[cork] the silver lining | barbara

december 2003

Blah, blah, blah. The night had barely started, and already Rowen was growing bored with the small talk. She lived for fancy parties, well, she lived for her studies and judged people, but these events helped her with at least one of those addictions. Rowen loved social gatherings, and the annual Reinhardt Christmas Party was not one to be missed, but she was tired of listening to half in the bag fifty-year-old wizards talk about the bubble bursting in the Goblin-made value stock sector.

Excusing herself at the very first opening that wouldn't raise any red flags, the proper young Pureblood returned to her search for Barbara. She knew her friend was around somewhere since Rowen had seen Mr. GIbson talking to her uncle earlier, but she had yet to find her. Her hunt led her through the foyer, the dining rooms, and even the scotch and cigar humidor room (gross), but Rowen didn't give up easily. The young witch managed to dodge her weird cousin Henri and sneak into the kitchen to snag a chilled champagne bottle and some snacks before heading to the study.

Equal parts jealous and frustrated at the size of Genevieve's luxurious home Rowen smiled as she saw Barbara's familiar face. "Hey Barbie, I love that dress," The witch told her as she ignored a server trying to make themselves as small as possible to squeeze past her and back into the hallway. "I hate to interrupt," She lied, giving the person Barbara had been talking to an apologetic (fake) smile, and continued, "But I'm having a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. Could I steal you for a second?" There was nothing wrong with Rowen's outfit, naturally, but Rowen kept up the act long enough for Barbara to follow her away from the crowd and up the stairs.

The second level was mostly off-limits to partygoers, not that it mattered since the ground floor and lavish gardens provided plenty of space, but Rowen wasn't just another 'attendee.' She was a Reinhardt and considered herself as the host's Protégé. "Look what someone just left sitting around unattended~" Rowen nearly sang as she held out the bottle of expensive champagne and giggled. Leading them to the dressing room, the size of a small house, Rowen set down the bottle and fell into the chaise lounger with a sigh. "So I lied about my dress. There isn't anything wrong with it, actually, it's quite perfect, don't you think?"

@Barbara Gibson

Her father almost hadn’t come -- he and her mother had, thus far, said about two words to each other, both of them at dinner the previous night when Barbara had told him to ask her mother for the butter since it was closer to him. It was the little things like that, she mused, that must have tipped her sister off that her parents weren’t meant to be married. But what did Barbara know about her parents?

At first she’d been hanging around her father -- her mother, at these things, went straight for some hapless older lady and started flattering her, whereas her father at least attempted to be interesting -- but she’d quickly gotten bored and wandered off, until she’d been waylaid by a remarkably rude witch a few years older than her, who wanted to insult her dress in the nicest possible terms. (It’s very quaint -- is it vintage? Was it your mother’s, maybe?)

She was doing her best to field inquiries about her family when she was rescued. (And Rowen, prudently, jumped straight to complimenting her dress -- she gave her a grateful smile.) Whatever was wrong with her dress was wrong in a way Barbara couldn’t see, so she was unsurprised to be led far away from the party, up an expansive dressing room; she sat more primly on the fainting couch, crossing her legs at the ankles and adjusting the outer layer of her skirt. “Let me see that,” she said, picking the bottle up to give it a haughty look.

Of course, Barbara knew next to nothing about champagne, but she gave an approving sniff anyway, for appearances’ sake. She glanced back at her friend with her eyebrows raised curiously, then smiled mischievously: it was clear now that she wasn’t here to help Rowen do anything more than escape the party for a bit.

“It’s lovely,” she said, swallowing some envy -- it was a lovely ensemble, much more grown-up than Barbara’s simple pearl jewelery, the lace collar on her long, plain dress: though it’d bothered her at the time, now she was glad her mother had sent her upstairs to apply redder lipstick, grateful her mother had tied the waist so tightly. “Like a galaxy. Did you have it made for you?”

More importantly, though, she peered curiously around the dressing room: “You didn’t bring glasses, did you?” she said doubtfully -- Barbara did not want to have her first taste of alcohol directly out of the bottle.

