Gravenmere Court - The 16th Birthday of Ellen Graymere | Open

4th August, 1922

8:00 AM.

The invitations had been sent out three weeks in advance, addressed by hand, each name chosen with the particular care that Darenne Graymere née de Lac brought to all social manoeuvres. No expense had been spared. None ever was.

The invitation, when it arrived, came in a heavy envelope of cream laid paper, the Graymere heron watermarked faintly at the lower right corner. The seal was dark green wax, pressed with the family crest: the heron, the oak sprigs, the old words.

Inside, two cards:

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Mr. & Mrs. Walter Graymere
request the pleasure of your company
at a Ball given in honour of their daughter

Miss Ellen Elizabeth Graymere
on the occasion of her Sixteenth Birthday

Saturday, the Fourth of August
Nineteen Twenty-Two

Eight o'clock in the Evening

Gravenmere Court
Cornwall

Dancing & Supper

R.S.V.P.
Mrs. W. Graymere
Gravenmere Court, Cornwall

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Dress: Formal Evening

Ladies are kindly asked to observe a palette
of jewel tones for the evening.
White is reserved for the guest of honour.

Gentlemen: dress robes or evening dress.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Sixteen years. A daughter. A debut.

The day had been circled on the household calendar for months.

By eight o'clock, Gravenmere Court was already at war with itself.

Not literally, of course. The pale limestone walls still caught the morning light in their usual way, throwing it back soft and warm across the lawns that rolled, green and close-cropped, to the lake's edge. The lake itself lay flat and silver under an August sky that had not yet decided between cloud and blue. A pair of herons stood motionless in the shallows near the eastern boathouse, unbothered by the commotion behind them.

Because behind them, the house was in uproar.

The front doors stood propped open with iron doorstops shaped like sleeping foxes, and through them passed a steady procession. Crates of glassware, conjured but carefully so. Darenne had opinions about the weight of a champagne coupe, the way the stem should sit between the fingers, and no charm off a shelf would satisfy her. Bundles of cut flowers arrived by Floo in the service hearth every quarter hour; white peonies and pale roses, sweet pea in ivory and blush, trailing jasmine that perfumed the kitchen corridor until one of the house-elves sneezed so violently it sent a stack of pressed linen napkins off the counter and across the flagstones.

In the ballroom, two house-elves stood on stepladders that were themselves standing on enchanted platforms, hanging garlands of white and green along the cornicing. A third directed them from below with the intensity of a conductor at rehearsal, ears flat with concentration, one long finger jabbing upward—higher, higher, to the left, Lally, the LEFT—while a fourth polished the parquet floor on hands and knees with a cloth the size of a bedsheet, working in long, devoted strokes until the wood held the reflection of the chandeliers above like a still pond.

The chandeliers. There were three of them, old crystal, Graymere pieces that had hung in this room for two hundred years. They had been lowered on their chains the previous evening and cleaned prism by prism. Now they were rising again, slowly, chiming faintly as they went, each one trailing a soft rain of refracted light across the walls.

In the kitchen, the day had started at five.

Cook, a broad, squib woman named Heddy who had held her post for nineteen years had commandeered every surface. The long oak table that normally served for staff meals had been cleared and floured for pastry. Two enchanted rolling pins worked side by side in a steady, mechanical rhythm, flattening sheets of butter-laminated dough that would become vol-au-vents by evening. On the great iron range, a stockpot the size of a washtub simmered with lobster shells, fennel, and a generous pour of white wine, its steam rising to join the permanent haze that lived beneath the kitchen ceiling. Racks of petit fours cooled on every available ledge. A sugar-work mould in the shape of the Graymere heron sat waiting on the marble slab, its cavity brushed with oil, ready for the spun-sugar centrepiece that Heddy would not attempt until four o'clock, because humidity was the enemy and she would choose her moment.

A delivery of oysters from the coast had arrived in a crate of crushed ice and wet seaweed at half-six, and a boy from the village had brought the last of the hothouse peaches in a flat wooden tray, each one nested in tissue paper, blushed gold and red, smelling of August itself.

The dining room had been extended.

By enchantment, of course. The result was a room that felt generous without feeling cavernous, large enough for the round supper tables she had specified; ten of them, eight guests each, with room for the servants to circulate but still intimate enough that conversation could carry across the candlelight.

The tables themselves were bare for now. The linen would go down at noon, the silver at two, the flowers and place cards at four. Specific instructions regarding the seating had also been given by Darenne; the McCawleys beside the Daughtrys, NOT near the Borgheses under any circumstances, and Mother at my right. Added later, move the Laurence boy to Ellen's table. One placement, near the middle of the arrangement, had been especially noted: Nordstrom — Zdravkova. Nothing else was noted beside it. It did not need to be.

As the clock inched toward ten, a house-elf appeared at Darenne's elbow with a soft crack, holding a swatch of green silk and a sprig of jasmine, and she held the two together at arm's length, turned them toward the window light, then set the jasmine aside and pointed at the silk. The elf vanished.

In Ellen's bedroom, the gown hung on a padded dress form near the window. White silk charmeuse, fluid, with a luster that shifted between warm ivory and cool silver as the curtain stirred in the draft. The waistline sat low on the hip. The neckline drew a soft curve across the collarbone. Sleeveless, bare from the shoulder. The hemline fell to mid-calf, clean and straight, and the beadwork began at the bodice: seed pearls and crystal arranged in geometric patterns, dense at the top and thinning as they descended, so the skirt could move without weight. It was a Paris gown, Brodeur et Fils, Rue Cambon, and it looked it.

Beside the form, laid out on a cloth-draped table: white gloves that buttoned past the elbow. Satin shoes, low-heeled. And a velvet case, open, containing a single strand of pearls. De Lac pearls.

In the kitchen, Heddy cracked two dozen eggs into a copper bowl without looking up, and the morning pressed on.

By noon, the linen went down on the supper tables. White damask, pressed to a shine, each cloth laid with the seams aligned to the table's center. By two, the silver followed: forks, knives, spoons arranged by course in the Continental style that Darenne preferred, each setting measured finger-width apart. Crystal stemware; champagne coupes, wine glasses, water goblets all caught the light from the windows and threw tiny rainbows across the damask.

By three, the flowers arrived in their final form. Low arrangements of white peonies and pale roses in silver bowls, one per table, fragrant but not overwhelming, set low enough that guests could see one another across the settings. Trailing jasmine wound through the candelabras that stood at intervals along the room's periphery. The scent was green and sweet, faintly honeyed, mingling with the beeswax of candles that would not be lit for hours yet.

The ballroom floor had dried to a mirror. The garlands were up. The chandeliers hung in their places, still and glittering, prisms throwing light in slow rotations as the summer air moved through the open windows. At the far end of the room, a low platform had been erected for the musician, a string orchestra out of London, six players, their instruments still cased and stacked beside the music stands. They would arrive at five to tune and rehearse.

Outside, the grounds were being dressed as thoroughly as the house. The lakeside tea pavilion had been hung with white muslin and strung with glass lanterns, unlit, that would float at head-height once darkness fell. The lawns between the house and the water had been mown that morning, the cut grass smell still hanging in the warm air. The long gravel path from the front entrance had been raked clean, and the gravel itself was fresh-pale, fine-crushed stone that crunched cleanly underfoot.

