The Tower [G] for angelps7
Title: The Tower
Author/Artist: parseltonguepen
Rating: G-ish
Disclaimer: Were they actually mine, they might have actually had character development. As it is, they're a mighty fine sandbox. I make no money from them.
Warnings: Fluff, of a sort. Odd conversation. Misuse of Divination.
Summary: Malfoy's gotten pretty good at playing the role of reformed-Draco. Hermione thinks he needs to go a step further.
Notes: I started and abandoned so many ideas. But in the end, I kept coming back to this one. I hope you like it! Thanks to my beta E, who knows who she is. Any remaining mistakes and bungles are my own.
"Avarice, envy, pride,
Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all
On Fire."
-Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy
I. Avarice
A faint rasp of parchment falling on wood was the only signal Draco had that his house elf had delivered the day's post to his office. Sighing, he tore his eyes away from the large bay window - where he could view the whole of the Malfoy grounds by dint of several magnification charms on the glass. No longer Slytherin Green, the trees had shed their fall finery and now were covered with a blanket of fresh snow.
In past years, he would have invested in a winter garden of elaborate snow sculptures, preserved with semi-permanant freezing charms, lest a warm sunny winter day melted them prematurely. However, since the war's end - well, nothing had been quite the same, least of all the Malfoy's name in societal circles.
Lucius had had to undergo trial, and had been sentenced to 20 years in Azkaban, followed by 20 years of community service, to be served without the use of magic. Menial, tedious work, designed to teach muggle-haters the value of hard, honest work. Narcissa had been spared Azkaban - due to her assisting Potter - and was serving 5 years of community service instead. It had changed her, not all for the worse; if nothing else, the house-elves were treated tolerably well now, which at least meant fewer tears and bandaged hands.
It was undeniable that the Malfoy name had been dragged through the mud. Wherever he went, whispers followed him - "There's a Death Eater! Wonder how he got himself out of Azkaban? Probably bought his way out - he should have been locked up like his father was!" He'd learned to ignore it, slowly. Time had a way of building armor.
Still, he held the future of the Malfoy name in his hands - a name he was determined to rebuild, however he had to do it; hobnobbing with those he once thought below him, people who now outranked him.
But now he had a glorious opportunity to rub shoulders with the highest in the Ministry - a chance that arrived on glossy Ministry letterhead, with ostentatious gold embossing and the Ministry's seal in crimson wax. Even the Ministry owl that delivered it was distinctly snooty and stuffy-looking, as if aware of its distinct level of importance.
It looks right at home in the Malfoy owlery, Draco Malfoy thought as he smugly accepted the letter from the house elf. Turning away as he opened it, he left the elf to provide a treat for the owl; such trivialities were beyond him.
"You are cordially invited - " Draco snorted to himself; as if anyone would cordially invite him anywhere these days, though he'd donated a fortune to various charities after the war in an attempt to restore the Malfoy name. Still, he read on. "You are cordially invited to the Ministry Costume Ball on December 24th - the theme is 'Tarot'; please come appropriately attired." It was followed by time and other trivial detail.
Draco let the parchment slip from his fingers as he pondered. They would likely expect him to come as the Emperor - or perhaps the Hierophant - but that would only show he followed his Father's elitist pureblood ways. No, he needed something that showed he had learned the errors of his ways and was properly chastened and reformed - but neither would he stoop to be the Fool. He knew enough of Tarot to know the Fool was no bad card to be, and certainly better than some (he HAD paid attention in Divination, if only because Trelawney's constant predictions of doom for Potter was a never-ending source of amusement at the time).
Unbidden his mind dredged up memories of a night where werewolves and deatheaters had breached the security of the school with his assistance - when he had faced Dumbledore and discovered to his horror and relief and acute agony that he was no cold-blooded killer. When he had watched, suddenly a powerless bystander in a nightmarish tableau, as Snape hissed the killing curse and they both watched the Headmaster fall from the Tower.
The Tower. A card denoting change; a radical redirection, an abandonment of the past. He could play the perfect penitent; while he ran the risk that those present might see just the Hogwarts Tower and the associated events, others might recognize his choice as a declaration of his new beginning. Then again - his lips twisted bitterly - others could read it as his downfall.
Still, it was a calculated risk, and Slytherins specialised in those. And when it came down to it - it seemed bitterly fitting.
II. Envy
The ball was fully as extravagant an affair as Draco had expected; they'd used wizarding space to expand one of the ballrooms within the Ministry building itself, so that security was tight - anti-apparition wards were still in place. Even several years since the final battle and Potter's win against the Dark Lord, insurgents and uncaught Death Eaters still roamed and caused havok wherever they would.
When he stepped into the lift after flooing in, he found himself ensconced with a ministry secretary wearing a chain shirt boasting an assortment of minaturised swords. Six of Swords, he thought to himself, and apparently an optimist. Getting off the lift, he nodded, the picture of perfect amiability, to someone who wore a chain belt hung with several iron pentacles. Someone hoping for better business in the future, he supposed. He smiled at a serving person - their wine glasses charmed or transfigured to resemble archaic wood and bronze goblets. Very suitable; they were likely a card from the Suit of Cups.
The lift opened with a ding and freed its occupants onto the main dance floor, though when he looked up he saw several tiers of balconies for resting, watching the dancers, or taking refreshment. There was an unobtrusive quartet in the background, playing subtle classical music, with the lightest touch of background sounds for a 'feel' - the call of a gull, the sounds of waves crashing against a beach, the soft sigh of wind through the trees. The hall itself was decorated in the rich and lush colors of the renaissance, and everywhere he looked, the floor was filled with the Tarot, major and minor arcana, come to life.
He tugged, a bit nervously, at his own costume - He wore a tunic of weathered leather, spelled to resemble masonry, that tunneled up his torso; the round neckline sported a miniature turret, with a 'window' in the tower opening over where his heart would be (if Malfoys had hearts). His house elf, Snoo, had wanted in a fit of idiosyncrasy to put a miniature Rapunzel complete with long hair there, but he had - thankfully! - convinced her that the Malfoy men did not wear fairytale princesses in their costumes, even if they were beautiful.
"But Master Draco, YOU is beautiful, and she is matching you, and - "
He firmly closed his eyes on that train of thought; she'd actually tried to bribe him! The house elves were definitely making the most of their newfound freedom. Granger, at least, would be pleased.
