January 11th, 1891 — Charity Clothing Creation — Hogsmeade Hall

The 'off-season' had been dreadfully dull this year, Ophelia thought. Of course there was nothing properly going on outside of the normal social season, but typically there was at least a little flurry of activities through the holidays and on New Year's Eve, and this year had been... well. The only party she'd actually enjoyed attending was her own. Maybe the fault was hers; maybe it wasn't that everyone else had gotten boring, only that she had so far outshone them all that everything else paled by comparison. What a trying life she had, being poised atop the pinnacle of society. There was so little left to amuse her.

So she'd decided to show them all how it was done that spring. Even before the season properly started, she was going to host something at least twice, she'd decided — more if she could manage to do so without arousing any sign of hesitation from Mr. Devine. She had also decided to enlist the help of other paragons of society to make things more interesting than they had been heretofore — she couldn't do it all herself, after all, and she wanted someone to do something worthy of her attention this spring! This charity event was more or less a cover for her to rally the troops; it was much more efficient to assemble her friends around her and discuss things all at once than to invite them over for tea one by one. And this had the added bonus of making her look very generous and charitable, which could never hurt one's image.

Despite having not completed her schooling she actually was quite adept at spells related to assembling and altering clothing, from her own efforts as a fashionista when she had been a debutante and restricted by Armando's lack of desire to frequently visit the tailor's. She was in the midst of patching a large hole in a jacket someone had donated when another woman took a seat at her table, one vacated only a few moments before when November had gone for a cup of tea. Ophelia looked up and realized at once that it was not her friend in the chair, but a stranger.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," she said coolly. Her tone made it clear she expected far more than just the lady's name in response. Presumably she had a reason for approaching Ophelia's table, and it would be best if she delivered it at once.

  

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The fact of the matter was that Verity had less than six months to distinguish herself on the lacking society scene before Grace joined her. Come June she would not only be known as "the elder Greengrass girl" but as Graceless Greengrass' sister. All her achievements would be easily forgotten as the whispers of her sister's latest social fumble echoed about the room. Forget that she was Head Girl or the very image of elegance and, for lack of better word, Grace. All that would be remembered and commented upon was that any man who married her would also have to be related to Grace.

Verity loved her sister, she did, but, Merlin, did she wish it was Clementine standing alongside her instead.

With Mother having a longstanding (and mostly ignored, giving their mourning for the duration of 1890) invitation to the Phoenix Society events, it seemed only natural for Verity to join her. Especially when today's particular event revolved around clothing, one of her favorite topics. Even if said clothing was belonging to charity and in a state of disrepair worst than her own.

She knew of Mrs. Devine through the papers and few snippets of gossip she was able to coerce the maid into sharing with her. A fellow middle class woman who had lucked out into having an upper class relative. What Verity also knew was that to have a socialite like Mrs. Devine supportive of her would make the next six months that much easier. Perhaps — and this was only if a shred of luck that had abandoned Verity in its entirety in June of 1889 — she could even secure an engagement before June.

She discreetly watched the table Mrs. Devine worked at until the woman was left to her own devices before making her approach. A million possible introductions ran through her head, though none came when the cool greeting was instead issued towards her. Verity steeled her spine and smiled graciously towards the hostess. "No, forgive me Mrs. Devine. I only wished to pay my compliments on today. I'm Ms. Verity Greengrass, Mrs. --- Greengrass' daughter."

  

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Ophelia kept her expression neutral and returned her eyes to her garment. The name meant nothing to her. She knew the Greengrass family was one of the old pureblood ones — one of them had married a Lestrange, she thought — but to the best of her knowledge no individual members had done anything to distinguish themselves recently in the eye of society. At least, not in any of the ways Ophelia cared about. What was more, it gave her no clue as to what had brought the young woman to her table. Her compliments, though well deserved, could not possibly have been the real reason.

"Thank you. Nothing too spectacular, of course, but that would decidedly detract from our charitable motives," she said demurly. "Are you a Rose, Miss Greengrass?" she asked, already knowing she was not. "I only wonder at our not having met before. You are obviously not a student. We ought to have attended some parties together, I would think."

  

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Choosing to move past the comments on charity altogether, Verity simply nodded and followed Mrs. Devine's gaze towards the jacket. There was a blouse on the table in a state of obvious disrepair, with a likely gooseberry stain on the front and a sizeable hole on the sleeve, but she wasn't about to further offend Mrs. Devine by repairing it uninvited. Perhaps one of the absent tablemates had chosen the blouse to showcase their charm work talents (such would be needed for such damage), in which case it would be an even further insult for Verity to step in.

"I was finished under my mother's watchful guidance after graduating a year and a half ago," she acknowledged. Her absence from society for the past year was easily explained, but the six months prior to that would always be questionable. "We've only just emerged from mourning in December." Verity added before boldly deciding to reach for the blouse. She had to somehow impress Mrs. Devine, didn't she? With a steady hand the hole was mended with ease. The stains, however, would take a bit more thought. "I would presume we will encounter one another more often this upcoming season, though."