At five, the orchestra arrived.

Six men in black evening dress, carrying their own cases, led through the service entrance by a house-elf who moved at twice their pace and kept glancing back as if herding cattle. They filed onto the platform at the far end of the ballroom, unpacked without fuss, and began to tune. The sound filled the empty room in disjointed pieces; a cello finding its open strings, a violin running a scale, the pianist striking the same chord three times, adjusting, striking again. By half-five, they had settled into a low, aimless warm-up that drifted through the house like a rumor of what was coming.

At six, the candles were lit.

Not by hand. A single house-elf walked the length of the ballroom with one finger raised, and the wicks caught in sequence, a ripple of small flames running along the walls, climbing the candelabras, reaching the chandeliers last. The effect was immediate. The room, which had spent the day in the honest light of August, softened. Crystal multiplied the flames. The polished floor doubled them. The garlands of white and green, which had looked merely fresh in daylight, turned luminous, and the jasmine released a deeper wave of scent in the warmth.

Outside, the glass lanterns along the lakeside pavilion rose from their hooks and hung suspended, glowing faintly as the sky began its slow turn from blue to gold. The lake caught the colour and held it, flat and still, the treeline on the far shore reduced to a dark ribbon. Midges drifted above the water in loose clouds. The air was warm and close, the kind of August evening that held its heat well past dark.

The first carriages appeared on the drive at seven.

They came by road and by magic both. Some rolled up the gravel behind matched pairs, the carriage wheels crunching softly, the horses sleek and dark. But others arrived in motorcars. Low, polished machines in black and burgundy and cream, their engines cutting out one by one as they drew to a halt before the entrance, the smell of petrol wafting briefly through the cut-grass scent of the lawns. The newer families, the progressive ones, the Continental connections who had adopted Muggle technologies as status symbols rather than things to be shunned. A sleek silver Hispano-Suiza purred to a stop behind a more traditional carriage, its chauffeur stepping out to open the door for a witch in emerald silk who descended without a glance at the older, horse-drawn arrivals.

Other guests came by Floo, stepping out of the great fireplace in the entrance hall and brushing soot from their shoulders. A few arrived by Apparition at the designated point beyond the garden wall, walking the remaining distance in evening dress as if they had travelled on foot all along.

The entrance hall filled first, voices and footsteps layering over one another, the particular sound of a social gathering finding its pitch. Names were exchanged, hands were clasped, cheeks were kissed in the Continental fashion by those who favored it. House-elves moved through the crowd at waist-height with silver trays of champagne coupes, the wine inside pale and fizzing, cold enough that the glass misted under every grip.

Older witches could be seen wearing traditional robes in dark velvets and rich silks, their hair pinned up, evidently still Edwardian or even Victorian in structure. But among the younger set, the influence of the new decade was visible. A cluster of girls in their late teens stood near the ballroom doors, their dresses straight and narrow, waists dropped to the hip, hems hovering just above the ankle. Beaded fringe caught the light. One wore her hair in a sharp, shining bob; another had hers shingled at the back, exposed beneath a headband of crystal and pearl. The effect was youthful, almost boyish, a deliberate rejection of the hourglass silhouettes their mothers still favored. It was not just the women. There were plenty of younger men wore Muggle evening dress too, all white tie and tailcoats.

Nobody commented on it, at least not within earshot of their hosts.

The Graymeres received their guests at the foot of the main staircase. Walter in dark dress robes, well-fitted. His wife..

Darenne stood beside him in pale gold silk chiffon that seemed to hold the light rather than merely reflect it. The bodice was sleeveless and columnar, encrusted with a meticulous lattice of seed pearls and micro-beads that created a subtle, liquid shimmer with every small movement, muted floral motifs in dusty rose and sage green embroidered throughout. A heavily beaded sash sat at the dropped waist, and from it the skirt descended in a frothy, multi-layered waterfall of metallic lace and scalloped tulle. A long, blush-toned sautoir necklace draped past her hip. White opera-length gloves covered her arms. Her hair was swept up, not in the tight arrangements of the previous generation, but in a softer, looser style that let a few strands curve against her neck.

She looked modern. She looked expensive. She looked, in short, exactly as she intended. As always.

William, nineteen, tall, his father's coloring, standing where he'd been placed and doing what was asked of him. But unlike his father, he wore muggle evening dress.

The girl of the hour, Ellen, had not yet descended.

---

(OOC: Thank you all for coming!! This took so long to write, but it was worth it! Welcome to my character's sixteenth birthday bash!

So, your character has received a formal invitation (enclosed above) and has arrived at the estate. Guests are being received in the entrance hall, where champagne is already circulating. The ballroom, dining room, and lakeside grounds are all open and dressed for the occasion.

ORDER OF EVENTS:

⊹ Arrival & Reception. Guests mingle in the entrance hall and filter into the ballroom. Champagne, conversation, and first impressions. *This is where we start.*

⊹ The First Dance. Ellen's first dance of the evening. The orchestra is live and will move from waltzes into more modern numbers as the night progresses.

⊹ Open Dancing & Socialising. The floor opens. Dance cards are in play.

⊹ Supper. A formal seated meal. Seating has been arranged by the hostess.

⊹ After Supper. The evening loosens. The lakeside pavilion and grounds are available.

HOW THIS WILL WORK: I will advance us to the next stage of the evening once everyone has had a chance to settle into the current one. There is no rush. Take your time with arrivals, introductions, and interactions. When the scene is ready to move, I'll post a transition.

FOR YOUR FIRST POST: Arrive. Step out of your carriage, out of the Floo, off the Apparition point, however your character travels. Enter the house. React to the setting. Find someone to talk to, or don't.

That's all! Settle in and let's have fun!)

Summer vacation was in full swing, and she couldn’t have been more excited. Endless days of sun, gardening, reading, and visiting friends… who was she kidding? It was England. There would not be endless days of sun. Sun or not, Matilda would be found in the garden 96% of the time. She had to eat and sleep, which accounted for the other 4%.

Tonight was the exception.

Sitting in the back of a posh, Muggle-looking car, Matilda watched as the city passed them by. The homes began to change—small suburban dwellings giving way to large, opulent houses and sprawling manor estates. They had opted for the car since neither girl could yet Apparate, and Bram didn’t want their dresses covered in soot.

“I know events like this aren’t your cup of tea, but hopefully we can have an enjoyable evening,” Bram said, adjusting his tie.

As they pulled up to the beautiful mansion, the door opened smoothly and a hand greeted her, helping her step out with ease—though the high heels made every step a quiet battle.

Ascending the stairs, Tilly’s eyes took in every detail, marveling at the decorations: flowers, candles, chandeliers. It was a beautiful sight.

She hooked her arm through Alice’s and gave her hand a squeeze. “Come, Alice, let’s get a drink and see if we can find Ellen.”

While this wasn’t normally Tilly’s scene, she didn’t mind the fancy clothes and the scrumptious food. And tonight, she looked the part of a high society princess.

