*Long Chapter. Heads up*
It was a warm summer morning in the first week of July and I was already sick of being home. Theo had been right; this place was for the dogs ever since our friends went away. But I guess that was expected once we all turned 14.
When wealthy families had children old enough to be involved in their social scene, they are pushed to travel as much as they can, making friendly calls, meeting with children from their parent's connections, and taking up extra courses abroad if you were inept socially. Anything to boost your character.
Then the moment I got home, Theo pulled an invite out from under me and sped off to visit Xander in Switzerland for the fourth of July week, leaving me all alone
in this massive house with only my parents and cat for company. Even Rosalie was gone, visiting her grandmother in Connecticut. I was tempted to do the same and visit grand'mère, except that she had been rather frail since that fall in June. It was best not to exert her.
So, what was I up to?
Reading the newspaper outside by my mother's newly installed fountain in her rose garden. Ever since Diggory's death, I was irked to keep track of what was happening, in case something suspicious came up. But nothing ever did, at least, not in the American newspapers.
In fact, the only news about the British were jabs at the British prime minister for causing such a scandal between a school headmaster and a student. Harry Potter of course. Though they never explained why Dumbledore and Fudge were fighting. At least, not into detail with Cedric Diggory. His death never graced the papers. The only focus the American papers seemed to have were on our new president elect, and how he was doing a terrible job keeping jobs secure in MACUSA. And on money. Always on money.
Since money was the least of my problems and MACUSA had nothing to do with me, I found the news dull. I turned the page to a perfume ad which wasn't much better.
"Mon Ange, if you sit out here much longer you will burn," my mother announced as she walked toward me in her usual lazy elegant way. She was wearing a summer dress of Cinderella blue that showed her smooth shoulders. A line of simple pearls was clasped around her neck and pearl studs decorated her ears. Her hair was down for a change, in loose ringlets that circled her face like a halo and her eyes were sharp, watching me like a hawk.
For a woman in her early fifties, she looked amazing. But this was old news to Ava, who had long ago accepted that she would never be as graceful as her mother. No matter how many years she studied at Beauxbatons, some graces people were born with, not learned.
"I don't burn, Mamen. I golden. Besides, it's only mid-morning and I've only just sat down." My mother scoffed gently before joining me.
"The last thing I need is my daughter entering the sailing club all pink like a lobster- "
"Sailing club? You're not making me go to that, are you?" I asked, uncharacteristically lazy for a change. My mother matched my stare, giving me my answer.
"Couldn't you just tell people I'm still in the Netherlands or something? It's not like the rest of us are here anyway, people will believe you."
"And have me go to that event alone? Absolutely not. You will come with me and you will like it," My mother said in a final tone. I huffed in defeat and closed my newspaper. There goes my self-care day.
"There is someone I want you to meet," my mother informed me with a sly smile that I didn't like seeing.
"Who?"
"Do you remember the editor of Witch Weekly's daughter? Charlotte, I believe is her name."
"Yes, I remember. But I haven't seen her since I was eight." My mother waved the number away as if it were a spare fly.
"That's not a problem. I heard through her mother that she is looking for someone to spend time with Charlotte in their hunting lodge for a week or so to keep Charlotte company-"
"And she can't find friends of her own to go visit?" I asked skeptically. My mother gave me a raised brow which I copied.
"Charlotte's mother has a running article that focuses on the up and coming socialites of the world and what bright futures they have. It's highly selective. Ever heard of it?" My mother asked.
"It's a soap rag, Mamen. Do you think I have the time to read such garbage?" My mother's hint of a smile displayed pride as she glanced toward the fountain.
"Well, maybe no one of your standing but other witches worldwide are obsessed with that magazine and from what I've heard, draw inspiration on the new It-Girl of the month. Even women my age read it. Which is concerning but that's another topic," my mother said in her refined way.
"Well from where this conversation is going, you seem to have a plan to get me in that article as an it-girl. I just don't seem to see where that plan fits in exactly," I said, cutting to the chase. My mother's eyes brightened before she switched her gaze toward the running water.
"Charlotte's mother, Lucille, uses her daughter as a safety net of sorts to research girls in her age bracket for the article," my mother began calmly. "Her sight has been set on you since the Magnolia Benefit two years ago. Though I had ushered her away up until now because you were so young. But now-"
"I'm fourteen, Mamen. Last I checked, that was still younger than half the it-girls in New York alone," I reminded her, but mother wasn't fazed. In fact, she seemed to glow at the thought.
