; had never wanted to come in the first place.  And yet, he had insisted.  And she would never dare disobey him.

Skirting the edge of the ballroom, she placed her empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, intending to do as her father said and step outside for a moment.  But she hesitated near the doorway, distracted by one of the large and glorious floral arrangements.  The soft whites and pale pinks of the arrangement complimented her cream-coloured, sleeveless gown, almost as if she had picked them out herself.  She extended a slender hand to stroke the soft petals of a white rose.  Though the flowers were beautiful, even they were tainted by the hypocrisy of the evening.  She dropped her hand in disgust.

A moment later, she felt someone come to stand beside her.  Ira didn’t turn to face him until he spoke to her.  She lifted her dark eyes onto those of this English stranger, and was taken aback.  He was very handsome.  He introduced himself, and the name was so foreign-sounding that she almost had to ask him to repeat it.  She opened her mouth to speak, and was on the verge of accepting his request – both out of customary politeness and immediate attraction to his handsome features – but decided against it at the last second.  “No, thank you,” she said coldly, lacking some of her usual grace.  She was in no mood to dance.  For all she knew, he was one of the beneficiaries of the treacherous generosity of this so-called charity.

No? Had she really said no? Darren wasn't sure what to do with that answer. His whole residing on her saying yes to the dance. Then he would sweep her off her feet, she would take him to her home, and he would steal as much of her stuff that he could carry... but if she said no... what did he do then? The part that wasn't trying to make money off her of suddenly had a large amount of respect for her. She probably thought he was one of the muggleborns that this little shindig was dedicated to. He figured she was just one of many of the Pureblood elitist families that were here not because they cared but because they wanted to save face after their leader fell. Darren couldn't blame them, he'd do the same. There was no glory in staying on a sinking ship, any real Slytherin knew that much. Thinking about why she had probably denied him helped him devise a plan to bring her back and get the yes. He could tell she was some kind of special, the way she held herself showed that, and she probably knew it. So the best way to lure her into his arms was by denying that fact. "Ah well, probably just some poor muggleborn anyway..." he said and let his sentence trail off. He knew that the real Barnabas Moot, a wealthy pureblood society baby, would never beg a woman for a dance. If she said no, it was her loss, so thats what he did.

He was talking to himself now, but he made sure his voice was high enough for her to hear but not to raise any alarms. After all they were surrounded by poor muggleborns. He didn't want to attract unwanted attention. Luckily the music was loud enough to give him some cover and the expertly crafted ballroom had excellent acoustics. He sighed loudly and then turned to look around the rest of the room. He'd give her a minute to think his words over, and then hopefully rethink her decision. If she came right to him then he would be surprised. She didn't come off as a desperate woman. He assumed she would take a bit to come back to him, if she did at all. He'd played this game before and most days he won, but there were always women who didn't play by the rules. He let his hand slide into the pocket of his robes and felt for his pack of cigarettes. He didn't care that they were at a fundraiser or that he wasn't Darren Hadditch right now. Barnabas Moot needed a square. He gave her a fake smile as he walked out of the door, one that any commoner could tell was forced, and then went to the back patio of the building.

The sun was setting and there were little white paper lanterns on strings threaded above the patio. Compared to the amount of people in the dinning hall the patio was rather empty, Darren appreciated that. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes and his wand. Normally he would light the cigarettes with his zippo lighter but he knew if he was going to convince anyone that he was a Rich Pureblood from a Respectable Socialite Family he couldn't be seen with a muggle contraption like a lighter. With ease he muttered the spell to cast a flame on his cigarette and took a large hit. He slid the wand back into his robe before he exhaled deeply. He really hoped that she would seek him out. He saw this night going one of a few ways and he really hoped it worked out in his favor. She was beautiful, it was rare that he got a mark that he actually wanted to be around. Usually it was old ladies with even older money who smelt like paper and attic space. She was the opposite, she was perfectly refined and part of Darren really did want to get to know her. He could show her a good time before he ripped her off. He was sure of that. He only hoped that she would give him the chance...