Her emerald green dress skimmed her body like water. The gown was artfully tailored to highlight every curve, with a high boat neckline and sleeveless cut that showcased arms toned by hours spent gardening in the sun. Gathered at the center to accentuate her narrow waist, the fabric shimmered in the candlelight, tiny beads catching the glow and drawing the eye. A crystal-beaded bow sat at her waist, delicate strands extending up toward her shoulders and trailing down her back in a soft, glittering line. The skirt pooled at the floor, concealing beaded green heels—shoes she loathed even more than beetles eating her plants. Though they brought her 5’2” frame up to 5’5”, she still felt every bit as short as she was.

Her long ginger hair fell in soft, controlled waves, and she wore a full face of makeup finished with a bold, deep red lip.

She looked very un-Matilda.

Still, while the party wasn’t her usual scene, she could appreciate the fun in dressing up. The attention didn’t hurt either—handsome boys letting their eyes linger a moment too long.

Thankfully, there were more than a few friendly faces in attendance, making the evening far from a nightmare. Grandpa Bram moved easily through the room, mingling with a drink in hand, leaving Tilly and her cousin Alice to wander as they pleased.

A glint of red in the distance made Tilly do a double take—then groan as her entire demeanor shifted. One moment she was laughing, talking, enjoying herself. The next, her spine went ramrod straight, her heart beginning to pound.

There was only one person in the world who could cause that reaction.

The familiar fire-red hair of her grandmother was a frustrating reminder that they were related.

“Good evening Alice, Matilda. You look…” Allegra’s gaze moved slowly from head to toe, her scrutiny far less pleasant than that of the boys across the room. “Good enough.”

Tilly’s eye roll could have been heard across the ballroom. “Grandmother, I’d say it’s nice to see you, but I’ve been taught not to lie.”

Allegra’s smile did not falter, though something colder settled behind her eyes.

“How charming,” she replied smoothly, adjusting the emerald brooch pinned at her throat. Tonight she wore deep gold velvet that clung elegantly to her tall frame, her copper hair swept into the same severe chignon Tilly remembered from childhood. Not a single strand dared escape.

Allegra took a slow sip from her champagne, her gaze never leaving Tilly.

“I see Bertram has allowed you to run completely feral—gardening, wandering, speaking however you please.” A slight pause. “Frankly, it’s embarrassing. No, you have been trained for events such as this. I expect that you will be on your best behavior. I would hate for you to embarrass your Grandfather amongst his friends and colleagues.”

Her voice was cool. Controlled. And edged with unmistakable disdain. Allegra knew what she was doing. If she as to behave for her grandmothers benefit, the spicy Gryffindor would start screaming at the top of her lungs, but for Bram, she would do anything. Even shit her mouth and mind her manners.

---

Powerplay for Bram approved by me... his human.

Her hand slipped from Lev's arm the instant her feet touched solid ground, smoothing the cascade of her hair back over her shoulder. His hand settled at the small of back a moment later, warm and steady, a weight she was used to by now but that still felt like a duty rather than a comfort. It pushed her forward, around the garden wall and onto the path leading them towards the golden glow of Gravenmere Court, Drago and Nadežda close behind.

Her pulse quickened, excited anticipation stirring her guts.

Rosie should be here. She would finally see her again.

Her breath shallowed.

"Liliya." The low rumble of Lev's voice pulled her gaze upward. He was looking at her with that hardened intensity, the expression he got when he was about to set her straight. Her jaw tightened, reading the warning before he spoke it. "Remember why we're here."

Introduction into society, their own debut of sorts. Not merely as a couple, but as a family. A united, powerful front. Zdravkova pride, cool composure, exuding dominance and grace without trying. Even her dress was leaned into their crest's colour. Deeper than their icy blue, bleeding into purple closer to the hem, shimmering faintly in the glow of the lanterns with every step. But the blue marked each of them. Peaking forth as pocket squares from Lev's and Drago's traditional dressrobes, glittering within the jewels hung around Nadežda's neck and dangling from her ears.

Unity, strength, power.

Liliya pushed the fluttering excitement down, compressing it back into it's too-small box until the eager tremble quieted to no more than a faint ripple. The plan lingered, she just needed to be subtle.

She slid her arm through Lev's again. From the corner of her eye she caught the complacent smirk lifting his lips. The effort it took to not roll her eyes was close to painful.

But she knew he was right. She wouldn't fight him.

This was their first appearance. The only one that would truly count. The first stepping stone to success. Liliya straightened and let a low, confident smile settle on her lips.

They were greeted by the Graymeres and entered the estate.

It glowed and sparkled, ever little thing drooping with extravagance and opulence. Houseelves weaved through the growing crowd with trays of sparkling champagne, as smooth as water. Lev swept up two, handing her one. The soft cling of crystal sang like a promise as he tipped his glass against hers, leaning in with that spark behind his eyes that he got in rare moments of mischief. "Time to shine, snezhinka*."

He winked at her and despite herself, Liliya grinned against the rim of her glass.

"Liliya."

A tap on her shoulder turned her away from Lev and towards Drago, broad-shouldered, straight-backed. Almost militaristic. "Who is Matilda?"

She chuckled, amused with her cousin's eagerness. She cast a quick, scanning glance around the room, searching. It settled on the silhouette of a girl dressed in emerald green, fire-red hair spilling in waves down a back turned their way. She hadn't seen her in over two years but it wasn't hard to pick her out of a crowd.

She pointed with a discreet tilt of her finger and flashed Drago a small, conspiratorial grin. "Good luck." If what she remembered still proved true, he'd need it.

---

snezhinka - snowflake

It was his housemate's birthday, and since Ellen Graymere was a pureblood in the higher aristo circles, that apparently meant he was obligated to attend.

It wasn't that he didn't like Ellen. Ellen was...Ellen. She was quiet, at least around him and the times they had spoken, she always seemed exasperated. Which wasn't new for Benji. Most people often found themselves exasperated with him before - and sometimes after - they got to know him. They just never seemed to click in that way that led to friendship.

None of that mattered though. Ellen's family was 'important' his uncle had insisted, and that meant it was important to be seen at this function. Everyone would be there, he was told. The Nordstroms. The Ravenstones. The St. Allswells. The Yorks. The Batterseas.

And one pretty little Burke that hung off his arm.

James stepped out of the muggle car first, helping Amelia after him. Aunt Edith was next, serious as always, but obviously eager for a night out away from her toddler and to engage with their social circles. Benji followed, taking Rae's hand as he helped her from the car. Gravel crunching under his freshly shined shoes, the sixteen-year-old adjusted his new black bespoke dress robes - the only bespoke he owned, his mother insisting he was too reckless for them otherwise - and tucked his girlfriend's arm into his.

"Ready pretty?" He dropped a kiss on top of her hair and with a pointed look from Amelia to behave himself, he grinned and followed the three adult Laurences into the ball.

The Graymere estate was lavish - on the same level as all the others he'd been to over the past few years, and while Benji would love to be pretentious enough to say that he had grown bored of it all, he hadn't. He still found himself in awe every time he walked into a new one, taken with the wealth and grandeur displayed in every corner.

They were a far cry from the neglected, run down council home he and Kate had spent much of their childhood in.

He didn't know if he'd ever get used to it.