Beaming at Barbara as she agreed, Rowen loved that her friend liked her dress and especially noticed the custom quality. "Genevieve helped me have it designed for the party," Growing up with more money than she'd ever need, Rowen was accustomed to the finer (and frivolous) things in life like having a dress made for one singular occasion and never wearing it again. "These are hers too, a Grosvenor heirloom," Rowen noted as she flicked the expensive dangling earrings hanging from her lobes. They were too big, haughty really, and sent little sparkles across the room as the gems moved that made her smile proudly.

Rowen watched the prismatic light dance across the room before turning back to Barbara with a shrug, her smile fading into the sort of frown that always preceded a tantrum. "I can't be expected to do everything, can I?" Rowen huffed, folding her arms across her chest in the way that Evie had taught her, that special way that pushed her curves forward, even though there was no need for it in present company. Arms still crossed, the Ravenclaw stood up dramatically from her lounger and stalked across the room. She picked up a shining brass bell from a silver tray and rang it twice. Within moments a panel of the heavily wallpapered room creaked open, and a maid appeared in the servant's hallway.

"Could you get us some glasses, please," Rowen asked, forgetting that she wasn't supposed to use Please and Thank You with Genevieve's maids, and the panel closed behind the old witch.

"There," Rowen felt triumphant as she spun around, enchanted by the way the folds of her expensive dress followed her. "Want to see something cool?" She asked with a smirk, motioning toward the jewelry armoire that was the entire room's focal point. A magical bauble hovered above it like a spotlight, and there were quite a few locks on the ornate wooden box, clearly warded, but Rowen knew a secret on how to open it.

“Very handsome,” said Barbara, dutifully admiring Rowen’s dangly earrings -- they were too showy for her, and caught the light and reflected it around the room. Even though Barbara knew she could never have pulled off that look, with her fair skin and light hair, it was unsatisfying to sit here next to it in a gauzy dress and nothing prettier than pearls. They were ostentatious anyway, though -- she knew her mother and father would never have approved of her in something as attention-grabbing as that.

But the Reinhardts -- and, she supposed, the Grosveners -- could afford to seek out attention that way, of course.

Rowen folded her arms across her chest to look at her reproachingly and Barbara resisted the urge to cringe a little, even though -- it occurred to her only when Rowen had crossed the room, and thus too late for her to argue -- Barbara hadn’t even known Rowen had swiped them champagne, so what was she supposed to do about it?

The Gibsons had no servants, not even a house-elf: in all these years coming to see Rowen and her family Barbara had never known how to behave around them. Fortunately the older witch didn’t seem to pay her notice -- Barbara’s gaze lingered on the hidden door for a while longer, only returning to her friend when she spun (the dress swirled around her beautifically when she did, and Barbara suspected that was why she’d done it.)

“What is it?” she said, feeling stupid -- this wasn’t Rowen’s house, but her cousin’s, so Barbara had never been here before, and didn’t know what to expect of anything. The cabinet had the air of something housing something either valuable or dangerous or both; Barbara stood up and followed Rowen up to look at it, standing just behind Rowen’s elbow and staring at it curiously. She was brave enough to lean closer for a better look -- but not brave enough to go past Rowen. It was, she thought, decidedly locked.

She sighed lightly -- “Well, if only we could use magic out of school.” She gave Rowen a surreptitious look, though -- her parents liked her to leave her wand at home when they went out, but she had (of course) snuck it along anyway.

Rowen enjoyed spending time with Barbara because the other teenager was whipsmart. (And Pureblooded, of course) But most importantly, Barbara knew to ask the right questions, and when the blond asked, What is it instead of What is inside, Rowen beamed at her. "It's enchanted to keep thieves out in the most diabolical ways," The teenager bounced on the heels of her feel, delighted by the idea and about being here when she probably shouldn't have been. Technically speaking, Rowen was a good girl; she did what was expected of her and only broke the rules she didn't like, but once and a while, she had to let her inner monster out and raise some hell.