"You would be one of the youngest socialites with potential, mon ange. I wouldn't have to work so hard for your debutante ball if you get this." I rolled back my head over the back of my chair and exhaled loudly.
"My debutante ball is not for another two years. If this It-girl plan was to work, which to be frank, I don't think it will. The hot press I'll get from it can't possibly last for two full years." My mother only smiled, as if I didn't understand something primal.
My mother explained the final plan leaving me no other option but to agree.
"But only as long as I can still go to Sam's," I warned, causing her to shrug, as if this was a small detail.
"I don't see why you would favor her over a chance to be in Witch Weekly, but so be it."
Skip to a few hours later, I found myself standing by a cocktail table, in white canvas wedges that pinched in all the wrong places and a summer dress in soft yellow that seemed to exaggerate all the wrong features. A white scarf was folded gently in my hair like a hairband, and tied at the base of my neck. My mother thought it elongated my neck further than it already was. I thought it made me look twice my age.
Mamen stood by in a white dress with lemon water color on the edges to subtly match me; something rather sly of her.
"Emmeline! So happy to see you. And I see you brought your daughter," An older witch from the dark ages of Newport society said with her usual nosy tone at my mother's arm. I maintained my usual fake smile while my mother said the usual words of welcome even though we both couldn't stand the witch. She thought she was the bomb dot come when we all knew she was a closeted cat lady with too much money on her hands.
That would probably be me in fifty years if Oliver stays around long enough. Which given his personality, I see happening.
The sailing club was busy with people chatting while sparkling drinks with miniature boats, charmed to circle in each glass, were sent around the room by house elves in stripped onesies.
The club was this massive room with a glass wall facing the ocean for spectators to witness the two story sized sailboats go by. A high ceiling exposed numerous skylights with a massive chandelier made of sailing rope suspended in the air by magic. The walls were painted aquamarine, enchanted to move like the deep blue sea, with little gold fish moving from wall to wall.
As my eyes went across the crowd, they took hold of a petite blonde witch of my age by the bar, sipping on a virgin cocktail. It was Annie, and she was watching me.
"Ah, Lucille! How lovely to see you," My mother said with her usual French lint, as she drew my away from the bar to a curly brunette witch with elegant features of about forty. Next to her was a witch my age with similar coloring to her mother. Except for her nose. That ugly thing must have been a gift from her father.
"And you must be Charlotte," my mother said after kissing Lucille hello. "You've grown up." Charlotte, captured by my mother's spell, grinned shyly her way before Lucille took notice of me.
"Oh Ava, it's so good to see you again. When was the last time we saw each other? At that jewelry auction I believe?" I nodded politely, before reminding her that was three years ago.
"Three years! Why, no wonder you've changed so much. I hear you go to Beauxbatons, how do you like that school?"
"It's very nice," I said calmly while my mother turned as if stung by a bee. When I glanced back at her, I saw that she had merely grabbed one of the cocktails from a house elf behind her.
"Charlotte, you remember, Ava, yes?" Her mother asked, guiding her daughter toward me. Next thing we knew, we were alone with our mothers walking off toward the bar. The two of us gave each other a once over, before I started.
"I hear you are taking your Illvermorny classes from home. That must be nice-"
"Do you still ride?" She asked at the same time as I started. We paused and the pair of us laughed nervously.
"Yes, I ride," I said politely, as if reading from a well-rehearsed script. "If you mean horseback, that is. Though I haven't in some time."
"Well, you should," Charlotte said, in her soft voice. It was a crime that girl had such a nose, was all I could think as she continued to talk. She would be a very attractive girl if she just removed that nose...
"I'll be going to my parent's lodge next week to ride for a few weeks. You wouldn't perhaps want to come along, would you?"
I gave her a charmed smile and glanced to my mother who was drinking her cocktail in my direction while Lucille talked her ear off. She gave me a raised brow in warning, so I regained that fake smile of mine and turned back to Charlotte.
"I would be delighted."
The Whitney family lodge was located on the outskirts of New York, near the border to Connecticut. It was situated in a mass of trees, with over 150 acres to themselves. Half of the properties was reserved to their personal stables, the likes of which has gained much popularity in both papers and in word through social gathering and popular names gracing the area. Even the no-maj wealth had heard of the Whitney horses, whom where bred and flown in from the Netherlands and Spain.
It was one thing to visit such a lodge, but it was a special occasion if you were gifted a horse to ride during your visit.
I had been taught to ride like all children of my social standing, but unlike most girls of my rank, I never had a great liking to the sport. Something about controlling an animal was unnerving to me. I felt bad for the horses.