"Mingle," James instructed, nodding to the group of teens that were gathering in the foyer. Some were familiar - Alice and Matilda being a few of them - others he'd never seen or met before. "Ladies," Benji said as he led Rae from the adults and over to their schoolmates. He glanced at Matilda briefly, noting she was absent her usual worn-down boots. "You look slightly better than usual tonight," he quipped with a teasing grin. Matilda was always fun to roast, and she gave it as good as she got. "Less like the ginger gnome you usually are."

It was only then he noticed her nan, looking rather severe as usual. "Err..." he cleared his throat, and straightened, not wanting to incur the old woman's wrath and set his eyes pointedly throughout the room. There were a few Slytherins here, a few Gryffindors. Some other people he'd never seen before that his uncle would probably want him to meet and -

Benji's grin grew six sizes, taking on the same cheek as the Cheshire Cat. Did his eyes deceive him? It'd been two fucking years.

He squeezed Rae's arm to get her attention and then, forgetting the sort of voice he was supposed to maintain, Benji called out - loudly - across the room.

"EIIIIIRRRRRAAAAAAAAA."

Surely, she could never forget that call.

---

*OOC: Permission to have Rae with Benji approved by Dani <3

Drago adjusted the front of his robes, smoothed over the pocket square that didn't need smoothing over, straightened cuffs already perfectly in place. The stone set within the links caught the low glow of the lanterns in shimmers of blue and purple, glinting with purpose that challenged the one guiding his zealous strides. Ever closer to Gravenmere Court, closer to his betrothed.

The announcement had come from his father in the living room, delivered like a political degree. They'd all sat spread out along the living room's couches, prim and proper, neat and orderly. They were moving. All ten of them. Away from Russia and into this rather strange country, to build another dynasty, to grow their influence. To wedge into the British circles and he was the chosen one.

Drago had taken the news with a swelled chest and a new sense of purpose. He'd be the first to tie the family to this new land and he'd do it proudly. The first step in establishing a new stronghold for the name Zdravkova. It was an honour and a privilege.

His gaze flicked ahead to Lev and Liliya walking side by side.

His half-brother had been handed the gems again, as always. The prime position at their father's side, the Zdravkova bride to carry on the line, pure not only in blood but in name also. Drago knew they'd one day take over the lead. He stuffed away the resentment, averting his jealous eyes.

He had his own duty and he would fulfil it without complaint.

They reached the entrance and Drago inclined his head.

"It is pleasure meeting you," he declared to Mr. and Mrs. Graymere. The words felt heavy as they rolled off his tongue, thick and harsh, roughened by his accent. "I am honoured to attend."

Nadežda guided him inside, her arm wrapped around his, those piercing eyes already taking in the entire room and everyone in it. Analysing, cataloguing, evaluating. She slipped free a second later, giving his arm a friendly pat. "Mingle. I will be back in a moment." And then she was off, melting into the crowd.

Drago turned towards his cousin, tapping her shoulder.

"Liliya."

She faced him with expectant but friendly eyes. "Who is Matilda?"

A brief moment passed in which she searched, and then she pointed with a grin. "Good luck."

Drago nodded his thanks and wove through the crowd towards the girl in emerald green. He had gotten a rough description of the girl he was expected to marry but seeing her with his own two eyes, recognizing her existence, was knocking his brain sideways. It was like seeing a creature of myth come to life, something he'd heard of countless times but had never been in the presence of.

He hadn't tried to imagine what she'd look like, it wouldn't matter anyway. When she half-turned to face another boy however, Drago felt the tips of his mouth curve. He straightened to his full height, head held high.

"Good evening." His upper body tipped into a respectful bow, eyes never leaving hers. "You are looking very beautiful. Like green and red jewel."

Unsurprisingly, Evan landed on the ground, free from the awkward hold his older cousin had around his torso that made him feel like some damsel in distress. His bum hit the ground hard, his face contorting to breath out the sudden shock up his spine. Staring hatefully up at his cousin, Ezequiel hardly seemed to notice and appeared far less likely to care. It'd always been that way between the two of them, ever since it was acknowledged that Zeke, gifted as he was, would have been a much better fit for the main line of the family than Evan would ever amount to be and knowing that deep to his bones did little to make him accept it.

Even when he was literally brought to a party he wasn't technically invited to having to hang onto his much more talented cousin like baby monkey straddling its mother's teat.

The dynamic wasn't lost on Zeke, who allowed his normally frowning lips to tweak upwards as he basically threw Evan to the ground the moment the apparation finished. As Evan tended to brush off the dirt that had now collected along the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt, Zeke walked past him unbothered, a solemn reach for a quick sip of the flask he kept hidden beneath his coat pocket.

"Don't fall behind," Zeke warned. Evan got up to his feet, looking himself over, shaking his head solemnly. The only reason he was even there was because the sixteen-year-old snake was the only sole connection to the girl the whole magical world seemed to have gathered to celebrate. It would have looked poorly on his family, no matter what their current status was, to not be formally invited when the initial invitations went out. His grandmother had caught wind of this and after forcing a "chance" meeting, a letter had arrived at their estate to graciously welcome them; an invitation without formally naming someone for invitation, stating two guests were allowed to come along and represent their family. Even if many didn't acknowledge it, the very idea of the Whistlers made it so excluding them would be a bad omen.

It was never a good idea to piss off the family known for divining secrets. Such secrets were worth their weight of entry.

But that was Zeke's responsibility, one he took on and dressed the part for. Evan, on the other hand, had not been allowed to wear what he actually wanted to wear; namely a single sport coat that reached his knees and then left the rest of him bare. The moment he was seen wearing that with a rightful smug on his face sent him right back to change and come out in something far less inconspicuous. A white shirt that had then been transfigured to appear green, black slacks, black shoes, and a more annoyed expression that had only grown dourer to this point.

At least he didn't have to worry about kissing some rich family's arse once he made his way into the party proper. There was a sea of people there, a number that could only be described as audacious. For one of the few times in his life, Evan felt uncomfortable standing there, dressed less than impressively, his eyes chasing after any familiar face he could find. Relief flooded his face when he finally did find one, though he had to double take for it to click given the change in appearance over what he'd gotten used to over the many years they've known one another.

Green had always been Tilly's color, but it had never sided with her the way it did that night. The fabric clung to her body like shadow, and it left little to imagine the changes she'd experienced in maturing towards adulthood. How this was the same person that Evan saw perpetually caked in dirt, fingernails lined in layers of brown, was flabbergasting. Someone must have told her something and likely not held back. And, if no one had, then it was only the proper thing that he'd be the one to knock her down a peg and keep her grounded and, coincidentally, overthinking the entire thing.

As he marched towards her, not noticing how his demeanor had changed almost immediately into his conceited confidence, Evan stole a glass of champagne off someone's table while they weren't looking, then dipped his fingers in a someone's drink that was being carried over by a waiter. The bloke whispered a curse in his direction, but it died to the sound of the party and his lack of care. Sliding his wet fingers through his hair, he was about to say call her out for the drastic change when a stranger beat him to her.

Evan stopped for moment a few feet away, watching the initial interaction of this tall, overly muscular bastard smiling way too comfortably bow in front of her and then drop some lame line in an almost insulting broken accent. Rolling his eyes, Evan was breaking up the scene before he could even think if through, squeezing himself into the conversation before Tilly was given a chance to respond, positively or negatively.