"Genevieve has the most exquisite jewelry though, we simply must have a look," Rowen knew better, but something else had already taken hold, and she was deadset on opening up the box now. The floating bauble cast an eerie glow over the box and the teenager's faces, shadows dancing on the elegant wallpaper behind them. Ever since the first time she had been in this room, Rowen had gravitated toward this jewelry armoire like it was calling to her, like there was something inside that wouldn't rest, and the Ravenclaw had to know what it was. The contents were expensive and rare, but other than that; they were standard jewelry pieces. Earrings, necklaces, cuffs, even a broach or two, nothing out of the ordinary technically, though the designs were divine.

The door behind them opened again and Rowen jumped at the sound, giggling a little as she covered her mouth and spun back around. She gave the maid a nod.  The older witch set down a pair of glasses and a tin of biscuits to compliment before disappearing silently back into the hallway. "There is a trick to it; it a puzzle box," Rowen mentioned to Barbara with a smile, "Though I'm sure some of those charms Professor Flitwick taught us would have come in handy," One day they would be able to do magic anytime they pleased, and Rowen knew that would be a beautiful day.

Rowen picked up the champagne bottle she had stolen and used the back of her thumb to pop the cork. Being fifteen and having never done such a thing, Rowen squeaked a little when it flew across the room, and the bubbly liquid began to overflow out of the top. "No, no," She muttered, holding the bottle away from her dress as far as her outstretched arm could manage, and shot Barbara a look. "That is disgusting," Rowen complained as it made a mess on the floor, huffing and once more wishing she could use a few charms to clean it up.

Rowen seemed thrilled at the diabolic nature of the cabinet; Barbara, slightly unsettled, leaned a little further around her friend. “What sort of ways?” she said -- she didn’t think she liked the idea of a chest that protected itself so harshly, no matter what it was protecting. In fact -- particularly if it was for jewelery, exquisite or not. That was asking for trouble, like leaving a wand around for a toddler to pick up. It occurred to her to say so -- I don’t want to play around with something dangerous -- but she didn’t want to seem scared.

She startled anyway when the door behind her opened -- fortunately Rowen had too. The maid disappeared again without a word and Barbara cast a glance over her shoulder at the little champagne flutes that had been left for them. She turned back to Rowen -- “A trick?” she asked, curious despite herself -- if it didn’t involve anything they’d learnt in Charms it had to be ingenious.

Barbara smoothed her hands down her skirt and went to pick up the stemware -- as her friend popped the champagne, it bubbled over: Barbara quickly scurried around to Rowen’s other side, trying to stay clear out of the way of the spillage. “Ach,” she said in agreement; after a moment she had the thought to hold the glasses out to see if Rowen could tip some of the drink into one of the glasses.

It was too late, though -- there was a telltale spot on the floor. Barbara rubbed one foot over it, distressed, but it only broadened the stain. “The maid won’t get in trouble, will she?” Barbara said worriedly. Surely there weren’t any cleaning supplies here -- more surely, she wouldn’t know how to use them. Rowen seemed even less likely to. Barbara fished her wand out of a fold in her dress. “Do you reckon we’ll get owled if we clean it up? I reckon there’s too many people here -- maybe the Ministry won’t…” she raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, you know, the standard sorts of ways," Rowen waved her fingers at Barbara as if she must have known the sorts of sinister ways cursed boxes warded off thieves. Like it was common knowledge. In reality, Rowen had no idea what it was spelled to do, but she had enough imagination to fill in the blanks. "Imprisonment, levitation, loss of limbs, I'm sure," Making it up as she went, the little witch had no reason not to believe the story she was spinning, so Rowen committed, "I'd bet whatever the punishment is, the thief will hardly live to regret it," Rowen's eyebrows raised impishly at the thought of some criminal getting his comeuppance and smiled wickedly.

