Early morning, 18th June, 1892 — Malfoy house, London

After Miss Dashwood’s debut, they had piled into the carriage, everyone worn and half-asleep, the sun already coming up around them. Estelle had set her forehead against the window and tried to doze; better than reliving that dance with Atticus Foxwood in her head. Enduring him once had been bad enough.

Enduring that dance whilst Torie was off whispering the-devil-knew-what in Miss Dashwood’s ear about her was worse. (Estelle had not asked. She was not sure she wanted to know the damage.)

So she had draped her cloak back on to carry it in, it slipping half-heartedly off her shoulders from time to time, as they arrived home and she trudged up the stairs towards their bedrooms to sleep off the ball. The headache was already setting in alongside the regret, but the grimace that appeared on Estelle’s face was wholly engendered by the appearance of Victoire at the top of the stairs just behind her, looking far too pleased about something.

“What?” Estelle snapped, pausing there and rounding on her sister with narrowed eyes.

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Victoire Malfoy / Elsie Kirke

  

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Tonight had been utterly splendid, one of her favorite events of the season thus far, and it was still early, so starting off on a high note! Not only had she made friends with Miss Dashwood, she had taken a turn with both Misters Foxwood and watched Estelle flounder her way through a dance with the elder Mr. Foxwood as well. Not to mention poor Basil's encounter with Miss Twiglett. That had been a sight.

The carriage ride home was quiet, but Torie did not think to say anything as she was pleased with how the evening had progressed. She had even had time to speak with Mr. Gladstone again, which was delightful. The more gentlemen she was able to garner attention from, the better. And her dance with Atticus had gone much better than Estelle's, which was the thought that had been pulling a smile onto her lips as she ascended the stairs to bed behind her elder sister.

Her shoes in hand, as she had ditched them as soon as they'd entered the house, Torie was already pulling at the pins in her hair when she heard her sister snap an aggressive what in her direction. "Whatever do you mean, what?" Was Torie's reply, puzzled by her sister's onslaught so late into the evening.

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Red again! June 1894

Estelle had been chewing on her resentment and paranoia for the whole length of the carriage ride, so between that and the extra glass of champagne she had downed as they departed, she was already overtired and on edge.

Victoire could play the innocent all she liked, but if she didn’t get that smirk off her face at once Estelle would have to wipe it off for her.

“You know what,” Estelle ground out, glaring daggers. Oh, of course, perfect Torie had far too much to smile about to know what was bothering Estelle. “Don’t think I didn’t see you earlier,” she said accusingly – poisoning Miss Dashwood against her during her miserable dance! “And stop smiling like that.”

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"You will have to be more specific than that, sister dearest. We just spent the entire evening in the same room doing the same things!" Torie had a tiny inkling as to what it might be that Estelle was referring to, but she was not about to give that away just yet. "And I had a perfectly lovely evening, so why wouldn't I be smiling?" Truthfully, she had enjoyed Miss Dashwood's debut much more than anticipated! She had met and befriended the new debutante, chatted with Professor Foxwood, danced with several suitors, Mr. Foxwood included, chatted with Mr. Gladstone; all-in-all it had been a delightfully successful evening!

"Was I not supposed to enjoy myself Estelle?" She asked her sister quizzically, tone turning mildly accusatory in kind. She was pleasantly tired and would very much like to go to bed so she could sleep in a bit. Hopefully she would have some visitors come the afternoon! Right about now she did not have the patience for Estelle's surly routine.

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   Estelle Malfoy

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Red again! June 1894

No, Estelle wanted to intone, because it was tremendously unfair that Victoire could have enjoyed herself while Estelle was suffering. She did not expect any better of her sister, of course – she had always thought Torie selfish – but she thought there ought to be some law against younger sisters being allowed out of the house to step on people’s toes before Estelle had truly had her proper moment in the sun.

And if their mother couldn’t just lock Torie up until Estelle was engaged and could patronise her sister to full effect, then the least her sister could have done was keep out of the way. But no, she had to be spiteful and self-absorbed and petty, had to give everyone that faux-innocent tone as if she didn’t know perfectly well how she was making her sisters look.