"Drink, Tils?" He offered, handing out the glass. Evan didn't acknowledge the barbarian to his right, instead taking all of his friend in and letting out a cheeky whistle.

"Not surprising that green would be your color. You look–" He bit back his tongue, shaking his head, actually unwilling to properly compliment her because it'd never truly been their relationship, even when they'd dated. Boy, did that seem like a lifetime ago.

"Well, it doesn't give off that you've spent the last couple o' hours digging through flowerpots instead of turning heads. You should try it more often."

The words felt strange leaving his mouth. She probably noticed how unlike him it was, even if it wasn't a blatant bit of ass-kissing as she'd only just received by the towering presence beside them. Speaking of, as he then took better measure of his surroundings, a snide look to the side at the other person there as he reached to grab a glass off a passing waiter's tray for himself before his gaze fell back on Tilly.

"Who's the sasquatch?" Evan genuinely didn't know.

Alice was trying to treat life like everything was normal, but nothing was. Sure, she got to see Everleigh basically whenever she wanted, but not always being around her little sister was a bit jarring. Even now, after a couple of months of this being her new normal, Alice found it strange.

Another thing that made the entire thing strange; without her sister there to influence her emotions… which somehow she had been doing… the Hufflepuff felt lost. Who even was she now? She couldn’t remember what it felt like to only feel her own emotions.

Most of the time, anyway.

At a larger gathering such as this, Alice knew it was going to be hard. And that was one reason she’d entered so quietly. Sure, she smiled at Ellen – someone who had been a constant at Hogwarts since they were in the same house – but that was all she’d done.

“I know events like this aren’t your cup of tea, but hopefully we can have an enjoyable evening.”

Their grandfather had been perfect through everything. He was trying his best, and Alice was settling in. Her parents were nowhere to be seen, as far as she knew. Anytime anyone tried to talk about them, she blocked it out.

Alice held onto Matilda and nodded slightly at the suggestion to find a drink. That’d be nice. She needed something to focus on.

The news of Ellen’s coming out had hit hard. Alice knew she’d attend, but had no idea what to wear. Finally, after much debate, she’d decided to go with a deep purple. The skirt was simple and yet beautiful in the color she’d chosen. The bodice was different, though. Instead of matching the skirt of the dress, the top was black lace laid over skin-colored fabric.

Mostly because she knew that Allegra would be there, judging her and Tilly’s dresses. Normally Alice would never, but this time… she didn’t care much anymore. Not with Ever gone. This was probably a bit less refined than the woman wanted of one of her granddaughters, but Alice didn’t care.

“Good evening Alice, Matilda. You look… Good enough.”

Alice rolled her eyes, her line of sight focusing on something in the distance rather than the rude woman speaking to them.

“I see Bertram has allowed you to run completely feral—gardening, wandering, speaking however you please. Frankly, it’s embarrassing. No, you have been trained for events such as this. I expect that you will be on your best behavior. I would hate for you to embarrass your Grandfather amongst his friends and colleagues.”

Brown eyes moved back to the woman before them, seeing her focus on her cousin. She had venom on her tongue, ready to bite back, but a familiar voice invaded her concentration. Benji. She looked at him, feeling a bit out of place, unsure of herself, less confident… all of the things she’d been trained to not feel.

It was a bit much, honestly. Especially when someone taller than her and Tilly approached. He bowed to her cousin, and she narrowed her eyes. He complimented her and the brown eyed girl looked sideways at Tilly just as Evander from Slytherin approached.

She nudged Matilda, then helped herself to a glass off the same waiter’s tray. She took a long sip, feeling mostly like a damn flower on the wall than an actual person.

The room was filling quickly with pretty people in posh outfits, adults mingling while the younger crowd drifted toward familiar faces from school. Unfortunately, Allegra remained close to Tilly and Alice, for reasons Tilly neither understood nor appreciated. They loathed each other. Ignoring her was nearly impossible, but Tilly kept her composure as more and more familiar faces arrived.

Allegra’s attention was eventually claimed by a friend across the room. All the better for Tilly. She would have done just about anything to get away from her grandmother.

“Ladies.” Tilly turned at the familiar voice, and there was Benji in formal attire, Rae at his side exactly where she belonged.

“You look slightly better than usual tonight, less like the ginger gnome you usually are.” Tilly rolled her eyes, but a real smile tugged at her lips as she looked between them.

“You’re taller Benji. That’s new. Shame nothing else improved.” Her gaze flicked to Rae with a smirk and look of mischief. “Rae, beautiful as always. Blink twice if you need me to get you away from him.”

His attention was quickly stolen by another arrival, one Tilly hadn’t seen in years.

“EIIIIIRRRRRAAAAAAAAA.” Of course. He couldn’t just walk up and greet her quietly. She smiled at her friend as he walked away.

Eira stood across the room, on the arm of a man Tilly didn’t recognize. Not a Hogwarts graduate, that was for sure. She’d find her later to say hello.

With her eyes straying from Eira and Benji, a new face caught her eye. Not familiar, which wasn’t a surprise. Older, maybe. Tall. Confident. Handsome.

And walking directly toward her.

Oh.

Well.

That was… something.

A faint blush crept into her cheeks as he stopped before her, offering a small, deliberate bow. “Good evening. You are looking very beautiful. Like green and red jewel.”

That… Was not what she had expected. Goosebumps ran over her skin at the sound of his deep accent.

For a brief second her thoughts stalled entirely. He was tall, easily six inches taller than her, even in heels. His brown eyes held hers just a moment too long. For reasons she couldn't understand, she had the sudden, ridiculous urge to curtsy. Instead, a simple quiet, “Hello,” was offered before a new person entered the group.

"Drink, Tils?" The new voice broke her out of the shock brought on by the dashing stranger. Tilly took the offered glass, but didn’t drink. Looking at her Ex-boyfriend in formal attire was shocking, the entire evening was like an alternate reality. There were too many things happening at once for her brain to keep up.

“Not surprising that green would be your color, You look—well, it doesn’t give off that you’ve spent the last couple o’ hours digging through flowerpots instead of turning heads. You should try it more often.” There he was. Right on time. The familiar almost compliment pulled a small, knowing smile from her, the fog in her mind finally beginning to clear.

“Who’s the sasquatch?” Tilly elbowed him lightly in the side. “Evan, nice of you to join us,” she said dryly. “I see compliments are still very much beyond you.”

Her eyes turned back to the mystery stranger, her brain finally able to process, offering him a bright smile. “Matilda Nordstrom, It’s nice to meet you, I didn’t catch your name?” The blush had returned, much to her embarrassment. “Sorry for him,” she said, tilting her head towards Evan with a smirk. “He was sick the day they taught manners in school.”

Drago's tall form cut a path through the crowd and Liliya craned her neck to follow, eager to watch the unfolding of his approach. Lev's dry voice drifted down to her. "He walks like he's about to report for duty."

Liliya snorted, squeezing his arm. "Stop. He's meeting his future wife, it's like meeting the queen to him." Before they could find out just how stiff and knightly Drago's demeanour would be, both their gazes were pulled away by Nadežda's return.

