July 31st, 1894 — Malfoy Manor

The grand ballroom of Malfoy Manor glimmered with opulence, chandeliers casting a warm glow over the elegantly dressed guests mingling beneath their sparkling brilliance. Vera stood near a lavish table adorned with an array of delicate hors d'oeuvres, her flame-red hair cascading down her shoulders like a vibrant waterfall. She wore a striking white gown that accentuated her figure and made her hair appear even more radiant.

As the laughter and chatter of the guests surrounded her, Vera's keen eyes swept over the gathering. The Malfoys were known for their exclusive soirées, and this evening was no exception. Guests from every notable pureblood family were present, engaged in conversations that ranged from mundane pleasantries to the latest gossip sweeping through the wizarding world.

“Did you hear?” Vera leaned in closer to her nearest companion, delicately balancing a glass of sparkling pumpkin juice in one hand. “They say Miss Victoire’s courtship was broken off! Can you believe it?” One of Vera's slender red brows rose, “ What do you think could have caused it?”

  

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Close to the drinks table stood Mr. Samuel Griffith and observed the festivities. He was tall and tastefully dressed and appeared to belong to this exclusive party both by his looks and slightly ominous airs, but was not exactly part of the guest list. The recent descent of the Griffiths both in fortune and purity would not allow it.
However, a gentleman of note was determined to make Mr. Griffith his best friend and had brought him along, likely hoping to lower the egregious sum the alchemist had quoted him for a flying marble steed that the fellow much desired as a gift for his daughter.
Mr. Griffith had no intention of ever making this marble pegasus, but he was satisfied enough to be at the soirée.

Miss Ginevra Blackwood would only look upon his sharp profile when she adressed him, since he had noticed her but had not planned to initiate conversation and had turned slightly away.
When spoken to, however, he reconsidered and turned towards her.
“Was it? To Mr. Alderton, isn’t that right?”
He smiled.
“I dare not guess. I hope to have some business with the family. You may be better informed. What do you think to be the cause, Miss?”
It was inappropriate for his social rank to be too forward with gossip with an upperclass woman he just met. She would have to take the lead on that, if she so desired.
“I am Mr. Griffith. At your service.”, he introduced himself with a slight bow.

  

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The male voice beside her drew her attention, and assuming it was her brother Bertram, she responded, “Indeed it was- I'm surprised her father allowed it to go on as long as he did” She flashed a bright smile, fully expecting her brother’s usual teasing response. The Malfoys views on blood purity were hardly secret.

Instead, the man turned towards her, and Vera realized she was mistaken. Her cheeks flushed momentarily, but she quickly recovered, her curiosity piqued by this unexpected encounter. The man had a sharp, distinguished profile, and although his presence seemed slightly out of place at such an exclusive event, he carried himself with an air of quiet confidence.

Vera's eyes sparkled with interest as she tilted her head slightly, considering her response. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Griffith. Miss Ginevra Blackwood.” She offered him a graceful nod.

Vera’s gaze remained fixed on Mr. Griffith, her curiosity about him growing with each passing moment. “Tell me, Mr. Griffith, what sort of business do you have with the Malfoys? Something to do with your skills as an alchemist, perhaps?”

She took a sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving his, fully engaged in the unexpected and delightful conversation. The soirée had just become much more interesting, and Vera was eager to see where this new acquaintance might lead.

  

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“The pleasure is mine,” he replied, a tad too informal for his rank but more personable than the stiff comment about the weather or the entrees that was proper.

Samuel Griffith, a bit surprised to be the center of such pointed focus as he perceived in her eyes, met her gaze and smiled slightly. A Blackwood, and she knew his occupation. Had he made something for a Blackwood once? Over the decade of running his laboratories on Doubt Street, and countless meetings with wealthy wizards, it was hard to keep track.

“Indeed. I craft Homunculi, Golems, and Chimera. Sentient and alive, but creations of alchemy instead of natural beings. You might have seen them pulling carriages and guarding manors and such,” he explained.

“It is why I am here today. Mr. Travers over there hopes it will convince me to indulge his very interesting request of crafting a flying horse and additionally two plump cherubs to attend it, so they might catch his daughter, lest she fall off the thing mid-air,” he recounted, trying not to sound too amused. It was really out of the question, but rich men felt entitled to ask for the most ridiculous things.