"Ah, Malfoy. Glad you could come." Draco started; speak of the Devil! When he turned, he was surprised to see her wearing a plain gown. Her eyes caught his unspoken query. "I will change into my costume soon, but I wished to be available to greet guests first. We wanted to be certain that everyone would be welcome tonight."
"Very diplomatic, Miss Granger," he said, cautiously; he was still wary of her, Potter, and the Weasel. They were the biggest obstacle to him restoring his family's honor.
She smiled, tightly. "Sometimes diplomacy is all that stands between peace and outright war."
He nodded slightly, conceding to her truism. He watched her, a slight frown on his face when she left to mingle with the other ball-goers. He wondered what Tarot card she would choose to wear.
He was surprised and no little relieved to find he wasn't the only Slytherin attending. Blaise was there escorting Pansy; both of them in complementary shades of Slytherin green and silver. Blaise had actually managed to talk his way into a Ministry position, and was doing rather well for himself. Pansy apparently was as well, if he'd asked to escort her.
"Draco! I heard you would be here!" Pansy gushed, spying him. "Ooooh, the Tower? How daring! I'm the Seven of Wands." She spun to display her sleek hair, pinned up with six miniature 'wands', of a matching sleek, dark wood - ebony, most likely. When she spun back to face him, he saw the 7th wand hanging from a thin silver chain - he felt a painful twitch of memory. It looked like the elder wand. She didn't seem to notice his smile was a bit strained.
Blaise did - he steered the conversation to safer ground. "I'm one of the Pentacle cards," he said with a grin, and spread his hands to let his costume be appraised.
At first Draco thought the answer was apparent - the large square neckline of his tunic had silver pentacles embroidered in prominently - six, total. "Charity? Sharing wealth selflessly?" he asked, but Blaise only chuckled. Only then did Draco notice the two small pentacles tipping each end of the draped belt, and finally, the pentacles stamped into the tongue of leather on each shoe. An obvious 6 of pentacles, an assumed selflessness - a subtle 10 of pentacles, a discreet boasting of wealth acquired. "Very Slytherin," he said approvingly.
Pansy clutched suddenly at Blaise's arm. "Oh! That's one of the best songs to dance to. Come dance with me!" Draco was left watching, bemused, as she towed the taller Slytherin towards the center of the dance floor.
Oddly, he felt a stronger desire to watch than to dance and feel eyes on him. He wondered, vaguely, if he really was reforming. Instead, he found a flight of stairs leading to the second floor, where there were private alcoves for dancing, balconies for watching the dancing below, and a small dining room where dancers could take refreshment. Scattered here and there on this level were small tables and some of the Ministry diviners, decks of tarot cards spread before them.
There were also portraits of those who had fallen in the battle against Voldemort - not all of them, since there wouldn't be room enough - but the most notable. Snape, Dumbledore, Lupin, Tonks, Moody, the Potters, and Black were all certain to be here. He wasn't certain, however, that he was willing to face them - so he went to the railing and leaned over, looking down at the hundreds of revelers, spinning amongst each other.
Certain pairs were more visible than others - people were drawn to them like moth to flame, a visible tide in the currents of power swirling around the dance floor. One of the bright spots of power was around Potter and his girlfriend, the Weaslette. They were, he intuited, the Lovers - though thankfully they were not nude, as the Lovers were often presented. Instead they wore wedding garb, pure white; their hair, raven black and fire red, spun away from them with every executed turn, but their eyes were locked on each other; dumb devotion of the new-to-love. Draco snorted, and pushed down the burning spark of envy inside - had he not been raised to class, to act a role, to be elitist, he might be making doe-eyes at someone devoted to him as well, instead of searching for the 'most suitable' wife.
He was a Malfoy, dammit - he was not destined for plebian things like love and loyalty. And it was, he decided, high time to visit the dining area, have a drink or two, and rid himself of such maudlin and bitter thoughts.
III. Pride
He turned and found himself face to face with Granger again, though now she was garbed as the Tarot's High Priestess: of course, she would pick the card most associated with learning, knowledge, and wisdom. He resisted the urge to sneer at her and say, 'Where is your weasel-half, Granger?' - but it was out of form for reformed-Draco, so instead he forced a polite smile and asked, "Why aren't you dancing with Weasley?"
Her lips quirked in a half smile; he knew that despite his efforts, she heard what he hadn't said - and rather than being upset by it, was amused. "Weasels and ferrets are kissing cousins, don't you think?" She joined him swiftly at the railing, before he'd had time to process that she'd insulted both him and the Weasel. "As to why, the reason is that he doesn't know how to dance. Luna is trying to teach him." She pointed down to the dance floor below them, to a corner. "Luna's the Hermit. Or the Star. I'm not sure she's sure which, either." She couldn't hide the amusement in her voice as Draco looked.
Luna was wearing a draped hermit's robes, but they were not the dull, faded colors one would expect - in true Luna style, the fabric was indigo, and had bright yellow oscillating stars. She had star-shaped earrings, made from twisted paperclips, as well. She was animatedly trying to teach Ron the steps to a dance - just which dance, Draco had no idea, but it certainly wasn't any dance his private instructors had taught. Ron - dressed as Justice, judging by the scales suspended from his shoulders and the simple sword belted over one hip - was watching with a combination of bemusement and confusion as Luna commenced hopping on one foot, waving both arms wildly.
"Loony Luna Lovegood, dance teacher," he murmured, grinning, feeling an utterly odd comraderie with Granger. He shook his head to abandon that thought. "She hasn't changed at all."
She turned her head to look at him; her eyes were assessing, sharp. "On the contrary - Luna has changed immensely. We all have," she added. "Have you, Draco?"
He had a feeling she didn't want to hear, would refuse to hear, any carefully worded answers reformed-Draco would say. Instead, he looked down at the costume he wore and answered, "If fine feathers make the bird, then I would say I have."
He expected a sharp rejoinder, but was surprised when she chuckled. "It's said that if you say and do something often enough, long enough, that whether or not they were heartfelt in the beginning, they are by the end. I wonder if that will prove true for you?"
Her words unnerved him - the idea that his charade might become a reality - even as his mind flashed to the image of Harry and Ginny swirling, their love a visible, tangible thing. "Malfoys aren't known for their heartfelt actions, routine or otherwise." He was embarrassed by the amount of bitterness laced into his words, and clamped his lips together.
He almost flinched when she reached out and touched his arm. Her smile, though, was challenging. "Not yet, perhaps. Walk with me, Draco." Her words had more than a touch of command to them, and he followed almost without thought. "Have you seen all the portraits?"