"No interference with your brother's business." Her tone was harsh, brusque, leaving no room for arguments. Those piercing blue eyes bored into Lev's, carrying an authority few women possessed and that Liliya had seen challenged all too often. Always concluding in some sort of mangled limb or fractured mind. A mistake made only once.

Liliya could feel Lev still, the grinding of his teeth audible as he stared back. But he didn't object, inclining his head in obedience after a prolonged moment and easing back into his casual business persona.

Liliya automatically straightened when her aunt's attention flicked to her next.

"I expect you to help. You still know these children, get Drago into their—

"EIIIIIRRRRRAAAAAAAAA."

Their entire ensemble stiffened.

The name rang through the ballroom like a taunt, a reminder of a past tied to people that had been erased from a family history that refused to acknowledge treason. Liliya's eyes were wide as she stared at Nadežda, breath held, heartbeat a drum against her sternum. That old name had been burned from her identity like a blood stain removed from a precious carpet. Bothersome, subliminally embarrassing. The effect it had on Nadežda wasn't visible, but it was tangible.

The woman stood still as a tree. Ice radiating off her slim figure like smoke, sending goosebumps down Liliya's spine. "Handle it," was all she said, a low command and Liliya set off immediately.

She crossed the room as inconspicuously as possible, face carefully blank, gait unhurried. Avoiding all eye contact but her gaze was trained on Benji and it flashed.

She had recognized his voice right away. There was little that was less annoying. Even two years gone hadn't managed to erase the memory of the Hufflepuff's aggravating call.

When she reached him and the group he was surrounded by, she didn't deign to acknowledge any of them, grasping his free arm, the one Rae was not currently clinging to, and pulled him away from all of them. Only when they were a few paces away from curious ears did she stop to face him.

"You dumb, pinheaded dipstick," she hissed, flicking a finger against his forehead. "Don't fucking call me that, not here." She threw a hasty glance over her shoulder but Lev and Nadežda weren't looking. Professionally keeping further attention from the first problem of the night.

Liliya released a breath through her nose, gaze finding back to Benji. Looking up at Benji. When the fuck had that happened? A spark of annoyance returned, all too familiar and pulling at something that ached far deeper than she could afford to acknowledge.

"Where's Rosie?", she pressed, gaze darting about the room.

---

permission to pull Benji away given by Amber & Dani <3

Unlike Benji, she would be pretentious enough to say she'd grown bored of it all. Perhaps pretentious wasn't the word, but Ruth Anaya was certainly tired of being paraded around like a show pony for the sake of growing her father's connections and 'establishing herself in the right circles'.

Fuck circles.

Fuck squares.

Fuck every shape that saw her crossing the Atlantic as often as she was. It had already been a summer of events for the girl. Following the two weeks she spent with the Laurences back in June (a show of 'good faith' for the intended union with Benji), it had been gala after gala and event after event. Not for a second should Roger Burke think that his daughter hadn't realised the way he'd begun to monopolise her time as he groomed her into the heir neither Lucy nor Little Roger could be. She still hadn't been home to see Billie since the close of the school year and wouldn't until the final week of August – not when there was yet another event that demanded her presence when this one concluded.

Her father wasn't wasting any time. She was getting older and needed to get her foot into all the markets. She needed to meet all the right people.

Apparently, James had managed to convince the man that the Graymeres were worth the association despite their differing markets and interests.

All that did was force her back across the Atlantic, and while the girl had been enthralled the first few times she'd ridden the ocean liners, she was getting sick of all the travel at sea. Her only solace? It meant she got to see Benji again.

His summer had been busy for him, too, shadowing James about his business in much the same way she was. Even if he weren't, there wasn't a Laurence alive who would allow him back to Grantham Hall Estate over on New York's Gold Coast. Benji didn't want to be there – for good reason – and Julia was prepared to commit several murders to ensure he didn't.

Bad luck for her, cooped up in that estate except for the afternoons she took herself down to the lake. Of course, then she had to deal with the rowdy, rich sods on their daddies' boats who thought she gave even a single fuck. Rae had long since been disenchanted by the lifestyle. The girl saw what it cost and could very well do without it.

Unfortunately, much like everything else, it wasn't her choice.

Rae let Benji lead her in, doing what she could not to scowl. Between the firm lecture of her father and the 'mild reminders' of the Laurences, she was fed on how she should behave, and didn't fancy working through the aftermath over something so trivial. Billie had taught her to choose her battles. Ellen wasn't the worst person to be celebrating, and she'd missed her friends and boyfriend. Just the kiss on her head had been enough to make her warm.

She kept her arms wrapped tight around his as they abandoned the adults for their friends.

“You’re taller Benji. That’s new. Shame nothing else improved.”

The biggest travesty. "He won't stop growing! I've been trying to insist, but he just smirks like a dope and tells me I like it," she complained, at her wit's end with her boyfriend's insistence on growing. He tried explaining the benefits, but those weren't exactly on the table, so he may as well be a hobbit like her. The girl wasn't asking for much, and there was no shame. Rae would absolutely still love him at her height.

Maybe an inch taller.

"Rae, beautiful as always. Blink twice if you need me to get you away from him.”

"How many blinks to get me out of here entirely?" she quipped as her eyes wandered the space. Luxury didn't impress her, but not for the reason it might not impress the others. Rae had developed a cynicism toward the lavish and opulent. All she could see was rot.

Evan's question had her cracking an amused grin.

"Now now, Evander," she tutted playfully. "If you scare off all the new boys, poor Tilly will die alone. Doubtless you'd enjoy that," maybe. Neither had been particularly forthcoming with her on the details of what they'd had or why they split, and it never seemed like something she should pry into.

Her gaze turned to the sasquatch in question. "If you think she's that pretty, take her for a spin. Girl knows her way around a dance floor."

Probably. She'd run the one at the prefect event.

Rae felt the squeeze just seconds before Benji belted out a name she hadn't missed one bit. Rae barely had the chance to focus on the girl before she swooped in and yanked Benji away. Rae tried to tug him back, not in the mood to have him constantly pulled away by girls the whole night, but Eira's grip was firm, and soon he was gone.

"What's eating her?" she asked those gathered. Who'd put ants in her milk?

A beat of silence passed and Drago could feel every eye turn towards him.

He didn't react. Attention didn't unsettle him, whether kind or cruel. He noticed, always, but he rarely bothered to acknowledge.

His focus remained on Matilda, low smile never faltering. It was only a second of taking in her features, of searching her eyes for a hint of who she was, when someone else wedged himself into the space between.

Drago's face lost the softness as it smoothed back into cool neutrality, lines hard and unimpressed, gaze snapping to the lanky boy offering a drink to his intended. There was an air of overconfidence and provocation about him that Drago silently filed away. He watched the other's sorry attempt of a compliment, feeling faintly disgusted by the obscenity and backhandedness of it all, but Matilda seemed to be amused.

It didn't sit right with him — she shouldn't allow another to speak to her like this. She was a woman of high standing and should be treated as such.

Still, Drago kept silent, boring his eyes into the side of the boy's head.

If living under his father's unpredictable temper had taught him anything, it was to observe. To analyse the smallest shifts in body language, tone, the choice of words. For the need of protection at first, for himself and his younger siblings alike. Later though, to read people. For the sole pleasure that was seeing their insecurities shine through their actions and to know their behaviour had nothing to do with him, and all to do with themselves. Years of provocation from his brother had dulled his reactiveness to the point of almost unbreakable composure.

