The List, The Ball, and The Manipulating Grandparents
Who: Saffron and her Grandmother Ismelda When: Backdated, March 26th. Wednesday Where: Her gradmother's office What: Whoever said that grandmothers were supposed to be sweet and unassuming has never met Ismelda Yaxley
"You may enter."
"Ms. Yaxley, your granddaughter is here to see you."
"Let her in then, Felicity, I do believe she knows the way." The cool, authoritative and slightly exasperated, tone filled the large office with a sharp precision.
"Yes. Yes." The personal assistant stuttered. "Of course, Ms. Yaxley. Please come in Miss. Capper."
Saffron gave the nervous looking red-head a friendly smile. It was the dreaded 'event-season'. Her grandmother was known for her soirees and balls, the invitations to them were highly sought after for their imagination and entertainment factor. However, for an event to be Imelda Yaxley approved her grandmother's staff each had to lose an arm, a leg, and possibly their first born from all the blood, sweat, and tears entered into each one. Her grandmother was nothing if not a demanding woman.
"Thank you, Feli, you don't have to wait. I'll be fine." Which was code for: Run, for the hills the Old One is about to hear what she doesn't want to.
Ismelda had sent Saffron an owl saying that there were things 'aplenty to discuss this evening'. Meaning that her grandmother had caught wind of something she didn't like and was going to try and spin it her way. Saffron would have to forcefully but respectfully tell her 'no' and the butting of strong personalities would ensue, ending with neither of them getting anywhere. It would be best for the staff to simply all take a break lest her grandmother think of something ridiculous for them to do while she wanted to vent. Something like make the Cook clean the floo fireplace for birds.
"Do not dwadle, Saffron." Imelda said, not looking up from her task. She was currently writing a speech for one of the many commitee boards she was on. "I do believe Felicity is smart enough to derive the hidden meaning in your words. Do sit down. It is rude to linger at the door when invited into someone's private room."
"Si, abuela." Saffron said. She didn't bother to say that she hadn't been invited or to remind her grandmother that it was also rude to go on writing when someone entered any room. It was a natural curbing instict Saffron had when she was in the presence of those much older than her. She had been ingrained from her crib to show respect to elders, no matter how wrong they were. However, respect didn't mean insipid submission. Imelda, herself, had taught her that. "You sent me an owl about the 'utmost urgencies'?" She asked with a small smile.
Sliding into a chair that was directly opposite from her grandmother, Saffron sat down the way any proper little pureblood female should: Legs crossed at the ankles, posture straight, hands folded on her lap ... unholy smirk on her features. Well, perhaps not the last one and perhaps it wasn't exactly unholy. Nevertheless, Saffron was amusing herself about why her grandmother might have called for her. It could be any number of things and she wouldn't be surprised if all of them some how, some strange abnormal way, returned back to the list.
Sitting in the chair, she watched her grandmother continued to write. She knew the woman was planning her battle tactics. It was all done in half-jest, half-seriousness with the two of them. Things open, things close to the chest, things to the sly, things out of the field; always trying to trump the other. Saffron didn't know why they did it that way. Didn't know why they just didn't ... have a normal grandmother and granddaughter relationship, she supposed. If she'd been called to a meeting with her grandfather she would have been slightly nervous. Not because she was distant with her grandfather, quite the contrary. It would because he was the head of her family and because he had that respect, and slight fear, due to him. With her grandmother it was different. There was the nervousness, the respect, but there was something else. She didn't know what but she didn't think on it very hard. After all her grandmother never did follow what didn't suit her.
"Quidditch."
Saffron carefully watched her grandmother, perhaps the way one watched their fencing opponent. Or a completely too relaxed cobra. Her abuela hadn't looked up and the statement hadn't been a question, but Saffron had noticed the manner in which her brow had raised the slightest bit. This wasn't the usual complaint of 'While I support your need for independence and rebellion, proper young women shouldn't make Quidditch their life. Unless they're either butch or a trollop'. No this was something completely different.
As much as Saffron enjoyed these meetings with her grandmother, the woman was many years older and did have more experience at the word and head games. Not to mention that Saffron was too bluntly honest to tolerate such things the way a Slytherin would. Imelda was out of her league. "Well, uh." She blew out. "For it to be a 'which', I'd need another option. Quidditch and what?"
"What and What in Quidditch."