"No," he said sharply, and went to pull back but she'd anticipated him, planting a hand between his shoulderblades and pushing, and he was face to face with Snape, portrait Snape, and he couldn't leave. Snape looked as severe and greasy in his portrait as he did in real life, Draco thought, though he didn't say so. Whoever had painted Snape's portrait had thoughtfully made the background into a potions laboratory. "Professor," he said, lamely. "How are you?"
"I am dead, just like I was yesterday, and as I still will be tomorrow. And you are still your father's idiotic son, it appears," he said acidly, sneering down at Draco's dumbfounded opinion. "Haven't you figured out where Lucius went wrong yet?"
"My father wasn't wrong!" He snapped back before thinking.
"No? A pureblood elitist wizard intentionally served a half-blood, kissed the hem of his robe, and that wasn't a mistake?"
My father was never wrong! Draco wanted to scream, but reformed-Draco whispered traitorously in his head, but he was, sometimes. About very big things. And Granger stood next to him, coolly, waiting for his reaction. So he clenched his fists and gritted out, "As you're keen to remind me, he'll be paying for that mistake for years to come!"
Snape seemed content to just glower, so Granger stepped up beside Draco so he could see her. "Everyone pays for their mistakes, at some point. It's karma," she said neutrally, her steady gaze locked on the Professor - reminding him, Draco realised, of his own mistake - the dark mark he wasn't free of, either, even as a painting.
Snape noticed Draco's attention had wandered, and snarled at him, "At least I was able to figure out my own errors! And consequently was able to do something more useful than rotting in Azkaban - though trying to keep you brats safe was an exercise in futility!" He turned and swept to the back of the portrait, where the potions lab was; he stomped hard enough the frame quivered. Wide-eyed, Draco turned to Granger, unsure of a world where the Potions Master stomped in view of his former students.
She was hiding a smile behind her hand. "He gets grumpy when faced with his failures," she whispered to him, even as she grasped his hand and pulled him with her.
He pulled his hand hastily away from hers, lest she drag him unwilling to face another portrait he wasn't ready to see. "It's not like he's the only one who took the Mark," he said sullenly.
"Oh, he didn't mean the Mark - he repaid for that quite enough - it was the students he felt he failed with. Every time one died, or one took the Mark, he took it as a personal failure. Especially the Slytherins; he was responsible for shaping their opinions and thoughts once they reached Hogwarts. It was a responsibility he took very seriously. I think sometimes that's why he was as miserable and angry as he was."
Draco was bewildered by her open frankness. "Why are you telling this to me? We hate each other!" he exclaimed, trying to understand what it was she was doing. Instead, she stepped to the railing and pointed down.
"Look, there's Hagrid!" Obediently Draco looked; the burly groundskeeper stood several feet taller than the others present; his costume consisted of a tarot card pinned to his jacket. "You can't see it," Granger explained, laughing, "but the card pinned there is the Strength card. Hagrid really doesn't need a costume, does he?" Quick as lightning she pointed out others - Neville as the chariot, with two small wheels hung from his hips, and a long whip, used for directing a team of horses, looped and tied around his waist. The Weasley Twins had made two costumes, split them in half, and re-attached them to the wrong costume; they were each half-fool and half Magician, and privately Draco thought they couldn't be more right. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course, but when they hadn't targetted him, their pranks had always been amusing and innovating - the Skiving Snackboxes and the portable swamp had been strokes of near genius. Then again, they were actually purebloods, even if they didn't act like it.
Then Granger's pointing finger pointed out Molly and Arthur, dressed as Emperor and Emperess - he almost sneered at the implication of power for a couple who lived in near poverty, but Granger's slashing look silenced him. "They may not have a lot of wealth, you know - but surely a Malfoy is smart enough to know that not all power has to do with money. There's a lot to be said for who you know - and when 'who you know' includes the most powerful people in the Ministry - and those people are more than just 'people you know' - that's not an insignificant amount of power."
Surely that was the most Slytherin thing he'd ever heard her say. Draco rolled his eyes. "If they were that powerful, they'd be re-writing laws and changing history!"
Her eyes were knowing and her smile smug. "They already have. You just haven't been paying attention." She overrode his protests and pointed out another 'couple'. "That is a pairing I didn't expect. They should make good friends, though. They've both lost a lot in this war." He followed the line of her finger and saw Ollivander and Andromeda talking animatedly. Olivander wore a wooden crown, with his wand laid across it, while Andromeda wore a skirt of overlapping swords. King of Crowns and Queen of Swords, Draco guessed. Fitting, he supposed, though he didn't know either of them well - Andromeda wasn't well liked by the other Blacks, after all.
But when Granger spun to point out two more people, he grabbed her hand. "Stop," he commanded, allowing his annoyance to show. "Why am I being dragged around to admire everyone's Tarot costume? They're hardly going to care if a Malfoy approves." He folded his arms over his chest and tried for one of Lucius' trademark glare-and-stares. "In fact, most of these people wouldn't be happy to know you were speaking to me at all."
"People do change, Master Malfoy." The voice wasn't Granger's. It was McGonagall's. Slowly, he turned, already fearing what he would see, and flinched when he saw he was correct. Minerva, dressed as Temperance, stood next to Dumbledore's portrait - and Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, taking in Draco's costume. He had a card - the Hierophant - tucked into the frame of his portrait.
"Hello, my boy, how good to see you again! I trust you are well?"
"I - I - " Draco couldn't think past the memories pushing forward, memories he'd refused to think about - a very real tower, and Death Eaters, and Snape shouting and green light, and someone with twinkling eyes falling - "I can't, I just can't - I'm sorry - " he twisted away from Granger's hand and McGonagall's understanding eyes and Dumbledore's twinkle, and ran for the nearest exit.
"That didn't go too well," Hermione sighed, and picked up the pack of Tarot cards from the small card table set up beneath Dumbledore's portrait. A small glass bowl of lemondrops and a small statue of a phoenix also graced the table. "I should go after him, I suppose."
"Miss Granger - " McGonagall waited until she had her former student's attention, and continued, "Don't forget that underneath the cold analytical Slytherin exterior is a human being."
Hermione straightened, and smiled. "It never doubted it, Professor," she whispered, and then she whirled to follow Draco, clutching the Tarot cards.
Albus Dumbledore watched her go, then answered McGonagall's unspoken question. "You know hee's not a cold-blooded killer, Minerva. Not even of his own heart - he just needs to be faced with the decision."