Drago didn't rise to the bait, utterly unaffected.

“Evan, nice of you to join us. I see compliments are still very much beyond you.”

Drago's unmoved gaze slid back to Matilda, losing its edge, another smile easing the tight set of his jaw. "Dragomir Oleg Igor Zdravkova," he introduced himself, giving another respectful bow. "It is pleasure to meeting you." As he straightened he flicked a glance to Evan, looking him over briefly. "Yes. He must not be very clever."

From his other side, another girl chimed in.

"If you think she's that pretty, take her for a spin. Girl knows her way around a dance floor."

Drago squared his shoulders, hands clasped behind his back as he met Matilda with a smile. "It would be honour to have first dance with my betrothed."

The yank on his arm threw him and sent him stumbling from Rae's grasp as the former Slytherin - a lot shorter than he remembered her being - took hold of him. He hadn't had much of an opportunity to acknowledge Matilda or Rae before he was being dragged away from the group, but his dumb grin never left his features, rather growing in anticipation with every step.

"You dumb, pinheaded dipstick."

Who, him?

Probably. Her finger thumped against his forehead, and he grimaced, rubbing the little spot with his hand. "That hurt, Eira. I thought you'd be thrilled to see me." No he didn't. Benji knew the girl all too well, and 'thrilled' never entered Eira's repertoire unless she was watching the equivalent of someone burning alive.

"Don't fucking call me that, not here."

Oh? Benji followed her gaze over her shoulder to a group of very...intense-looking people. He raised an eyebrow, gathering they were her family. The Russians. The people she probably inherited all that ice in her veins from. "Tough crowd, huh?" he asked, his grin returning when their eyes met again.

As long as he'd known her, she was always Eira. She'd changed her name to Liliya sometime around his third year, but he'd never felt it fit her. He still knew her as the girl from the orphanage. The girl that sneered at him, too big for her britches, but came from the same place he did. Broken, a nothing name, with only herself to rely on.

He knew that girl well.

"Where's Rosie?"

His face fell almost instantly at the mention of his cousin. Rosalie and Eira were best friends. As different as they were in personality and demeanor, he knew the two girls loved one another more than they probably loved most people. When the school had fallen into chaos and the school split into those who would stay and those who wouldn't, he knew Rosie had been devastated to be separated from her.

But...she obviously didn't know what had happened.

"She's um...not here," Benji said, his voice taking on a reserved quiet outside his normal octave. Rosalie had been through a lot, and while he was relieved to discover she and Cassian weren't dead as he'd previously thought, it made him sick to think about everything else that had transpired.

He glanced over his shoulder at Rae, checking to make sure she was alright. Seeing that she was, he turned back to Eira, feeling the tension building quickly. Should he change the subject? It likely wouldn't do any good. Eira never let anything go.

"Rosie's not been herself lately. She's had a really hard time. This...isn't really the sort of place she should be right now."

Alice sipped the drink, allowing the liquid to relax her. Without Everleigh around, she felt lost and unsure of herself. She was always overthinking all of her movements, questioning the emotions she was feeling to try to figure out if they were her own or someone else’s. After spending so much time with her sister and her sister’s tangled mess of emotions, Alice was having a hard time adjusting.

It was strange, that’s for sure.

She remained next to her cousin, refusing to be without her. It wasn’t healthy, probably, to glue herself to someone else. As she should know by now that she couldn’t always guarantee that person would be around.

She zoned out as she watched the boy who had bowed at her cousin. Matilda was flustered, she could tell that, and Alice was… curious. He was attractive, yes, but the way that he was looking at Tilly was… something she couldn’t place.

She would have smirked about her cousin’s introduction to her ex, however… she had no smirking left in her. Alice glanced briefly at Evander, watching him momentarily before letting her gaze turn to the new boy.

"Dragomir Oleg Igor Zdravkova."

Wait – Alice looked around the room briefly, the last name extremely familiar to her. Eira? She’d heard Benji yell her name out, so she was here somewhere. But… okay.

He bowed again. He was being so formal. He mentioned something about Evan not being clever before smiling again.

"It would be honour to have first dance with my betrothed."

Brown eyes widened, shock crossing Alice’s face almost like she’d been slapped. She glanced at Tilly, then her eyes moved in search of their grandmother.

“Betrothed?” she spat, her eyes finding the woman who was to blame for this entirely unwanted surprise. Ugh. Why was he even tolerating the woman? No one liked her.

A moment later, Allegra grabbed Tilly’s arm and pulled her away. Alice, furious, followed after.

“What the hell?” she asked, her voice dripping with anger. And where the hell was their grandfather?

powerplays approved

Spending time with her friends outside of the castle had changed over the years. When they were younger, it meant sitting around, chatting, listening to music, and playing in the garden. Now, a few years later, they stood in formal wear, looking far more like adults than any of them truly were.

Typically, Matilda didn’t wear much makeup. Her coloring was difficult enough to contend with. Traditional pink rouge clashed with her pale skin, freckles, and bright ginger hair. For the evening, she’d kept it simple: black eyeliner, mascara, a soft shimmer of gold across her lids, and a deep red lip. No rouge in sight.

Which was unfortunate, considering how thoroughly she was blushing now.

"Dragomir Oleg Igor Zdravkova," the mystery man said. No longer a mystery, but the name didn’t give much away. “It is pleasure to meeting you." The small bow and thick accent made her blush deepen, her face displaying her shock and a hint of intrigue.

His deep brown eyes flicked to Evan again, "Yes. He must not be very clever." Nothing was making sense. Why was this Dragomir paying her so much attention? Why was he so concerned with Evan and for that matter her? Wait… Zdravkova? As in Eira… wait, that wasn’t right Liliya was her new name. The accent made more sense, he was obviously Russian.

"If you think she's that pretty, take her for a spin. Girl knows her way around a dance floor."

Between the suggestion from Rae to take a spin on the dance floor and the silent… something happening between Evan and the stranger, she was feeling flushed. Maybe she should try the blinking thing…

"It would be honour to have first dance with my betrothed."

In the blink of an eye everything halted. The clatter of glasses, the laughter and voices filling the large room became a low hum in her ears. With a sharp intake of breath Tilly stopped breathing all together. Her blue eyes met his brown with a look of shock. Did he say BETROTHED?!

Before the eruption of expletives and rage could escape a cold clammy hand grasped her upper arm with a painful squeeze. She knew that hand. It was one of Allegra’s preferred methods of control. Thankfully, Alice was there and took care of the question for her. “Betrothed?”

The painful squeeze brought Tilly back to the present. Betrothed, arranged marriage. Everything clicked. Allegra spoke before Tilly could bring up the hundreds of objections spinning through her head.

“Mr. Zdravkova, so nice to finally meet you. I see you have met Matilda. Please, excuse us for a moment, we have an urgent matter to discuss.”

---

Before the last word was out of her mouth, Allegra was dragging Matilda off to a quiet space in the hall. Matilda spoke the moment she found her footing, before Allegra could silence her.