“Did I ever have the honor to craft something for the Blackwoods? My memory seems to fail me on that count.”

  

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Vera was thoroughly intrigued now. His manner was a refreshing change from the usual stiff propriety of these events, and the more he spoke, the more he captured her attention. "A pleasure indeed, Mr. Griffith," she replied, her tone light and smile lopsided. The mention of Homunculi, Golems, and Chimera interested her. She had heard of such creations, of course—who in her circles hadn’t? But to meet someone who actually crafted these extraordinary beings was quite another thing.

She couldn’t help but let out a soft, genuine laugh as he described Mr. Travers' peculiar request. "A flying horse attended by cherubs? Now that would be a sight to see. Though I must say, it does seem like the sort of request that would emerge from an overly indulgent parent. I can’t imagine his daughter would be too pleased at the idea of needing to be caught by cherubs, no matter how charming they might be."

Vera’s eyes sparkled as she considered his question. “As for the Blackwoods, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of commissioning such extraordinary creations from you. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “I do recall my Mother mentioning something about a particularly sophisticated creation he admired at one of the Quidditch matches last season. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was one of yours.”

She paused, her mind whirring with possibilities. “Tell me, Mr. Griffith, do you often take on such whimsical projects? A flying marble steed seems rather frivolous, even for our world. I should think there would be more practical applications for your talents. I thought all alchemists were focused on riches and creating gold.”

  

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“Whimsical, that is one way to put it. If I am honest, I have no intention at all to indulge this particular request, although Mr. Travers is convinced he may change my mind. There are quite a few queries that I reject, to the dismay of my clients. You would find some of them very amusing.”

Samuel Griffith had now entered fully into this unexpected conversation. He had of course been tangentially aware of Miss Blackwood as one of the names among the rank of debutantes that were considered the most desirable in society; in possession of wealth, status, and beauty.
Samuel, however, did not share the fascination many men had for debutantes and rarely talked to them. He generally found them to be too chaste and proper to be very interesting, so he was surprised to find himself pleasantly engaged in this conversation.

“It is a widely held belief that Alchemists are busy turning dirt into gold. That is generally possible, but only yields about a galleon worth of gold per day. The prices I quote for my creations are well above that, and I dare say they are more useful.”

Samuel offered one of his cards, a small and simple placard of metal that magically changed its inscription to the place the alchemist resided at, should he be available to accept callers. If he was not, it said so.

“Should you ever require my services, you now know where to find me,” he said and smiled.

Mr. Travers looked at them from across the room with an expression of indignation and jealousy. Samuel did not give one of these to him; the only place Mr. Travers might get hold of him was at his office.

“Now that I have been talking more frankly than I should, how are you enjoying this soiree?” he asked curiously.

“You must visit a great number of these events during the season. Do you tire of them?”

  

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Vera listened intently as Mr. Griffith spoke, her interest deepening with each revelation. His candidness was refreshing, a stark contrast to the usual polished and rehearsed conversations she often endured at such events. His dismissal of Mr. Travers’ fantastical request brought a smile to her lips—she admired his integrity in not succumbing to the whims of wealth, something she rarely encountered among her peers.

When he handed her the small metallic card, its inscription shifting magically before her eyes, she couldn’t help but be impressed. It was a simple yet elegant piece, much like the man himself. “Thank you, Mr. Griffith,” she said, accepting the card with a graceful nod. “I appreciate the gesture. Should I ever need something truly extraordinary, I will be sure to seek you out.”

She noticed Mr. Travers glowering at them from across the room, his expression a mixture of indignation and frustration. The sight amused her, and she fought to suppress a laugh. How typical, she thought, that a man like Mr. Travers would find himself so easily slighted.

Turning her attention back to Samuel, Vera allowed a touch of playful mischief to enter her voice as she replied to his question. “Ah, the soiree. It’s lovely, as one might expect from the Malfoys. The ballroom is exquisite, the company even more so.” Her eyes flickered with amusement as she added, “Though, to be perfectly honest, these events do have a tendency to blend together after a while. A never-ending parade of familiar faces, tiresome small talk, and the occasional scandal to keep things interesting.”