Enough was enough. “Not by ruining mine!” Estelle hissed furiously, reaching out to try and smack Torie’s shoes out of her hand just to inconvenience her in return. “How dare you – speak to Miss Dashwood – dance with Mr. Foxwood when –” she spluttered, throwing up her hands. When I was there first, she (very maturely) had been going to claim.

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"Ruining yours?" Torie nearly scoffed but just managed to keep the derisiveness out of her tone. She also just barely managed to keep hold of her shoes as Estelle lashed out. "Have you lost your mind?" They had never gotten along particularly well, but Estelle had not tried to physically harm her since they were children!

"Was I supposed to be rude and ignore Poppy when she spoke to me? To run away when Mr. Foxwood came up on my dance card? You know as well as I do that neither of those were options, honestly." Torie was mildly concerned that Estelle was intoxicated or something worse. "Did you partake in too much champagne? Perhaps you should head straight to bed." She said it out of concern, but the annoyance in her tone betrayed her every-so-slightly.

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Red again! June 1894

“No, I haven’t!” Estelle snapped back, at the jibe about having lost her mind. Torie knew she could say nothing to what she was supposed to have done out of politeness, but – ugh, she had called her Poppy like they were bosom friends, and a new flare of anger rose in her, because she never could have anything of her own, could she? She was just supposed to share everything with her younger sister, and cede her prospects and her friends to this little bitch?

She was so busy fuming that she almost didn’t hear Victoire’s turn to patronising her. “And of course I didn’t, I –” would never, she was going to say about the champagne, but her cloak had just slipped off her and she had to stoop to fumble for it, which only made her look worse, and feel dizzier for it.

Estelle swept it up off the floor, stumbled a pace away, and her thumb found her wand in a pocket of the cloak. She swayed there a moment, too aggrieved to flounce off to bed when Torie had just told her to. “I’m just so – sick of you,” she exclaimed, as an urge to do something more than throw words for once settled into her skin. “Why don’t you go to bed, you cow?”

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   Victoire Malfoy

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Clearly Estelle had enjoyed a little too much drink. She was dropping things and fumbling and tripping over her words. Torie almost felt bad for her sister, until she called her a cow.

"I would very much like to go to bed, but you are standing in my way and hurling insults at me, what is it you would like from me?" Torie said in a huff, this time not bothering to hide the rolling of her eyes. Her feet were sore, her body was tired and now she was standing here going in circles in a conversation she would rather not be having.

It was well past time for them to be in bed and Torie wished for nothing else, so with her shoes and hair pins out of her sister's reach, she went to pass by. "Goodnight Estelle, I hope some rest improves your mood." You cranky wench.

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Red again! June 1894

What was it she wanted? Merlin, if only anyone ever bothered to consider what she wanted, maybe Victoire would have a better blasted idea!

“What I want is –” to win for once, Estelle supposed, but she had spluttered and tried to find something clever to say and nothing had come to her tongue, and now Torie was leaving, so she was losing the stupid argument anyway.

She wanted to scream. Instead, as she whirled out of Torie’s way to let her pass – in apparent surrender – she flicked her wand in vengeance at her sister’s back. What she was trying to achieve was anyone’s guess – Estelle couldn’t say, and hadn’t often managed a spell as intended since failing her NEWT exams – but Torie certainly didn’t turn into an ugly cow.

Which might have been a pity, but all Estelle really, truly wanted was to be better than Torie in at least one little way, to have some advantage in comparison... so Estelle’s eyebrows arched as her sister’s unpinned hair rippled into a bright, unsightly red. She blinked, mouth falling open at her achievement. She almost exclaimed something aloud – very nearly crowed about it – but Torie hadn’t seemed to notice the change. Instead, carefully, Estelle only cleared her throat. “Fine. Sweet dreams,” she said, barely even able to sound sullen now.

And in spite of her terrible, exhausting night at the ball, Estelle was going to have a delightful rest – in wild anticipation of the moment Victoire woke up to that in the mirror.

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