Of course, I also had a nasty fall back when I was actively riding at the age of nine that could have impacted my thoughts on the sport.
As I had outgrown my riding gear, I found myself in my mother's bedroom while she looked through her massive closet for her own riding gear. I was just starting to fit into her clothes and since we didn't have the time to go shopping for my own gear, we improvised.
"When you are there, I want you to be extra nice to Charlotte," my mother instructed as she reappeared with two pairs of riding pants in one hand.
"Lucille will be watching you both closely but she won't post any article until she is sure that you are a kind girl."
"I am kind," I said matter a factly, as I zipped up one of my mother's riding boots. I looked up to see her giving me the stink eye.
"What? I am! Beauxbatons has changed me-"
"No school can change one's personality," my mother explained as she disappeared back into her closet. "So I expect you to act extra kind to the girl, as if she were Sam."
"I don't have to act kind to Sam," I pouted. "Half the time we are mean to each other on purpose."
My mother reappeared with three riding jackets and placed them on the bed with the pants.
"Well then improvise for me, please. Half of Newport society has been wanting their daughters on this article, and I will not have your stubbornness ruin this chance."
After we matched a few outfits together for me to bring on my trip, my mother turned to her silk drawers and pulled out a few hair scarves for me to try.
"Wear these after you take off your helmet. You never know when Lucille will be looking in on you. I want you to look dressed to the nines always. Even after a ride."
"Who else was in the running for this invite?" I asked abruptly, turning away from the scarves. My mother looked at me through the mirror on the door.
"Does it matter?"
"I saw Annie the other day, watching me as if she knew what was happening," I explained as an answer. I was surprised to see a gloating smile appear on my mother's face.
"Annie's mother paid a hefty fee to Lucille's newest charity for the magazine, hoping to get her daughter a spot but she made a mistake," my mother explained, as she returned to her silk drawers.
"She gave the donation in her own name rather than her daughter's. Suffice it to say, Lucille was not impressed."
"But she can't expect Annie to have that much money to donate even if it were in her name," I argued logically. My mother only tutted happily, as if I were naive.
"Oh mon ange, how do you think Lucille became interested in you?"
"How much?" I muttered, wincing at my mother. She smiled before closing the last of the drawers with a snap.
"Enough to fund their ranch for a decade."
Charlotte met me outside the gate of Whitney Lodge the following afternoon in a leisure top and pant set in a soft cream color. A rather fashionable color for her dark skin and chestnut hair.
"Thank you again for the invitation," I said politely as I exited the car. House elves immediately materialized behind Charlotte and rushed to the car to grab my luggage. Charlotte gave another soft smile, before ushering me along.
"My mother wishes to see us in her study first then afterwards we can get you settled."
And so, went my first day. As expected, Lucille grilled me with questions. From my mannerisms, to my outfit, and even as far as to judge my vocabulary. Dinners were spent in a large dining room with a table taking up most of the room. Lucille controlled the conversation, asking me numerous questions while her daughter ate silently.
If I didn't know any better, I would think she was used to this treatment.
It wasn't hard for me to be kind to Charlotte. She was a soft soul who didn't ask for much and gave everything she had in return. She was also an excellent rider who didn't mind getting her hands dirty. While most girls of our rank hired stable boys for the sole purpose of doing the dirty work of horse keeping, Charlotte did everything herself. Maybe that was why all the horses liked her.
As expected, I was a bit rusty on my riding. While Charlotte and her horse immediately went on to a trot on the course, my horse and I kept to a slow walk. But with time and with Charlotte's help, my familiarity and comfort rose, and soon, the pair of us were trotting together.
I had often questioned how someone like Charlotte could be okay speaking to a stranger like me for a whole week. I'd hate the task if I were in her shoes but she carried on with grace that rivaled my mother.
But then there was a moment, shortly after our ride when I had taken off my helmet in exchange for one of my mother's silk scarves when I spotted Charlotte's wondering look. There was a sharp glint that appeared for not even a full second before disappearing again in her dark eyes. The sort of glint that showed someone's intellect.
Was she judging me?
My mother had never mentioned the possibility of Lucille and Charlotte tag teaming this interview process. But then again, wouldn't that make sense? Charlotte spends the most amount of time with the socialites anyway. Perhaps she makes the final call.
It was just a hunch, but by that wave of judgement in her eyes, I couldn't help but feel like it aligned with the truth. I would have to be far more careful from this point on.
Charlotte remained kind but nothing felt genuine. It was like she was just going through the motions as a hostess. Offering everything to me, and listening to everything I said without comment. I noticed that she had me talk most of the time, prompting me with questions and giving simple nods in response.