The maid returning broke her train of thought, and soon enough, the champagne was all over the floor. Rowen frowned at the bottle as if it had personally betrayed her and shrugged at Barbara's suggestion. "We likely could," She answered; there were so many witches and wizards downstairs she agreed that the ministry would be hard-pressed to pinpoint any underage magic, but it didn't matter. "But why risk it? Let someone else clean it up," Rowen channeled her inner Evie and rang the little bell again.

And then an opportunist thought came to mind, and a smile spread across Rowen's dark features like wildfire. "Perhaps, we could kill two birds with one stone?" She posited, pulling her ornate wand from the folds of her dress, and bounced lightly. "If one of us were to perform a scourgify while the other casts an unlocking charm on the box, we might just get away with both," Rowen twirled once, her curls bouncing and her skirt flowing around her, as she waited for Barbara to agree or disagree with the plan.

“Loss of limbs?” said Barbara -- “But they could put them back, right?” Perhaps not if they were imprisoned in this little chest. She frowned, her lips pursed with distress, and tried not to be discomfited by how pleasant Rowen seemed to find the idea. Perhaps this was something Barbara could never understand -- after all, she’d never owned anything worth protecting this fervently. The prettiest thing she owned was the string of pearls around her neck now, and she just kept it in a little jewellery chest on her desk.

She wasn’t sure whether she disapproved, or she was just jealous, but she’d struggled with that for as long as she’d known Rowen; as her friend rang the little bell again, she swallowed a weird guilty jump in her chest -- she’d never known how to feel about the wizards and witches that employed people for elves’ work -- and said, dubiously, “Well, alright.”

When she looked in the mirror, they looked foolish next to each other, two half-grown girls in pretty dresses. Rowen did a little spin, and Barbara watched her dress swish around her, and resisted the urge to fuss with her hair.

“I’m not doing the box,” she said crossly -- like Rowen would lower herself to a common Scourgify anyway -- “I like my limbs attached.” She stooped over the stain on the floor, frowning. “Better to do it now anyway, than to drink first,” she reasoned. If they got in trouble -- well -- at least they’d been incanting responsibly.

"I suppose so?" Rowen answered, not entirely sure why Barbara would be worried about the welfare of a thief. If they lost their limbs, it was their own problem. Rowen was intelligent enough to be sympathetic, but the little dark witch chose not to. She refused to have any interest in others' suffering, especially not when she thought they deserved it. A small frown gracing her features, Rowen shrugged and returned to the dangerous box. It was an intriguing magical device, and it was hard to hide her interest in it. Barbara agreed to the plan, and Rowen bounced a little as she got her way. The Ravenclaw was used to having things the way that she wanted them, but she wasn't so mighty that she forgot to take pleasure in the little things. "Excellent," She said, clasping her hands together in front of her and beaming.

"Suit yourself," She added mischievously, as Barbara decided she wanted to do the cleaning charm rather than the unlocking one. Her handmade wand at the ready, Rowen took a steadying breath. She didn't mind breaking the rules when it made sense, but Rowen would be very disappointed should they get into trouble. She was a Reinhardt, after all, and she was expected to behave in a certain way. "On the count of three," She declared, pushing some of the curls off of her shoulder as she steadied herself.

"Three... two... one," And barely a heartbeat after she had spoken the last number, Rowen created a spiral motion with her wand and repeated the incantation that Professor Flitwick had taught them to unlock things they ought not to unlock. A flash of magic burst from her wand, circling toward the box, and an impish smile spread across her face as she heard it click into place. Turning to see whether or not Barbara's spell had succeeded, Rowen made eye contact with the maid who had returned at the call of the bell Rowen had forgotten she made.

"How dare you enter this room without knocking?" She demanded, waving her hand at the witch rudely and desperately hoping she hadn't witnessed them doing underage magic.

“Scourgify.”

The carpet bubbled, and was still damp when the bubbles had gone, but at least didn’t look as likely to stain -- Barbara allowed herself a smug, triumphant sniff, then looked up at Rowen, who looked to have managed a similar success with the handsome box. She had just opened her mouth to congratulate her -- perhaps to congratulate herself too -- when Rowen looked over her shoulder with shock. Barbara glanced around.