IV. Hearts
She finally caught up with Draco on an outside balcony, after resorting to recruiting several house-elves to help locate him. She stepped out onto the balcony tentatively, snow crunching softly underfoot; the cold air froze her breath. He was leaning against the outer wall, eyes closed and face upturned to the sky. He looked impassive, but she'd read the warning signs in too many war survivors to be fooled.
He didn't open his eyes. "What do you want now, Granger? I won't be one of your sycophants."
She moved to stand next to him, to lean against the wall as well, and discovered he hadn't even cast a warming charm - proof that his calm facade was shaken. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Dumbledore had asked to speak to you."
"What for? To remind me of what I failed to do?"
"Actually, he worried about you - and he wanted to say Happy Christmas."
It took her a moment to recognize the noise he'd made. Draco Malfoy had just snorted. "And what do you want, Granger?"
She took a deep breath, before fanning out the cards in her hand and holding them out to him. "I want you to pick a card."
He started at her incredulously, then started to laugh. "You're all batty! Is that your plan? To drive me round the twist?"
She shook her head. "Just pick a card, Draco." She was surprised when he actually did; she'd been braced for a struggle. She pulled out the card he'd chosen and flipped it face up; from its glossy surface The Tower was clearly visible. "The Tower," she mused out loud, feeling Draco stiffen next to her, "represents a sudden change, an abandonment of the past, an unexpected event, a sudden upheaval - a very volatile card. It suits you. Or rather - " she looked up and met his eyes, a cold stormy grey that matched the December sky, "it had suited you."
Quickly, decisively, she tore the card in half and let the torn pieces flutter down to land, whisper-soft, on the snow. "What do you want out of life, Draco?"
Draco tried to sneer, and found he could not; he couldn't pull his eyes away from the mangled card in the snow, the card with the tower and the animated figures jumping from the window, over and over, to death. "I am a Malfoy - power, wealth, and success are what Malfoys do." But he couldn't stop thinking about Potter and Weaslette - or even Molly and Arthur, who even with grown and married children, were still in love. He doubted he would ever have anything like that. Or even to be like Loony Luna - to do what he wanted, without fear of reputation or reprisal. And he didn't know what he wanted, even if he had the freedom to chase it.
She looked up at the sky; thick dark clouds overhead threatened more snow soon. "You know, I can't help but feel that in some way, we were all acting out a scripted part in the war. A destiny, perhaps." She glared Malfoy to silence when it seemed he would interrupt, and continued, "Everything was so black-and-white then; good guys, bad guys. Like pieces on a chess board, pushed and pulled to some conclusion."
"Just because a game of chess ends doesn't mean a pawn will become a knight, or a queen will become a rook."
Argh. She wanted to pull out her hair at his stubborn blindness. "Look. We all had roles to play in the war. Like this Costume Ball, everyone's content to play this card or that card, pigeonholed into a narrow role as if that's all there is to a person's destiny. But now the war's over. We don't have to abide by those same roles. In a sense, we can start over again. Don't you think it's time you decide your own fate, instead of letting someone make it for you?" Like your father. Like Voldemort. Like Dumbledore.
He stared at her, as if he was truly seeing her for the first time. "Incredible. You actually believe that."
She threw the remaining tarot cards at him; they hit him in the chest and scattered, vivid squares of color against the snow. Overhead, it began to snow; somewhere nearby bells began to toll the midnight hour. She made a sound of frustration. "I have to go. I promised - but here - " she opened her reticule, withdrew an invitation, and thrust it at him. "New Year's Eve we're having a party - mostly Order members and close friends. If you decide you're really interested in a new start - you'll be welcome." She smiled, a little unsure, at him. "Happy Christmas, Draco." She turned and headed towards the door.
She almost missed his words. They caught up to her as the Balcony door slid shut behind her, an eddy of snow swirling in with them. "Happy Christmas - Hermione."
NOTES:
I am *far* from a Tarot expert. These are the Tarot interpretations I used; some include the reversed interpretation as well as the Upright.
Draco - Tower - A sudden change, abandonment of past, ending a friendship, unexpected events, disruption, bankruptcy, downfall, loss of money or security
Luna - Hermit - Counsel, inner strength, prudence, caution, vigilance, patience, withdrawal, annulment, a loner
Dumbledore - Hierophant - A need to conform, social approval, bonded to the conventions of society/ Mercy, kindness, forgiveness, compassion, conformity, a sense of historical importance, inspiration/ Foolish generosity, errors are repeated, impotence, vulnerability, frailty, unorthodoxy
Snape - Hanged Man - Suspension, change, reversal, boredom, abandonment, sacrifice, readjustment, improvement, rebirth
Neville - Chariot- Perseverance, a journey, a rushed decision, adversity, turmoil, vengeance
Hagrid - Strength - Strength, courage, conviction, energy, determination, action, heroism, virility
Hermione - high Priestess - Wisdom, knowledge, learning, intuition, purity, virtue, a lack of patience, a teacher
Twins - fool/magician - New beginnings, new adventures, new opportunities, unlimited possibilities, pleasure, passion, thoughtlessness, rashness/ Originality, creativity, skill, will-power, self confidence, dexterity, sleight of hand
Minerva - Temperance - Moderation, temperance, patience, harmony, fusion, good influence, confidence
Harry/Ginny - Lovers - Love, harmony, trust, honor, the beginning of a romance, optimism, a meaningful relationship/affair
Molly - Empress - Action, development, accomplishment, mother/sister/wife, evolution
Arthur - Emperor - Accomplishment, confidence, wealth, stability, leadership, father/brother/husband, achievement, a capable person
Ron - Justice - Harmony, balance, equality, righteousness, virtue, honor, advice, a considerate person
Ollivander - King of Wands - A gentlemen, father, passionate, generous, noble, a good leader
Andromeda - Queen of Swords - A quick and confident decision, a widow, one who can bear their sorrow
Blaise - Six/Eight/Ten of Pentacles - Sharing of prosperity, one will soon receive what is rightfully theirs, charity, gifts, philanthropy, three-fold/ Learning a trade or profession, employment is coming soon, skill, handiwork, small money gain/ Stable family, gain in wealth, property is acquired
Pansy - Seven of Wands - The ability to "hold one's own" against adversaries, stiff competition in business, a fight won, a fight one may have to face soon, victory, energy, courage
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post gifts, it has not authored or created any of the gifts.
Mod note: This story was generously written by one of our fabulous pinch-hitters - name to be revealed at the end with the regular participant reveals.