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “But I must admit, tonight has been rather enjoyable, especially now that I find myself in such intriguing company. It’s not every day I have the pleasure of conversing with someone who isn’t solely concerned with the latest fashion or the next big match.”

  

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"Ah, then I will thank you for the compliment by staying by your side a little longer, and return it by admitting that I enjoy the honor of your company very much, Miss Blackwood," Samuel replied with a warm smile and decidedly turned his back on Mr. Travers, who silently mimicked that he would like to have a word.

He thought that her comment on the evening and these types of events underscored that Miss Blackwood seemed able to enjoy the privileges of being the picture of a sought-after debutante, without getting lost in the mythology of it all, and committing the sin of taking it rather too seriously.
That elevated her quite a bit in his opinion and spurred his imagination. The question occurred to him, to what extent was it true that there was a gilded cage around her? Imperceptible to him, who had always taken the freedom to pursue whatever he desired. Supposedly, young women of her strata were glamorous but tightly controlled, bound to the wishes of their parents.
Did she really know nothing of life beyond that? It was hard to believe. These things were not always as black and white as the narrative about them, in his experience.

"The soirée is charming, and I am very glad you enjoy it. Although it seems to me that you agree that events, soirées, and balls of even greater diversions and delights are imaginable," Samuel said, his voice taking up the hint of mischief she had introduced to their conversation.

"If one happens to be afflicted with an adventurous spirit, there is often a desire for a change of pace that is not always easy to come by," he said with a pointed look towards the dance floor, where the third awfully traditional waltz in a row was playing. It was as much as he could allow himself to allude to, in lieu of outright saying what a stiff affair the evening was presently.
Perhaps it was the early hour or the droves of gentlemen in want of a wife but in need of refinement, but glancing over the dancing crowd, Samuel saw many faces furrowed in dour concentration. What he saw little of was the lightness and joie de vivre that he enjoyed and partook in at the events he liked to frequent.
"Have you ever gone dancing in Paris, Miss Blackwood?" he asked and added: "Perhaps your family visits the city on occasion?" to not imply that she might do something as independent and scandalous as visiting dances on her own volition.

  

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Vera felt a delightful warmth spread through her as Samuel turned fully towards her, his back now firmly to Mr. Travers. There was something refreshingly different about him—his manner, his conversation—it all intrigued her.

“Thank you, Mr. Griffith,” she replied, her tone equally warm. “I must say, your company has made this soirée far more enjoyable than I anticipated.” As he spoke about the evening, Vera found herself nodding in agreement. The predictability of the event—the endless waltzes, the polite but dull conversation—was all too familiar. His suggestion of something more adventurous struck a chord with her, and she couldn’t help but laugh softly as he glanced at the dance floor.

“Ah, Paris,” she mused, her eyes brightening at the memory. “Indeed, I have had the pleasure of visiting. My grandmother winters there, you see, and I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the city.” She paused, recalling the vibrant energy of Paris, so different from the carefully controlled world of London society. “Paris is... exhilarating. The art, the fashion, the music—it all has a life of its own. And the dances... they’re nothing like this.” She gestured lightly towards the dancers, her smile tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

“My grandmother always said that Paris has a way of making you feel truly alive, and I believe she’s right. There’s a freedom there, a sense of possibility that’s hard to find elsewhere.” Vera’s gaze drifted for a moment, lost in thought, before returning to Samuel, her eyes sparkling with shared mischief. “So yes, I’ve danced in Paris, Mr. Griffith. It’s a far cry from these waltzes, I assure you.”

She leaned in slightly, her voice lowering as if sharing a secret. “There’s something wonderfully liberating about Parisian dances—they’re not bound by the same rules, the same expectations. One can lose oneself in the music, the movement, without worrying about what others might think.”

  

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"Now I no longer need to wonder why the shine of this is unable to dazzle you," Samuel said. He made a small movement with his head that encompassed the hollow luster of the scenery.
"You have been able to compare and refine your taste. I am glad to hear that."

Surely, Paris, like London, was a city with deep layers. It was certainly possible to winter there and have a time as boring and formal as back home, especially if a British chaperone was in charge of choosing the events.
From Miss Blackwood's descriptions he gleaned, however, that her experience had not been that. She had not only visited but learned what the scene there could afford someone who appreciated that sort of spirit; she had almost certainly taken different detours than one would expect of her.