Not to mention Hufflepuffs, as a whole, believed in sanity. What 'what, what' in Quidditch she wondered. Saffron blinked, "Excuse me?"
"Which team?"
"The Falcons." She answered automatically.
"Over Puddlemere?"
"Falcons has always been my favorite team. Yes, I like Puddlemere and I ..." It dawned on Saffron what her grandmother was talking about. "How'd you know about that?" It was an automatic question, out of her mouth before she properly could think it through. It shouldn't have been asked because anyone who knew Imelda knew that such questions only served the purpose of being redundant.
However, it appeared that her abuela was in the mood to humor her. She was up to something. If it had to do with the List she was going to lose faith in her brother's ability to set things afire.
"I have my ways. I'm hurt that you didn't see fit to tell me your Tuesday plans."
"Forgive me, abuela, but I didn't tell you my other plans either." It was all she could do not to roll her eyes. "I hope you haven't been spying on me again." There was a barely contained tetchiness to Saffron's tone. Her grandmother did things like that. She supposed that was what happened when one was richer than Midas, believed that one was the Empress of The World, and didn't sit on enough committees.
"Of course I've been spying on you again." The woman had no remorse. It wasn't at all in her dictionary even, judging by her flippant reply. "It's not as if you tell me what goes on in your life. Not anything that should affect my planning it. You missed the family brunch without much of a proper excuse. And that father of yours is no help no help whatsoever."
There, she hadn't even been semi-joking. Saffron got her controlling tendencies from her mother's side of the family. Except where her's was a normal person's level of controlling theirs' was something completely extravagant and not worth thinking on or else it would make one's head ache and teeth grind. However, she managed to control those natural bodily reactions by the slight guilt. She felt bad enough as it was that family from Spain, France, and Libya had been over and she had been gone most of the day. Although both her father and her great-unce, from Libya, had repeatedly told her it was fine to go to the practice she still felt horrible. She felt as if she'd left them down in some way. Josephina, her mother, for all her faults never would have missed a family event for her own needs. She had easily sold them out in the long run but when it came to such responsibility she had always been there with a proper face.
"Yes, because he believes in free will." She muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"I had a proper excuse. Besides," She continued. "it was simply a practice with Puddlemere and I will be trying out for the Falcons, yes." Saffron waited for the other shoe to fall. Perhaps a mandate saying that she couldn't try out for the Falcons. Or that she should never practice with Puddlemere again on Tuesdays because they were suddenly 'tea day'. Or ...
Ismelda finally looked up, her fingers poised on her quill, a thoughtful expression on her face, "You know the things they say about him are complete over-exaggerations."
Saffron did roll her eyes this time and only because Ismelda hadn't been looking at her when she spoke. There was no pretending not knowing who 'he' was. 'He' was the only one her grandmother would give any interest to. Since he had enough to catch her attention; money, talent, lineage. All he needed was a little more fame, of the good kind, and the woman would be signing her away ... dowry and all.
"Which are grandmother? The fact that he was a brute in Hogwart's, is a male trollop now, or that he was a death eater?"
"Sassing is not a proper tone for a young lady."
"Of course not grandmother."
Ismelda pressed her lips together. Saffron wasn't sure if it was in disapproval or to hide a laugh.
"Please continue, abuela. Tell me what journalists could have possibly said to besmirch Flint's good virtue."
"Look who learned sarcasm."
"Only from the best."
This time it was from a smile. "I was simply saying that I doubt he slept with as many pure-blood witches as they said he did."
I care because? No, I bet he did a few half-bloods and muggleborns too. But she didn't say any of that, "I'm willing to accept that perhaps he wasn't a willing death eater. But the day I believe that Marcus Bloody Flint is a man of chastity is the day ... well, I just don't believe it."
"I never said chastity. The man has needs."
"Please don't." She really didn't want to think of any man's needs.
"He comes from a proper family."
"So, and according to Rita Skeeter so did Voldemort, abuela."
"Sass."
"Then cease with the insanity of Flint. The only reason I'd ever look that man sideways would because I'd be afraid he'd hex me."
"Where is your fairness?" Imelda's amused tone took a decidedly sharp turn towards disapproval. "Your father raised you better than that."
"I didn't say from the back did I?"
"Saffron."
"Oh, fine. I'll consider Marcus Flint as a potential husband." The day Malfoy and Potter decided to settle down and have children, with each other. "Is that all grandmother?"