Author/Artist: parseltonguepen
Rating: G-ish
Disclaimer: Were they actually mine, they might have actually had character development. As it is, they're a mighty fine sandbox. I make no money from them.
Warnings: Fluff, of a sort. Odd conversation. Misuse of Divination.
Summary: Malfoy's gotten pretty good at playing the role of reformed-Draco. Hermione thinks he needs to go a step further.
Notes: I started and abandoned so many ideas. But in the end, I kept coming back to this one. I hope you like it! Thanks to my beta E, who knows who she is. Any remaining mistakes and bungles are my own.
"Avarice, envy, pride,
Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all
On Fire."
-Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy
I. Avarice
A faint rasp of parchment falling on wood was the only signal Draco had that his house elf had delivered the day's post to his office. Sighing, he tore his eyes away from the large bay window - where he could view the whole of the Malfoy grounds by dint of several magnification charms on the glass. No longer Slytherin Green, the trees had shed their fall finery and now were covered with a blanket of fresh snow.
In past years, he would have invested in a winter garden of elaborate snow sculptures, preserved with semi-permanant freezing charms, lest a warm sunny winter day melted them prematurely. However, since the war's end - well, nothing had been quite the same, least of all the Malfoy's name in societal circles.
Lucius had had to undergo trial, and had been sentenced to 20 years in Azkaban, followed by 20 years of community service, to be served without the use of magic. Menial, tedious work, designed to teach muggle-haters the value of hard, honest work. Narcissa had been spared Azkaban - due to her assisting Potter - and was serving 5 years of community service instead. It had changed her, not all for the worse; if nothing else, the house-elves were treated tolerably well now, which at least meant fewer tears and bandaged hands.
It was undeniable that the Malfoy name had been dragged through the mud. Wherever he went, whispers followed him - "There's a Death Eater! Wonder how he got himself out of Azkaban? Probably bought his way out - he should have been locked up like his father was!" He'd learned to ignore it, slowly. Time had a way of building armor.
Still, he held the future of the Malfoy name in his hands - a name he was determined to rebuild, however he had to do it; hobnobbing with those he once thought below him, people who now outranked him.
But now he had a glorious opportunity to rub shoulders with the highest in the Ministry - a chance that arrived on glossy Ministry letterhead, with ostentatious gold embossing and the Ministry's seal in crimson wax. Even the Ministry owl that delivered it was distinctly snooty and stuffy-looking, as if aware of its distinct level of importance.
It looks right at home in the Malfoy owlery, Draco Malfoy thought as he smugly accepted the letter from the house elf. Turning away as he opened it, he left the elf to provide a treat for the owl; such trivialities were beyond him.
"You are cordially invited - " Draco snorted to himself; as if anyone would cordially invite him anywhere these days, though he'd donated a fortune to various charities after the war in an attempt to restore the Malfoy name. Still, he read on. "You are cordially invited to the Ministry Costume Ball on December 24th - the theme is 'Tarot'; please come appropriately attired." It was followed by time and other trivial detail.
Draco let the parchment slip from his fingers as he pondered. They would likely expect him to come as the Emperor - or perhaps the Hierophant - but that would only show he followed his Father's elitist pureblood ways. No, he needed something that showed he had learned the errors of his ways and was properly chastened and reformed - but neither would he stoop to be the Fool. He knew enough of Tarot to know the Fool was no bad card to be, and certainly better than some (he HAD paid attention in Divination, if only because Trelawney's constant predictions of doom for Potter was a never-ending source of amusement at the time).
Unbidden his mind dredged up memories of a night where werewolves and deatheaters had breached the security of the school with his assistance - when he had faced Dumbledore and discovered to his horror and relief and acute agony that he was no cold-blooded killer. When he had watched, suddenly a powerless bystander in a nightmarish tableau, as Snape hissed the killing curse and they both watched the Headmaster fall from the Tower.
The Tower. A card denoting change; a radical redirection, an abandonment of the past. He could play the perfect penitent; while he ran the risk that those present might see just the Hogwarts Tower and the associated events, others might recognize his choice as a declaration of his new beginning. Then again - his lips twisted bitterly - others could read it as his downfall.
Still, it was a calculated risk, and Slytherins specialised in those. And when it came down to it - it seemed bitterly fitting.
II. Envy
The ball was fully as extravagant an affair as Draco had expected; they'd used wizarding space to expand one of the ballrooms within the Ministry building itself, so that security was tight - anti-apparition wards were still in place. Even several years since the final battle and Potter's win against the Dark Lord, insurgents and uncaught Death Eaters still roamed and caused havok wherever they would.
When he stepped into the lift after flooing in, he found himself ensconced with a ministry secretary wearing a chain shirt boasting an assortment of minaturised swords. Six of Swords, he thought to himself, and apparently an optimist. Getting off the lift, he nodded, the picture of perfect amiability, to someone who wore a chain belt hung with several iron pentacles. Someone hoping for better business in the future, he supposed. He smiled at a serving person - their wine glasses charmed or transfigured to resemble archaic wood and bronze goblets. Very suitable; they were likely a card from the Suit of Cups.
The lift opened with a ding and freed its occupants onto the main dance floor, though when he looked up he saw several tiers of balconies for resting, watching the dancers, or taking refreshment. There was an unobtrusive quartet in the background, playing subtle classical music, with the lightest touch of background sounds for a 'feel' - the call of a gull, the sounds of waves crashing against a beach, the soft sigh of wind through the trees. The hall itself was decorated in the rich and lush colors of the renaissance, and everywhere he looked, the floor was filled with the Tarot, major and minor arcana, come to life.
He tugged, a bit nervously, at his own costume - He wore a tunic of weathered leather, spelled to resemble masonry, that tunneled up his torso; the round neckline sported a miniature turret, with a 'window' in the tower opening over where his heart would be (if Malfoys had hearts). His house elf, Snoo, had wanted in a fit of idiosyncrasy to put a miniature Rapunzel complete with long hair there, but he had - thankfully! - convinced her that the Malfoy men did not wear fairytale princesses in their costumes, even if they were beautiful.
"But Master Draco, YOU is beautiful, and she is matching you, and - "
He firmly closed his eyes on that train of thought; she'd actually tried to bribe him! The house elves were definitely making the most of their newfound freedom. Granger, at least, would be pleased.