  

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Ophelia watched Miss Greengrass take a blouse from the center of the table — something one of her friends had briefly pretended to be interested in before abandoning it for a much easier scarf. The girl certainly had no trouble asserting herself, as though that had not been evident enough when she had approached the table of her own accord, with no introduction.

"That depends what sorts of events you plan to attend," she said, tone remaining neutral. She would be at all of the best events of the season, of course, but which Miss Greengrass attended — and in which social circles she moved in — remained to be seen. "I was just lamenting the lack of interesting diversions this winter, but I dearly hope the spring will bring something... fresher," she said carefully. "Do you prefer balls or dinner parties, Miss Greengrass? Or do you feel yourself too inexperienced to have an opinion on it?"

  

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Despite a very obvious lack of experience, Verity was already confident in which of the two offered events she would choose. Balls, of course, if for nothing more than the potential exposure to eligible bachelors. Still, she knew better than to dismiss the advantages of an intimate dinner party. More matches were made over a warm meal than on the dance floor, after all. Or, at least that was what she believed. Merlin, she hoped Mrs. Devine accepted her answer.

She paused her work on the stain, which, mercifully, was already a few shades lighter, and smiled politely towards the socialite. "I, too, hope for a fresh spring." Verity began. Mourning was weary on the soul, was it not? One could only hope for a greener pasture on the other side. Then, after a moment, she continued on. "I don't believe you can compare balls and dinner parties, as what can be accomplished at both varies dramatically. That being said, I have to admit I'm rather excited to rejoin the dance floor after such a long year."

  

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She was shrewd, but perhaps a touch too openly so. There was nothing wrong with her response, but it seemed to Ophelia that talk of what might be 'accomplished' at a social function was slightly mercenary. Not that her assessment was at all inaccurate; it just wasn't the sort of thing one was supposed to talk about. Particularly not as a blushing and demure debutante.

"What did your finishing consist of?" Ophelia asked in an offhand tone as she turned the garment she was working on over in her hands and pretended to inspect the collar. "Are you skilled in all the latest dances?"

  

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She realized her slip too late. For all her knowledge and preparations, sitting idly in the parlor for the last eighteen months did nothing to curb her tongue. Verity would have to be more mindful of that in her future endeavors. At least it happened in front of Mrs. Devine and not an eligible bachelor. Mrs. Devine was undoubtedly well connected, but at the end of the day it wasn't her she wished to marry.

With the stain now gone, Verity placed it carefully back in a neat pile where she'd found it. "The standard womanly arts, I'd say. I'm also well versed in the pianoforte." What and where she was lacking Verity wouldn't be able to know until confronted with situations such as these. "I've dedicated myself this last month to learning all the dances I missed while in mourning. Do you enjoy dancing, Mrs. Devine?"

  

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"Very much," Ophelia answered, but did not elaborate. She hadn't been satisfied with Miss Greengrass' answer regarding her finishing; she'd expected a list of accomplishments, or perhaps places she had gone and seen. What business did one's mother have to finish a girl, anyway? What could she have done in one summer that would merit keeping her daughter away from society's eye (that she had not accomplished in seventeen years of childhood already)? If she were going off on a tour of Europe or something, perhaps Ophelia could understand it, but if they were just doing the standard womanly arts, as Miss Greengrass put it... what was the point? What a mystery this woman was proving to be. And she still hadn't come out with what she wanted, exactly, though Ophelia felt she had been talking around it.

"The sense of community I received from being finished at the Pendergast School was perhaps the greatest benefit of delaying my Coming Out. I recommend finishing to any young woman for precisely that reason," she said dryly. She took a new garment from the stack of those to be mended and did not return her gaze to Miss Greengrass. "But your stitching spell was quite impressive."

  

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Verity was making a fool of herself, a feat not often accomplished. If she couldn't impress Mrs Devine, what business did she have trying to secure the affection of Mr Rosier or Mr Longbottom? She reached for another garment, this one with another gaping hole in the sleeve, to delay her answer. Of course, she was disappointed to have not developed that community. It was, however, far from Verity's choosing. Were any of the decisions left in her capable hands, she would've been a married mother already! Stupid Ford, Stupid Father and Mother.

"I must confess to being envious of that community. You were quite fortunate to attend, do you often visit the school for alumni events?" She asked sincerely, deciding she would be nothing less than honest with the socialite at this point. Mrs Devine would like her, or wouldn't, and the damage was already done. She continued on with a slight smile, "Thank you, I've always been quite taken with fashion." Her Christmas gift from Ford was a testament to the fact.

  

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Ophelia had intended her 'compliment' on Miss Greengrass' stitching spell as a barb; the implication being, of course, that her finishing must only have been good for teaching her stitching spells if she accomplished it under such dubious means. She'd been trying to spur the young woman into defending her education, and therefore including more details about it so that Ophelia could draw her own conclusions. The fact that she took it at face value and merely gave Ophelia her thanks threw her for a loop.

She paused before answering the girl's question, considering. Was this what Miss Greengrass wanted from her? Introductions and the like to fill in the gap of those networks she had missed out on by being privately finished? Ophelia had to admit that it was gratifying to hear her all but admit Opehlia's education had been superior, at least in one sense.