"If not Marcus Flint, then who? You will not consider anyone on my list."
Always on the bloody list. Just because she hadn't had a boyfriend since she was thirteen did not mean she was hopeless or one of those Muggle pod persons. Nor did it mean that she wanted a girlfriend. It simply meant that she had yet to find anyone worth the effort to remove her attention from her family, friends, and Quidditch
"Because everyone on your list is either mad, taken, an arse, a Slytherin, or death eater spawn."
"What of that Chambers heir?"
"Quinn? Quinn is with Hannah Abbott. You know, Frank Abbott's granddaughter?" The tiniest of smirks curved Saffron's lips. She doubted even her grandmother could complain about the Abbott's. "Besides, he's too in love with Stubby Boardman."
"I thought you liked Stumpy."
It was all Saffron could do not to giggle, "No, no. I don't like Stumpy."
"Fine. What of those Wood boys?"
"Oliver's with Cho. Besides we'd probably kill each other from the fact that we're both anal and we like different teams."
"Cho?"
"Chang?"
"Doesn't he know that all her boyfriends die?"
"Potter's still kicking last time I checked and please abuela, nicer to Cho. I like her." Saffron said in overtly calm tones she used when she was annoyed or offended for someone else.
"Oh, fine. Fine. What of the younger Wood."
"Todd? Other than our height difference is highly impractical?"
"Nitpick."
"I learn from the best. Besides, he almost has better hair than I do."
"Mordred forbid." Ismelda sighed in exasperation but her lips curved slightly again. "Jonas Abbott?"
"Taken."
"Cassius Warrington?"
"Who?"
"You're right. Too much of a recluse. You do want someone who has been out in the last ten months."
"Excuse me, abuela, Warrington? As in Argento Warrington's older brother? Wasn't he in Umbridge's little group? Wasn't he a death eater?"
"No matter." Her grandmother pushed the questions away with a delicate, yet forceful, wave of her hand. "Adrian Pucey."
"Slytherin."
"I do believe I should be offended if you are using that as an excuse, and one with such distaste, at that."
"But you're not." Saffron sighed in exasperation, though she couldn't help a small smile of pride. Her grandmother was made of much sterner stuff. Slytherin or no.
"Gregory Goyle."
Her grandmother also was evil, evil, evil, "You're not funny."
"I do believe that I am."
"If you suggest Malfoy I shall leave and never talk to you again." Saffron scowled slightly, her annoyance finally truly showing.
"Potter?"
"He wishes that he was taken."
"Ben Fox."
"Maybe if he grew up."
"Weasley."
"Which one?"
"Anyone. At this rate I'm desperate for you."
"Abuela, I am eighteen. Be desperate for me when I'm fifty."
"If I knew that there was a possibility that you'd actually look at a member of the opposite sex by the time you were fifty I would never speak of this list again."
It was of the utmost rudeness to call someone a liar to their face. Therefore, Saffron didn't. She regained control of her slipping temper. She stayed silent and simply raised, slowly, raised a brow. Lips quirked in amused disbelief.
"However," Ismelda plunged on as if she hadn't noticed her granddaughter's Look. "I know that that will never happen. It's a shame that I'll never be a great-grandmother."
The teenaged Hufflepuff didn't know of many women older than her grandmother, let alone Ismelda's age, that would willingly ever say that. Sadly for her, her abuela, wasn't 'many women'.
Even with her, maddening as the woman was, Saffron had the inability to say no. "And what would help make that ... situation come sooner?" She asked with a weary sigh. Temper was easy to control but exasperation was much harder. Because Saffron knew that whatever answer her grandmother would give she wasn't going to like it.
"A ball!"
"A ball." Came the monotone reply.
"Why yes, a ball. After you graduate Hogwarts. When I was your age all the wealthy purebloods had balls for their children."
Saffron bit down on her tongue to refrain from saying that at her age they married right out of school and possibly still beheaded House-Elves for fun. She also refrained from reminding Ismelda that she hadn't married until she was twenty-five. Sometimes being the proper child was very trying on her mouth.
"Then we shall have a ball." Saffron muttered, but she might have as well said nothing.
She was unsure if she wanted to laugh or to beat her head against her grandmother's desk.