"Ah, Malfoy. Glad you could come." Draco started; speak of the Devil! When he turned, he was surprised to see her wearing a plain gown. Her eyes caught his unspoken query. "I will change into my costume soon, but I wished to be available to greet guests first. We wanted to be certain that everyone would be welcome tonight."
"Very diplomatic, Miss Granger," he said, cautiously; he was still wary of her, Potter, and the Weasel. They were the biggest obstacle to him restoring his family's honor.
She smiled, tightly. "Sometimes diplomacy is all that stands between peace and outright war."
He nodded slightly, conceding to her truism. He watched her, a slight frown on his face when she left to mingle with the other ball-goers. He wondered what Tarot card she would choose to wear.
He was surprised and no little relieved to find he wasn't the only Slytherin attending. Blaise was there escorting Pansy; both of them in complementary shades of Slytherin green and silver. Blaise had actually managed to talk his way into a Ministry position, and was doing rather well for himself. Pansy apparently was as well, if he'd asked to escort her.
"Draco! I heard you would be here!" Pansy gushed, spying him. "Ooooh, the Tower? How daring! I'm the Seven of Wands." She spun to display her sleek hair, pinned up with six miniature 'wands', of a matching sleek, dark wood - ebony, most likely. When she spun back to face him, he saw the 7th wand hanging from a thin silver chain - he felt a painful twitch of memory. It looked like the elder wand. She didn't seem to notice his smile was a bit strained.
Blaise did - he steered the conversation to safer ground. "I'm one of the Pentacle cards," he said with a grin, and spread his hands to let his costume be appraised.
At first Draco thought the answer was apparent - the large square neckline of his tunic had silver pentacles embroidered in prominently - six, total. "Charity? Sharing wealth selflessly?" he asked, but Blaise only chuckled. Only then did Draco notice the two small pentacles tipping each end of the draped belt, and finally, the pentacles stamped into the tongue of leather on each shoe. An obvious 6 of pentacles, an assumed selflessness - a subtle 10 of pentacles, a discreet boasting of wealth acquired. "Very Slytherin," he said approvingly.
Pansy clutched suddenly at Blaise's arm. "Oh! That's one of the best songs to dance to. Come dance with me!" Draco was left watching, bemused, as she towed the taller Slytherin towards the center of the dance floor.
Oddly, he felt a stronger desire to watch than to dance and feel eyes on him. He wondered, vaguely, if he really was reforming. Instead, he found a flight of stairs leading to the second floor, where there were private alcoves for dancing, balconies for watching the dancing below, and a small dining room where dancers could take refreshment. Scattered here and there on this level were small tables and some of the Ministry diviners, decks of tarot cards spread before them.
There were also portraits of those who had fallen in the battle against Voldemort - not all of them, since there wouldn't be room enough - but the most notable. Snape, Dumbledore, Lupin, Tonks, Moody, the Potters, and Black were all certain to be here. He wasn't certain, however, that he was willing to face them - so he went to the railing and leaned over, looking down at the hundreds of revelers, spinning amongst each other.
Certain pairs were more visible than others - people were drawn to them like moth to flame, a visible tide in the currents of power swirling around the dance floor. One of the bright spots of power was around Potter and his girlfriend, the Weaslette. They were, he intuited, the Lovers - though thankfully they were not nude, as the Lovers were often presented. Instead they wore wedding garb, pure white; their hair, raven black and fire red, spun away from them with every executed turn, but their eyes were locked on each other; dumb devotion of the new-to-love. Draco snorted, and pushed down the burning spark of envy inside - had he not been raised to class, to act a role, to be elitist, he might be making doe-eyes at someone devoted to him as well, instead of searching for the 'most suitable' wife.
He was a Malfoy, dammit - he was not destined for plebian things like love and loyalty. And it was, he decided, high time to visit the dining area, have a drink or two, and rid himself of such maudlin and bitter thoughts.
III. Pride
He turned and found himself face to face with Granger again, though now she was garbed as the Tarot's High Priestess: of course, she would pick the card most associated with learning, knowledge, and wisdom. He resisted the urge to sneer at her and say, 'Where is your weasel-half, Granger?' - but it was out of form for reformed-Draco, so instead he forced a polite smile and asked, "Why aren't you dancing with Weasley?"
Her lips quirked in a half smile; he knew that despite his efforts, she heard what he hadn't said - and rather than being upset by it, was amused. "Weasels and ferrets are kissing cousins, don't you think?" She joined him swiftly at the railing, before he'd had time to process that she'd insulted both him and the Weasel. "As to why, the reason is that he doesn't know how to dance. Luna is trying to teach him." She pointed down to the dance floor below them, to a corner. "Luna's the Hermit. Or the Star. I'm not sure she's sure which, either." She couldn't hide the amusement in her voice as Draco looked.
Luna was wearing a draped hermit's robes, but they were not the dull, faded colors one would expect - in true Luna style, the fabric was indigo, and had bright yellow oscillating stars. She had star-shaped earrings, made from twisted paperclips, as well. She was animatedly trying to teach Ron the steps to a dance - just which dance, Draco had no idea, but it certainly wasn't any dance his private instructors had taught. Ron - dressed as Justice, judging by the scales suspended from his shoulders and the simple sword belted over one hip - was watching with a combination of bemusement and confusion as Luna commenced hopping on one foot, waving both arms wildly.
"Loony Luna Lovegood, dance teacher," he murmured, grinning, feeling an utterly odd comraderie with Granger. He shook his head to abandon that thought. "She hasn't changed at all."
She turned her head to look at him; her eyes were assessing, sharp. "On the contrary - Luna has changed immensely. We all have," she added. "Have you, Draco?"
He had a feeling she didn't want to hear, would refuse to hear, any carefully worded answers reformed-Draco would say. Instead, he looked down at the costume he wore and answered, "If fine feathers make the bird, then I would say I have."
He expected a sharp rejoinder, but was surprised when she chuckled. "It's said that if you say and do something often enough, long enough, that whether or not they were heartfelt in the beginning, they are by the end. I wonder if that will prove true for you?"
Her words unnerved him - the idea that his charade might become a reality - even as his mind flashed to the image of Harry and Ginny swirling, their love a visible, tangible thing. "Malfoys aren't known for their heartfelt actions, routine or otherwise." He was embarrassed by the amount of bitterness laced into his words, and clamped his lips together.
He almost flinched when she reached out and touched his arm. Her smile, though, was challenging. "Not yet, perhaps. Walk with me, Draco." Her words had more than a touch of command to them, and he followed almost without thought. "Have you seen all the portraits?"