"I find myself inviting the Roses to my parties more frequently," she eventually answered, turning her eyes over her garment as though she had not carefully considered her words before speaking; as though this were just an offhand statement. "I do think those who have established themselves well within society have a duty to help younger women where they can."

  

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It was quite nice to be out and about once more, and even more so that it was in the company of one of her children. Unlike her children, however, Audra was still clad in the attire of a widow in mourning. It was not only expected of her by society but something Audra wanted to do out of loyalty and respect to her late husband. It would likely be less desirable once the season started and both of her daughters were out - she'd be like an ominously somber cloud chaperoning her daughters to events she could not fully enjoy herself. At least dancing and the like seemed tasteless to her by nature anyway, not when her poor husband was barely cold in his grave yet.

The charity clothing event she was attending with Verity was nice and quite inoffensive where her mourning was concerned. She spoke to a few ladies and friends and went about her business until she decided she ought to check in on Verity. At this point she felt she'd done enough that if Verity wished to leave she'd have no reservations in doing so.

Audra held no formal acquaintance with Mrs. Devine but she knew of her, she didn't know her by sight however and so had absolutely no idea that she was the very woman her eldest daughter was in conversation with. "There you are, Verity, I was wondering where you'd disappeared to." Mostly to Mrs. Devine she added, "My apologies for interrupting."

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Never before had Veroty been as grateful for her mother's intrusion than she was in that moment. Verity hadn't known how fo respond without coming across as desperate for. Onnections as she was, and Mrs. Devine seemingly knew that. She dropped her attentions from the sleeve to make room for her mother besides her. "My apologies, Mama. I merely wished to offer my compliments to Mrs. Devine." She allowed ths shirt to slip entirely from her grasp and neatly folded her hands before her. "Mrs. Devine, may I introduce my mother, Mrs. Audra Greengrass."

  

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What a novel interruption this was. Just as Ophelia had been puzzling over what sort of finishing Mrs. Greengrass could have provided her daughter with no outside help, here was the woman herself. She certainly didn't look exceptional. Looks could sometimes be deceiving but particularly in matters of high society, Ophelia put a great deal of importance on first impressions, and Mrs. Greengrass simply looked like any other widow in mourning.

"Delighted, Mrs. Greengrass," she said, though her tone did not particularly imply that she was. "We were just discussing your daughter's education after Hogwarts. I confess, this is my first experience of someone being privately finished by their own mother. I think quite highly of finishing, since my time at the Pendergast School. You must be quite a formidable woman to undertake so much by yourself."

  

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As the other woman's name tumbled forth from her daughter's mouth, Audra mentally kicked herself for not having recognized her. She had surely seen the woman's face in Witch Weekly a few times and yet she'd failed to commit the lady's face to memory and now it was to her detriment. Ah well, it wasn't too late to salvage things yet.

Or perhaps not. Audra was so caught up in having not recognized the woman that she almost missed the catty subtext being floated her way. Of course Mrs. Devine would look down at her Verity - socially speaking it made sense - but that was only because she didn't know Verity, for anyone who knew her charming girl would struggle to remember that her background was more modest than that of other debutantes.

"A pleasure, Mrs. Devine." This would also be a pleasure. "And thank you, my poor girl's papa passed away very suddenly, only weeks before she was to start finishing school. It felt disrespectful to his memory to send her away so soon and besides I could not have spared her." Audra placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. Mama has it handled. "And what is it if not a mother's duty to educate her daughter in the feminine arts? If a mother is not the ideal role model for her daughter then she surely has no business being a mother at all!" She chuckled and smiled at Mrs. Devine and before the other woman could get a word in she continued. "But you are too young still to know what it is to have grown children, I've no doubt a lady as discerning as yourself will be able to improve upon your daughter's finishing when the time comes. After all, the tutors spend all their days in classrooms, not ballrooms!" She might have oversold it...

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The mention of the girl's papa softened Ophelia's impression of Miss Greengrass considerably. She had mentioned mourning earlier, but in such an off-hand way that Ophelia hadn't given the matter a second thought. She had mourned many people in her life, after all; more than most. She had mourned siblings, parents, grandparents, cousins. The death of her father in her teenage years (indeed, probably at nearly the same age as Miss Greengrass had been, if she had only just exited mourning) had left a considerable mark on her life, and she was inclined to look piteously on anyone who had undergone a similar experience. She had been fortunate, after all, to have a wealthy relative to take her in, a few fast friends, and a second chance through the Pendergast School. She might just as easily have been relegated to some distant cousin who lived in the middle of nowhere on a farm, and ended up married to a man of no means — or she might have been thrust out on her own in the world and forced to take whatever work she could.

Mrs. Greengrass gave her no room to say anything at all on the subject, however, as she continued into what appeared to be a critique of Ophelia's mothering abilities, or at least a referendum on her inexperience in the role. Any sympathy she had been feeling for Miss Greengrass evaporated as her cheeks colored slightly with irritation.

"And a woman in mourning has neither classrooms nor ballrooms," she remarked. "We were speaking a moment ago of the immense benefit a finished young lady has in terms of connections in society; but I'm sure that once you're finished mourning you'll be able to provide just as much in that respect."

  

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