Now, that was interesting to him. With this revelation she certainly had, at this moment, acquired his undivided attention.
Mr. Griffith's dark eyes remained fixed on her when she leaned in and, in a conspiratorial tone, elaborated on her impressions.

"Certainly, one can lose oneself there in more than one way; and in getting lost, find unrivaled liberties," he replied, in a correspondingly lowered voice.
"I spent some years in the city. And on occasion, I go back to revisit the places closest to my heart," he confided. "Whenever I tire of the stillness and solitude of my laboratory."

He permitted a pause to grow in their exchange, let it expand a little, and then said:"I may go back one last time, this summer."
Samuel met her gaze, now all but unaware of the goings-on around them.

  

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Vera was rather pleased with the way Mr. Griffith’s gaze remained so fixed on her, his attention clearly captivated by her - how thrilling to have such power over another. She allowed herself a moment to savor the pause in their exchange, the unspoken understanding that passed between them. His mention of returning to Paris, perhaps for the last time, stirred something within her—a yearning, perhaps, for the freedom and adventure that the city represented.

"Paris has a way of calling you back, doesn’t it?" she replied softly, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "There’s a part of me that always feels at home there, as if the city itself understands those who seek something... more."

Vera’s eyes searched his, as if trying to read the thoughts that lingered behind them. He was a different sort than the usual society she was used to at events like this.

She hesitated for a moment, then decided to take a step further into the intimacy of their conversation. "If you do return this summer, I hope you find whatever it is you’re searching for, Mr. Griffith. Paris has a way of revealing truths to those who are open to them." she smirked mysteriously - rather enjoying being purposefully obtuse and mysterious.

Vera’s gaze remained steady, a slight smile playing on her lips as she continued, "And who knows? Perhaps our paths might cross there. I’ve been thinking of visiting my grandmother again—there are a few things I didn’t quite finish exploring the last time I was there."

  

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"Let us—" What Samuel meant to say, she would not hear. Mr. Travers appeared beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. It carried a possessive pressure.
"My deepest apologies, Miss Blackwood," the man interjected loudly. Samuel looked at his bloated face, then down at his ostentatious dragon-skin loafers that bore his family's coat of arms. He felt like laughing, and he felt disgusted.
"You see, I have very important matters to discuss with Mr. Griffith. He will be quite busy, and I suppose it will be hard to fit another client into his schedule anytime soon. Is that not so? Please excuse us for a moment."
Samuel said nothing, and Travers, interpreting this as polite agreement, started to guide him away.
The intimate air that had clung to his and Miss Blackwood's conversation was gone. It would not return with the gentleman around, so Samuel unhappily followed.
He looked back over his shoulder with an expression that communicated that he was sorry to be parted from her this way. There was something else in his gaze, too: If she wanted to know when he was bound for Paris, she could. The key to that information she held in her elegantly gloved hand: the card of metal that would display his location to recipients of his choosing.

After that interjection, Samuel knew that Mr. Travers would cling to his side for the rest of the night. Since he was only let into this event at the man's insistence, he could hardly ditch him. So, he would not be staying much longer. Heading for the exit about an hour later, he caught a last glimpse of her red hair, shimmering like polished copper between the muted colors around her.

  

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Vera’s heart sank slightly as Mr. Travers intruded. She composed her features into a polite, if slightly distant, smile as Mr. Travers spoke, his voice grating against the subtlety of the moment they had shared. The possessiveness with which he laid claim to Mr. Griffith was not lost on her, and it took all of Vera’s practiced restraint to suppress a flash of irritation. As Mr. Griffith was led away, she caught his gaze, and the regret in his eyes mirrored her own - an amusing companion lost. Typical.

Her fingers instinctively tightened around the small metal card he had given her earlier, feeling the cool surface through the fine fabric of her glove. The card was a promise, an invitation that lingered in the space between them even as he was pulled away. It was a reminder that, despite the intrusion, their conversation was not truly over—it was simply paused, with the potential to be resumed in a more fitting setting.

She gave a small nod to him before he was pulled away into the crowd.

Turning away from the direction in which Mr. Griffith had been taken, Vera took a deep breath and rejoined the flow of the soirée.

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   Samuel Griffith

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