"No," he said sharply, and went to pull back but she'd anticipated him, planting a hand between his shoulderblades and pushing, and he was face to face with Snape, portrait Snape, and he couldn't leave. Snape looked as severe and greasy in his portrait as he did in real life, Draco thought, though he didn't say so. Whoever had painted Snape's portrait had thoughtfully made the background into a potions laboratory. "Professor," he said, lamely. "How are you?"
"I am dead, just like I was yesterday, and as I still will be tomorrow. And you are still your father's idiotic son, it appears," he said acidly, sneering down at Draco's dumbfounded opinion. "Haven't you figured out where Lucius went wrong yet?"
"My father wasn't wrong!" He snapped back before thinking.
"No? A pureblood elitist wizard intentionally served a half-blood, kissed the hem of his robe, and that wasn't a mistake?"
My father was never wrong! Draco wanted to scream, but reformed-Draco whispered traitorously in his head, but he was, sometimes. About very big things. And Granger stood next to him, coolly, waiting for his reaction. So he clenched his fists and gritted out, "As you're keen to remind me, he'll be paying for that mistake for years to come!"
Snape seemed content to just glower, so Granger stepped up beside Draco so he could see her. "Everyone pays for their mistakes, at some point. It's karma," she said neutrally, her steady gaze locked on the Professor - reminding him, Draco realised, of his own mistake - the dark mark he wasn't free of, either, even as a painting.
Snape noticed Draco's attention had wandered, and snarled at him, "At least I was able to figure out my own errors! And consequently was able to do something more useful than rotting in Azkaban - though trying to keep you brats safe was an exercise in futility!" He turned and swept to the back of the portrait, where the potions lab was; he stomped hard enough the frame quivered. Wide-eyed, Draco turned to Granger, unsure of a world where the Potions Master stomped in view of his former students.
She was hiding a smile behind her hand. "He gets grumpy when faced with his failures," she whispered to him, even as she grasped his hand and pulled him with her.
He pulled his hand hastily away from hers, lest she drag him unwilling to face another portrait he wasn't ready to see. "It's not like he's the only one who took the Mark," he said sullenly.
"Oh, he didn't mean the Mark - he repaid for that quite enough - it was the students he felt he failed with. Every time one died, or one took the Mark, he took it as a personal failure. Especially the Slytherins; he was responsible for shaping their opinions and thoughts once they reached Hogwarts. It was a responsibility he took very seriously. I think sometimes that's why he was as miserable and angry as he was."
Draco was bewildered by her open frankness. "Why are you telling this to me? We hate each other!" he exclaimed, trying to understand what it was she was doing. Instead, she stepped to the railing and pointed down.
"Look, there's Hagrid!" Obediently Draco looked; the burly groundskeeper stood several feet taller than the others present; his costume consisted of a tarot card pinned to his jacket. "You can't see it," Granger explained, laughing, "but the card pinned there is the Strength card. Hagrid really doesn't need a costume, does he?" Quick as lightning she pointed out others - Neville as the chariot, with two small wheels hung from his hips, and a long whip, used for directing a team of horses, looped and tied around his waist. The Weasley Twins had made two costumes, split them in half, and re-attached them to the wrong costume; they were each half-fool and half Magician, and privately Draco thought they couldn't be more right. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course, but when they hadn't targetted him, their pranks had always been amusing and innovating - the Skiving Snackboxes and the portable swamp had been strokes of near genius. Then again, they were actually purebloods, even if they didn't act like it.
Then Granger's pointing finger pointed out Molly and Arthur, dressed as Emperor and Emperess - he almost sneered at the implication of power for a couple who lived in near poverty, but Granger's slashing look silenced him. "They may not have a lot of wealth, you know - but surely a Malfoy is smart enough to know that not all power has to do with money. There's a lot to be said for who you know - and when 'who you know' includes the most powerful people in the Ministry - and those people are more than just 'people you know' - that's not an insignificant amount of power."
Surely that was the most Slytherin thing he'd ever heard her say. Draco rolled his eyes. "If they were that powerful, they'd be re-writing laws and changing history!"
Her eyes were knowing and her smile smug. "They already have. You just haven't been paying attention." She overrode his protests and pointed out another 'couple'. "That is a pairing I didn't expect. They should make good friends, though. They've both lost a lot in this war." He followed the line of her finger and saw Ollivander and Andromeda talking animatedly. Olivander wore a wooden crown, with his wand laid across it, while Andromeda wore a skirt of overlapping swords. King of Crowns and Queen of Swords, Draco guessed. Fitting, he supposed, though he didn't know either of them well - Andromeda wasn't well liked by the other Blacks, after all.
But when Granger spun to point out two more people, he grabbed her hand. "Stop," he commanded, allowing his annoyance to show. "Why am I being dragged around to admire everyone's Tarot costume? They're hardly going to care if a Malfoy approves." He folded his arms over his chest and tried for one of Lucius' trademark glare-and-stares. "In fact, most of these people wouldn't be happy to know you were speaking to me at all."
"People do change, Master Malfoy." The voice wasn't Granger's. It was McGonagall's. Slowly, he turned, already fearing what he would see, and flinched when he saw he was correct. Minerva, dressed as Temperance, stood next to Dumbledore's portrait - and Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, taking in Draco's costume. He had a card - the Hierophant - tucked into the frame of his portrait.
"Hello, my boy, how good to see you again! I trust you are well?"
"I - I - " Draco couldn't think past the memories pushing forward, memories he'd refused to think about - a very real tower, and Death Eaters, and Snape shouting and green light, and someone with twinkling eyes falling - "I can't, I just can't - I'm sorry - " he twisted away from Granger's hand and McGonagall's understanding eyes and Dumbledore's twinkle, and ran for the nearest exit.
"That didn't go too well," Hermione sighed, and picked up the pack of Tarot cards from the small card table set up beneath Dumbledore's portrait. A small glass bowl of lemondrops and a small statue of a phoenix also graced the table. "I should go after him, I suppose."
"Miss Granger - " McGonagall waited until she had her former student's attention, and continued, "Don't forget that underneath the cold analytical Slytherin exterior is a human being."
Hermione straightened, and smiled. "It never doubted it, Professor," she whispered, and then she whirled to follow Draco, clutching the Tarot cards.
Albus Dumbledore watched her go, then answered McGonagall's unspoken question. "You know hee's not a cold-blooded killer, Minerva. Not even of his own heart - he just needs to be faced with the decision."