“I’m sure we just didn’t hear it,” she said uncertainly -- the witch hadn’t knocked earlier, at least, and they’d asked her to come in. It was one thing for Rowen to boss the poor woman around; it was another thing to speak like that. Barbara didn’t think she’d ever have enough gumption for that -- she could barely even tell her cats not to climb her robes. (She had gotten rather adept, of course, at telling them to spit that out! -- but that was different.)

And -- whether or not this was her job -- it was Christmastime and this woman didn’t deserve to be told off, so Barbara gave Rowen a little nudge on the elbow -- “Come on,” she urged her friend, “I want to see what’s in the box.” Not that she did -- she was still wary that it would maim her -- but surely, if it did, Rowen’s cousin or aunt or whoever it was who owned this house would take pity on them. They were only two girls.

Maybe the Gibsons would never be asked to a nice event like this again, but -- thought Barbara -- that would be a small price to pay for the use of her hands, should she lose one to this jewellery box.

Rowen gave Barbara a disappointed look when she defended the maid's arrival before sighing dramatically. Genevieve had instructed her to behave in such a way around the staff, and she was doing what she was told (not that the evil little brat didn't enjoy it). If you treat them as equals, they may begin to believe it. She repeated in her mind, pursing her lips as if to educate Barbara in the same way that she had been, but her friend distracted her skillfully.

Forgetting about being a tyrant, for the time being, Rowen bounced, and her curls followed. Spinning lightly and returning to the jewelry box, the teenager forgot to check if they had cleaned up their mess and set in on making a new one. The container was enchanted to hurt those who sought to steal from it, but Rowen had figured out a workaround. While she intended to peak, the witch had no intention of removing anything from the box. That, coupled with the unlocking spell and her pureblood (because of course that was a factor), she was reasonably certain that they would walk away with all of their fingers intact.

Holding her breath as she unclasped the lock at the front, Rowen's shoulders rose anxiously along with the top of the jewelry box. "Of course, it worked." She announced, never a doubt in her twisted mind. The magical light that floated above the box moved to shine brightly on the various gemstones and metallic pieces, and Rowen felt a surge of jealousy at the vastness of Genevieve's collection. "Hate that, hate that, I guess that is okay..." She began chiming off, pointing out pieces as she judged them cruelly. "That one must be goblin made, tasteless." Of course, everything in the box was exquisite, and Rowen turned to Barbara with a heavy chip on her shoulder.

"Do you like them?"

Barbara wasn’t quite tall enough to lean over Rowen’s shoulder to look, so she peered around her side, tucking her wand back into the pocket sewn into her dress as she did. Rowen seemed suspiciously relieved as the box opened without complication -- though Barbara wanted to give her a little nudge, to be glad that she hadn’t been the only one scared, she didn’t particularly want to do that when they were playing with a definitely cursed jewellery box.

Everything was beautiful -- precious and ornate, glittering with perfectly cut stones, the metalwork finer and prettier than anything Barbara could have imagined. She let her gaze linger on a brooch of dainty gold leaf and deep emeralds, then on a silver bracelet inlaid with opals or moonstone, then on a hairpin. Even the hairpin was exquisite, with a tiny cluster of diamonds at the end. She thought she could pick out which had been goblin-made -- it seemed to gleam far more brightly under the magical light than it ought to have.

She looked with surprise at Rowen as she started to cast judgment, though -- surely they weren’t all out of the latest fashion already -- but looked back down at the jewellery a moment later, at the little hairpin, and marvelled at how silly it was that Rowen could dismiss these as dull and tasteless when all Barbara could do was stare.

At once, she felt powerfully stupid in her pearls and her new dress.

“Oh,” she said, taken aback at having her opinion solicited about something she was so obviously clueless about, and suddenly desperate not to seem like such a yokel. “Well -- sure, I suppose they’re alright.”