Had he really just called her that?  Some poor Muggleborn?  Disgusted, and stunned to silence, Ira turned to scowl openly at the stranger who had insulted her so profoundly.  How dare he mistake her for one of them?!  Did he not have eyes?  Could he not see how sophisticated she was, how well she was dressed?  None of them would have been able to afford a gown like the one she was wearing.  He gave her a mocking smile before walking through the doors, which only infuriated her further.  Scoffing, Ira folded her arms over her chest, glaring out across the dance floor.  She was practically trembling from anger.  She had never been so offended!  And what was worse, she couldn’t even go out onto the balcony now to cool off, as her father had ordered, lest she run into him.

Instead, she swiped another champagne glass off of a passing tray and took a swig from it out of spite.  She doubted any of these imbeciles knew who she was – these silly, English Muggleborns who all apparently considered themselves on equal ground as the likes of her.  Clearly even Barnabas Moot had know idea who she was.  Despicable.  She entertained the idea of following him out on the balcony to explain just how important she really was, for even if he didn’t recognize her, surely the name Ilyin would mean something to him.  In her mind, he would be deeply humiliated and apologize profusely for his mistake.  An apology she would not accept.  In reality, however, she stayed exactly where she was, outcasting herself from the other patrons and taking occasional sips of champagne.

As moments passed and her anger reluctantly ebbed, doubt began to creep in on her.  Could she really have been mistaken for one of them?  Surely she didn’t look like a Muggleborn… did she?  Did that mean everybody else here assumed she was one of them as well?  Earlier, she had been so sure of herself; so certain that her presence was so formidable that she could not be mistaken for what she was.  Now it was all called into question.  Growing somewhat frantic, she began to wish she had told him off when she had had the chance.  He was nobody to her, and yet she hated to think that someone out there was thinking something so horribly untrue.  Soon her champagne was gone, but Ira was not feeling any better about what had transpired.

After a cigarette and a half Darren realized that she was not coming after him, and a dark frown swallowed his expression whole. This was not at all how he planned for the night to go. Firstly, she was supposed to dance with him, not reject him. Secondly he was supposed to charm her, not insult her. Everything was going wrong and Darren knew it was him who was going to pay the price for it. Not only was Darren trying to steal his way up the ranks in the Regan organization and pay rent he also owed a rather dangerous bookie a large sum of sickles. He knew he was going to have to keep trying. It was getting later and Darren was running out of time. He threw what was left of his cigarette off the balcony, not caring where it landed, and turned back toward the ballroom. On his way in he grabbed a glass of the first alcoholic beverage he could find and drank it quickly, returning it to another waiters raised tray. Surveying the room again he found her and took a deep breath. Darren didn't do apologetic very well, but damned if he wasn't going to try. Walking over to her he approached slowly and tried to not startle her if she didn't notice him before he spoke. "Excuse me," he said, looking down at the ground for a split second, and taking another deep breath.

"I fear that I have been terribly rude to you." He said quietly, the usual smirk gone from his face. Darren was born and raised poor, so he was pretty much faking the entire thing, including the way he put his sentences together. He tried to sound as 'old world' as he could, rich people he'd met always sounded like that. "That was in no way my intention. I was offended when you denied me your hand, and instead of leaving with my pride intact I took to lashing out at you for it." He had to slow down toward the end of the sentence, to make sure his words even made sense. The urban translation of his long winded words was simple: I'm sorry. He wasn't sure if he should bow or not at this point. Was that enough of an apology? Would it suffice... he wasn't sure so he kept going. "It was inexcusable and I only hope you can find it in you to forgive me." At this point he folding one arm in front of his stomach and bowed to her, holding for a moment, hoping she would respond, and then returned to normal height. He told himself if this whole act wasn't enough to change her mind about a simple dance then he was going to give up and go find an easily impressed semi-rich witch to prey on.

Too bad that wasn't true. This beautiful woman had his attention now and it was unlikely he would give up until he impressed her. Darren was used to being rated 'second class' by rich people, but it had never bothered him before. Sure they had more money them him but he was confident that he was better than pretty much every one of them in some way. Something about Ira had the wheels in his mind really turning though. She was under the assumption that he was rich, pureblooded, and good looking (if Darren said so himself), but still she wanted nothing to do with him. He didn't understand it. He wanted to know more about her just because she didn't want to have anything to do with him. It wouldn't be the first time Darren wanted something simply because someone told him he couldn't have it, and it certainly wouldn't be the last time.