IV. Hearts
She finally caught up with Draco on an outside balcony, after resorting to recruiting several house-elves to help locate him. She stepped out onto the balcony tentatively, snow crunching softly underfoot; the cold air froze her breath. He was leaning against the outer wall, eyes closed and face upturned to the sky. He looked impassive, but she'd read the warning signs in too many war survivors to be fooled.
He didn't open his eyes. "What do you want now, Granger? I won't be one of your sycophants."
She moved to stand next to him, to lean against the wall as well, and discovered he hadn't even cast a warming charm - proof that his calm facade was shaken. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Dumbledore had asked to speak to you."
"What for? To remind me of what I failed to do?"
"Actually, he worried about you - and he wanted to say Happy Christmas."
It took her a moment to recognize the noise he'd made. Draco Malfoy had just snorted. "And what do you want, Granger?"
She took a deep breath, before fanning out the cards in her hand and holding them out to him. "I want you to pick a card."
He started at her incredulously, then started to laugh. "You're all batty! Is that your plan? To drive me round the twist?"
She shook her head. "Just pick a card, Draco." She was surprised when he actually did; she'd been braced for a struggle. She pulled out the card he'd chosen and flipped it face up; from its glossy surface The Tower was clearly visible. "The Tower," she mused out loud, feeling Draco stiffen next to her, "represents a sudden change, an abandonment of the past, an unexpected event, a sudden upheaval - a very volatile card. It suits you. Or rather - " she looked up and met his eyes, a cold stormy grey that matched the December sky, "it had suited you."
Quickly, decisively, she tore the card in half and let the torn pieces flutter down to land, whisper-soft, on the snow. "What do you want out of life, Draco?"
Draco tried to sneer, and found he could not; he couldn't pull his eyes away from the mangled card in the snow, the card with the tower and the animated figures jumping from the window, over and over, to death. "I am a Malfoy - power, wealth, and success are what Malfoys do." But he couldn't stop thinking about Potter and Weaslette - or even Molly and Arthur, who even with grown and married children, were still in love. He doubted he would ever have anything like that. Or even to be like Loony Luna - to do what he wanted, without fear of reputation or reprisal. And he didn't know what he wanted, even if he had the freedom to chase it.
She looked up at the sky; thick dark clouds overhead threatened more snow soon. "You know, I can't help but feel that in some way, we were all acting out a scripted part in the war. A destiny, perhaps." She glared Malfoy to silence when it seemed he would interrupt, and continued, "Everything was so black-and-white then; good guys, bad guys. Like pieces on a chess board, pushed and pulled to some conclusion."
"Just because a game of chess ends doesn't mean a pawn will become a knight, or a queen will become a rook."
Argh. She wanted to pull out her hair at his stubborn blindness. "Look. We all had roles to play in the war. Like this Costume Ball, everyone's content to play this card or that card, pigeonholed into a narrow role as if that's all there is to a person's destiny. But now the war's over. We don't have to abide by those same roles. In a sense, we can start over again. Don't you think it's time you decide your own fate, instead of letting someone make it for you?" Like your father. Like Voldemort. Like Dumbledore.
He stared at her, as if he was truly seeing her for the first time. "Incredible. You actually believe that."
She threw the remaining tarot cards at him; they hit him in the chest and scattered, vivid squares of color against the snow. Overhead, it began to snow; somewhere nearby bells began to toll the midnight hour. She made a sound of frustration. "I have to go. I promised - but here - " she opened her reticule, withdrew an invitation, and thrust it at him. "New Year's Eve we're having a party - mostly Order members and close friends. If you decide you're really interested in a new start - you'll be welcome." She smiled, a little unsure, at him. "Happy Christmas, Draco." She turned and headed towards the door.
She almost missed his words. They caught up to her as the Balcony door slid shut behind her, an eddy of snow swirling in with them. "Happy Christmas - Hermione."
NOTES:
I am *far* from a Tarot expert. These are the Tarot interpretations I used; some include the reversed interpretation as well as the Upright.
Draco - Tower - A sudden change, abandonment of past, ending a friendship, unexpected events, disruption, bankruptcy, downfall, loss of money or security
Luna - Hermit - Counsel, inner strength, prudence, caution, vigilance, patience, withdrawal, annulment, a loner
Dumbledore - Hierophant - A need to conform, social approval, bonded to the conventions of society/ Mercy, kindness, forgiveness, compassion, conformity, a sense of historical importance, inspiration/ Foolish generosity, errors are repeated, impotence, vulnerability, frailty, unorthodoxy
Snape - Hanged Man - Suspension, change, reversal, boredom, abandonment, sacrifice, readjustment, improvement, rebirth
Neville - Chariot- Perseverance, a journey, a rushed decision, adversity, turmoil, vengeance
Hagrid - Strength - Strength, courage, conviction, energy, determination, action, heroism, virility
Hermione - high Priestess - Wisdom, knowledge, learning, intuition, purity, virtue, a lack of patience, a teacher
Twins - fool/magician - New beginnings, new adventures, new opportunities, unlimited possibilities, pleasure, passion, thoughtlessness, rashness/ Originality, creativity, skill, will-power, self confidence, dexterity, sleight of hand
Minerva - Temperance - Moderation, temperance, patience, harmony, fusion, good influence, confidence
Harry/Ginny - Lovers - Love, harmony, trust, honor, the beginning of a romance, optimism, a meaningful relationship/affair
Molly - Empress - Action, development, accomplishment, mother/sister/wife, evolution
Arthur - Emperor - Accomplishment, confidence, wealth, stability, leadership, father/brother/husband, achievement, a capable person
Ron - Justice - Harmony, balance, equality, righteousness, virtue, honor, advice, a considerate person
Ollivander - King of Wands - A gentlemen, father, passionate, generous, noble, a good leader
Andromeda - Queen of Swords - A quick and confident decision, a widow, one who can bear their sorrow
Blaise - Six/Eight/Ten of Pentacles - Sharing of prosperity, one will soon receive what is rightfully theirs, charity, gifts, philanthropy, three-fold/ Learning a trade or profession, employment is coming soon, skill, handiwork, small money gain/ Stable family, gain in wealth, property is acquired
Pansy - Seven of Wands - The ability to "hold one's own" against adversaries, stiff competition in business, a fight won, a fight one may have to face soon, victory, energy, courage
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post gifts, it has not authored or created any of the gifts.
Mod note: This story was generously written by one of our fabulous pinch-hitters - name to be revealed at the end with the regular participant reveals.