Rowen was smart enough to know that if Genevieve had not wanted her to look in this box, she would have never been able to. But she was also arrogant enough to believe she’d outsmarted a powerful adult witch without a single curl falling out of place. Honestly, the little witch was a menace. She gave Barbara a sinister smile as everything clicked into place, and they were inside the jewelry box. Everything inside glowed, showing off just how expensive each piece was, and Rowen was far past jealous and tempted to run her greedy little fingers over the gemstones.

Noticing how Barbara seemed enamored by the pieces, some sick and twisted bit of jealousy pulled over Rowen. Like darkness, she could never escape; the little witch was quick to put down everything else so that she could be back in the spotlight. She had to run the show; it was the only thing she knew. Luckily, Barbara made it easy, backing down quickly and agreeing with her, and Rowen offered her a pleased smile.

Though some of the pieces were most certainly charmed, Rowen felt confident about figuring out which ones would be safe to pick up. Dark objects weren’t just left out anywhere for anyone to find, after all, and the young Reinhardt imagined they would have some aura about them. Her eyes rolled over the sparkling pieces of jewelry one by one, noticing that some of them made her inherently uncomfortable to look at for too long until she found one that seemed to offer no reaction at all.

Sliding her perfectly painted nails under the necklace, Rowen was surprised by the sheer weight of it. Large emeralds in gold settings tapered toward the outside. The grandest of stones glinting at the center. “Want to try it on?” She asked, turning toward Barbara with another smile.

Barbara caught her breath as Rowen reached for one – she said, hastily, “Are you sure you ought to?” but it was too late; Rowen had lifted the necklace, and though Barbara held in her gasp in case they were both about to start sporting boils or warts or something of that sort, nothing happened.

Relieved, she breathed out again, feeling immediately stupid for being afraid, though unsure whether or not it actually had been stupid. She was no longer sure she wanted to stand here looking at all this exquisite, definitely cursed jewellery – she wanted to go back to their stolen champagne, which would be silly and which her mother would scold her for, but which seemed a much safer option right now. She opened her mouth to say so, but couldn’t find the words. “Rowen,” she started, but Rowen turned to her with a smile, holding out her prize.

“No,” she said hastily, squeaking a little, “I don’t think I’d better – it would suit you more anyway.” It wouldn’t match Rowen’s dress at all, but it wouldn’t match Barbara’s either – Barbara did not think her face was made for fineries. She was fifteen years old but she still looked so young; it would be ridiculous.

Nervously, Barbara fidgeted with her wand, until it wisped out some steam in protest – she put it hastily back in the pocket in her dress and hedged, “I bet there’s wards on that – what if she comes up here?” She was sure the older witch thought highly of Rowen – at least, Rowen seemed to think so – but Barbara was not sure that would excuse snooping in her jewellery. She didn’t want to say it, but she said in a hush, “Maybe we should go…”

“If she comes up here, we will just put it away, don’t be such a pygmy puff, Barbara,” Rowen chastised the other witch with a bobble of her head and then shrugged. They probably should put it away, and honestly, the longer they hung around here, the less intriguing it became. Rowen had thought opening the chest would be a lot more of a challenge, but when it had opened quickly, she lost interest. She was fickle in that way, only wanting what she was not allowed to have.

“Back to the party?” Rowen asked when Barbara mentioned that they should go and frowned. The little dark witch returned the necklace to its resting place and gently closed the lid. Magic sealed it once more from the inside, and Rowen listened to the whirs and clicks of the locking mechanisms. Once it had finished its little song of secrecy, Rowen turned back to Barbara and flipped some curls off her shoulder determinedly.

“But we haven’t even finished the bottle yet?” Wasn’t that what adults did? Got a bottle of something and finished it off in one sitting? Rowen had no worldly knowledge of how to drink appropriately, but she pretended that she did. “We can at least have another glass first, right?” It wasn’t exactly a question, and Rowen moved to pour more of the liquid quickly. As she did, she spoke to Barbara.

“So, are you having a good time?”