I realized one night as I was falling off to sleep that Charlotte seemed to know everything about me and yet I knew next to nothing about her.
That had to change.
So, on that fourth morning at breakfast, where we sat in the morning parlor, I took hold of the conversation.
"You are an amazing hostess, you know. Something I could never do with such grace," I began with simple schmoozing. "But I can't help but think that you must be tired of it after a while."
"Oh of course not," she said in her gentle voice. "It's no trouble at all. It's not like I see many people anyway. This is nice for me," she said, but I felt her voice go flat. I decided to push on.
"But you do have friends, right? People you can gossip to, or talk to when stressed?" Charlotte glanced at her coffee before looking at me curiously.
"I guess not. But I have mother for that."
"You must be a great help to your mother," I replied, before taking a sip of my coffee. When I lowered the cup, I caught Charlotte staring.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, in a tone that was on the surface gentle but I could hear a bit of backbone appearing in her words. Good, she has a personality other than being soft.
"Let me be frank," I said, cutting the schmoozing short. "My mother came to me before the sailing club, instructing me to be kind to you so that I would be invited here. But at our first meeting in over four years, you immediately play that card, as if it were an order from your own mother. Does that sound, about right?"
Charlotte blinked, but didn't say a word, so I went on.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but I believe we are just puppets here, under our mothers' orders. And while I think they mean well, gosh I hope they mean well," I added with a rueful shake to the head, "I can't help but notice that over this week you and I have yet to have an actual conversation together. And I want that to change," I concluded, sitting back in my seat. Charlotte blinked again, but that sharp note in her eyes had reappeared.
Merlin, my mother is going to kill me for this.
"You must know that this wasn't my idea," I said slowly, glancing around the room. "This article, the way your mother questions me... My mother wants me in this magazine. Not me." I paused, to look at my fingers under the table. I expected Charlotte to say something but she remained silent, like usual.
"I honestly have never read an article from Witch Weekly before. Except for that one about a friend of mine. But it was slander so..."
"Which friend?" Charlotte asked with a start, making me look up at her. She had crooked her head to the side like a bird, her eyes invested.
"Her name is Hermione. One of your writers, Rita Skitter, wrote an article about her that made her life at school miserable. I can't be part of a magazine with such a mean streak-"
"Rita Skitter," Charlotte repeated with new meaning. The last of my words didn't seem to ring a bell. She sat back in her chair and scoffed. A rising smile appeared on her lips. Her gaze switched to me; no longer gentle but full of intellect.
"Rita Skitter had been on leave since early summer. My mother hasn't had contact with her since June."
"What happened?" I asked, sitting up. She shrugged causally.
"After she failed to send in a promised article on the third task, my mother was in a foul mood- but that's to be expected from journalists. They never finish their work if their heart isn't in it. I guess that third task wasn't juicy enough for her."
My face must have clouded at her words because she asked if I was alright.
"I'm fine," I confirmed steadily. "I'm glad to hear she's off the pay roll." Charlotte continued to watch me for a moment before speaking again.
"You know, I've had to sit through conversations with numerous wannabe socialites who read my mother's magazine like a bible. They say whatever my mother wants to hear at the dinner table but the moment they are with me, it's a different story. To be honest, it's part of the reason why I don't make many friends. Everyone I've met from school has wanted to use me to get to my mother. It was only natural that I chose to study here. Though my mother thinks I have a bit of a talent when it comes to reading people... and their motives."
"What motives do you think I have?" I asked curiously. A bemused smile overtook her steady gaze.
"Honestly, I thought you were like the rest of them up to this point."
"Damn," I muttered in an undertone. "If I had just kept that up, I wouldn't have had to worry about my name in the article." Charlotte blinked again, her mind going in a tailspin.
"You are a very interesting witch." I smiled genuinely for the first time since being here.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
--
Hello there!
I had to rewrite and delete a lot of this chapter because it was getting very long. I understand that you all probably could care less about a character like Charlotte but I wrote her because she is another part of the puzzle once Voldemort takes over. Don't forget, having a friend in journalism during a chaotic time can be very helpful.
Especially for someone like Ava.
I'm curious, how many of you on here ride horseback or have ever gone horseback riding. I have a family friend who has her own ranch, so I rode as a little kid, but I remember I rode a mean pony named Pumpkin, so I didn't last long in that sport.
I'd love to hear people's experiences. I think it's a great sport to be involved in.
I'll post again on Sunday.
Until then,
-WG-