"Perfect. I will tell Felicity to start the preparations. We'll have sculptures and enchant the ceilings and have pink. You like pink don't you? Such a Hufflepuff color and you are a reserved little girls at time, pink?" Imelda began scribbling things down not even allowing Saffron to pause a moment to gather breath and answer. "We shall do it a Victorian theme. Ball gowns and-.... Felicity! Felicity. Where is that ridiculous girl. When I call her she knows I expec-"
"No." Saffron said firmly.
"No? Of course I expect her to come."
"No. As in Felicity has the next few hours off. No as in I do not want a Victorian theme for my ball-"
"You don't even want the bloody ball." Imelda pointed out sourly, placing her quill down in irritation.
Saffron rolled her eyes and this time she let the woman see. She knew this what Imelda wanted. She knew that the woman had been trying to manipulate her into taking charge for a damn thing she didn't even want. "No as in you will not curse in front of me. No, pink. No, I am not a little girl. And no, Felicity will not be in charge of this and neither will you."
"You'll have to invite Slytherins."
"No, I will not!"
"You will have to. What will people say? Could you imagine the newspapers?"
"That the del Mar-Capper child is a reverse snob? I say 'why, thank you.'"
"Slytherins."
"Not likely."
"Slytherins."
"No."
"Slytherins."
"No. I don't want Slytherins at MY party and I will not have them there."
"Slytherins or I'll invite your uncle Antonio."
"Fine. Slytherins. That's it. Nothing else from your corner. Now I have the sudden need to lie down, may I be excused?" And possibly find another desk.
"No, you may not. We have other things to discuss."
"What other things could we possibly have to discuss after that?"
"You know how I feel about Quidditch."
"Merlin." Saffron blew out in a low annoyed breath.
"However, I feel this will be a most excellent opportunity for you to form your own list."
"What?!"
"Obviously the boys at Hogwarts are not to your satisfaction, perhaps, being around men will help."
"You're mad." She said in both shock and awe. Screw politeness, every meeting her grandmother reached a new level of insanity. What in her mind made her think she wanted to start her own list? The woman might as well ban her to work for the damn Ministry. And the horrible thing was, if it was simply a way to say yes and brush her off she would do it (if her conscience allowed her to), but that wouldn't be the case. No the woman would want to actually SEE a list and then she would want to know WHY so and so was on it. It couldn't be something simple such as 'he had nice ears'. It would have to be ... Mad. The woman was stark and raving mad.
"Are you sure that you'd rather the Falcons over Puddlemere? Because if you won't even consider Marcus for anything besides hexing than you should consider Roderick Marrow. I knew his parents. Lovely people."
"Puddlemere isn't taking on new players."
"I could have that arranged for you."
"No!"
"All it would take-"
"I'll do the list. I'll, I'll, I-I'll have the ball. I'll marry ... I'll date. There. I said. Happy?"
"No, but I suppose that'll do." Imelda gave her quite the beatific smile before returning her attention back to her speech. "You are excused."
Saffron just stared at her bent, white-gray head. If it'd been anyone other than Saffron they probably would have broken or cursed or done something not so nice by now; however, Saffron simply stood up, curtsied, said her goodbyes and left. All the while thinking not so nice things in her head.
When the door closed behind her Ismelda tilted her head slightly and looked at the door with a TRUE unholy smirk. She didn't care about the ball. She didn't give a damn about any bloody list or when the hell her granddaughter married or who she married. Well, those last two were a lie and she would call Marrow's own grandmother as soon as possible to see if he was still single. However, she did care about her granddaughter. She cared about her a lot and she would be damn if she lost another one who meant so much to her because of bull-headed stubbornness. Unwavering focus and crushing responsibilities-especially if they were taken on by one who liked to conveniently forget that they had limits-could kill just as much as a fascination to the Dark Arts. Although, Saffron loathed to hear it, there were times she was too much her mother's daughter.
Flipping open her flown, she dialed a code, "Abe. Yes, darling so glad that you finally learned to work this, that's a good Ravenclaw. No, heart, I'd never patronize you. Yes ... yess ... fine. I have wonderful news so do stop being such a prig, Capper. Yes, yes. She was here. Did you believe that she would ignore my summons? Abe, you really are not funny. No, no. Yes. Quite amusing. You should have seen her face, oh, stop being such a proper one. Oh, all right. Mmhm, dearest. Yes, Operation Get Saffron To Be Young Again is a go. I know. As much as I adore your son David, nevertheless, next time do not allow him to name anything. Especially not my oper-our operation." She rolled her eyes.