Alice, thankfully, followed her into the hall to witness the insanity for herself. “What the hell?” Her cousin exclaimed, anger dripping from her tone. Allegra glared at Alice, not happy with the her presence. “Alice, this doesn’t concern you. Keep out of it.”

“You don’t get to do this.” Tilly’s voice wasn’t loud, but it trembled with adrenaline and anger. “You don’t get to decide this for me.”

Always stoic and cold, Allegra didn’t rise to the bait. “You don’t get to make that choice. Your grandfather and I, shockingly, are in agreement that he is an excellent match. He comes from a well-established family. Influence. Power. Stability.” A brief pause, her gaze sweeping over Tilly with quiet scrutiny. “Things you would do well to value.”

Tilly’s jaw tightened, but Allegra continued, unbothered. “You are no longer a child, Matilda. It is time you began acting like something more than a girl who hides in gardens and plays at independence.” It was like a slap across the face.

A new voice joined them in the hall, relief instantly fell over Matilda. “Allegra,” Bram’s voice cut through the corridor. He approached with measured steps, his gaze landed on Allegra with a hard stare, then went to Tilly, softening considerably.

“Bertram. We were discussing Matilda’s future.” Allegra did not back down when he leveled her with a cold stare. “Yes, Allegra, That much is obvious. We discussed this. You knew my stance. I wanted to sit with Matilda prior to introductions. And for some unknown reason you thought it would be appropriate to ambush her in the middle of a ballroom?”

HE KNEW.

Matilda’s face fell. Betrayal hit her hard in the chest. Bram saw the change and sighed. “Matilda, I know this is hard to understand, but we are doing this with your best interests at heart. We are not expecting you to marry him tomorrow, but we would like you to meet him, get to know him. I’m sure in time you will come to agree with this union.”

Fire lit in her eyes, Matilda leveled a glare at her grandparents. “You spring this on me, out of nowhere, and expect me to simply accept that I have to marry that stranger?” She gestured vaguely back toward the ballroom. “I don’t care if he comes from a good family. I don’t care if he’s pureblood, muggle-born, or a bloody vampire. He could be the King of Bulgaria and I would still say no.” She tried to sound strong and forceful, but her voice shook with anger. She refused to cry, but the sting of tears could be felt, so she blinked them back.

“She will come to understand,” Allegra said, dismissing everything Tilly had said. “These things are not decided on childish whims.” Tilly rolled her eyes, causing a tear to leak down her cheek.

Nothing she said at this point would make a difference. Matilda had a very important decision to make. In that moment, she could either fight or comply. It went against every fiber of her being, but if she fought and caused a scene things would only get worse.

Bram stood in front of Tilly and sighed. Holding onto her shoulders he squeezed in an affectionate manner. “Sweetheart, I know this is not your wish.” Another traitorous tear fell, Bram swept it away with his thumb. “I’m not asking you to understand this or even like it right now. That will come with time. What I am asking is that you give him a chance. He is a good match. I would not steer you wrong in this. Talk to him, dance with him, see if there is a connection. We can talk more when we get home.”

Breaking away from Bram’s hold, Tilly escaped to the closest bathroom to pull herself together.

---

Returning to the group, Tilly avoided eye contact initially, but it didn’t last. Much to her annoyance, her blue eyes, tinted red from crying, found his brown. A red ring around her bicep could still be seen, where Allegra gripped her arm. Thankfully, it wouldn’t bruise.

At that moment she decided to allow this farce to begin. She would play along, get to know him, talk to him, dance with him, for only one reason. She needed all the ammunition she could find to get this arrangement cancelled. Crying and stomping her feet wouldn’t work, but if she came to her grandfather with actual facts, maybe he would listen.

Her right hand held her dance card, tied with a simple ribbon.She said quietly, with very little emotion in her words. “Sorry about before. I’m Matilda, it's nice to meet you.” Holding the card in her hand, for him to see, If he wished to dance, he could sign up on the card like everyone else. One spot was already filled with her grandfather, but the rest were completely blank.



**All Powerplays approved**

“Alice, this doesn’t concern you. Keep out of it.”

Alice glared daggers through the woman, who had always been nothing but cold to her, her sister, and their cousin. Forever. It was sickening that someone she was related to could be so despicable.

Tilly’s voice shook and Alice kept her brown eyes locked on her grandmother’s pathetic face. The woman was a fucking joke, and she knew that when she finally died and left them alone, everyone would cheer because the wicked fucking witch was finally dead.

“Allegra.”

Thank God. Alice looked to her grandfather, ready for him to verbally attack his wife. Perhaps put her on a damn leash. Maybe hex her so she couldn’t speak nonsense anymore.

“Yes, Allegra, That much is obvious. We discussed this. You knew my stance. I wanted to sit with Matilda prior to introductions. And for some unknown reason you thought it would be appropriate to ambush her in the middle of a ballroom?”

The realization hit her at the same moment it hit her cousin. The betrayal that she felt washed over Alice as well. She clenched her jaws, ready to fight. This was sickening. Had every adult in her family lost their goddamn minds?

Clearly they had.

But Alice was too shocked. She’d never spoken to their grandfather like she had to Allegra. She didn’t want to start now, and the realization that they were in a public place where people could overhear caused her to bite her tongue.

Mostly, though, what kept her silent was the pure shock.

Alice glared at Bertram, trying to figure out what to do about this. After what her parents had put not just her but her sister through, and now this… everyone had gone fucking mad.

Her brown eyes followed Tilly as her cousin ran off towards the bathroom. She looked back at her grandparents, her eyes narrowed. “I hope you’re both happy,” she hissed, knowing that would do nothing to either of them.

None of the adults in her life could be trusted, it seemed.

---

Once Tilly emerged from the bathroom, Alice followed behind her back to the group of friends. And her… Dragon. Or whatever the fuck his name was.

She stood, her arms crossed over her chest, the perfect image of teenage rebellion. She was sure it was only a matter of time before someone tried to set her up with someone. She shook her head. “Everyone has lost their goddamn minds,” she muttered to herself as her cousin began speaking to the guy she was apparently supposed to marry.

Ellen's gloved hand grazed along the bannister as she finally descended down the staircase. Down, down to where it seemed all of wizarding society would be waiting. Waiting for her. On any other day, it would be utterly presumptuous to say so, but today.. today was hers. Her sixteenth birthday. Sixteenth summer. And everyone who was someone had gathered to celebrate it.

She turned smoothly on the landing tread, skirt of her dress swishing, and the world made it known to her.

The entrance hall was full. Not simply occupied, full, in the way a glass is full and one more drop would send it spilling. Bodies and voices and color filled the space from the base of the staircase to the wide archway that opened toward the adjacent ballroom beyond, and further still, guests visible through the arch in clusters and pairs, drifting between the hall and the corridors that branched off on either side. The dark dress robes alongside Muggle tailcoats, jewel tones that caught the light everywhere she looked, and champagne coupes that glinted gold in dozens of hands, held at the chest, at the hip, gestured with mid-conversation. The sheer noise of it rose to meet her on the stairs: laughter layered over conversation layered over the distant, warming-up sound of strings from the ballroom, a cello running a phrase, a violin answering. Readying. For her.

For a moment, all she could do was simply.. stare. At everything, at everyone. It was completely and irresistibly overwhelming. In the best of ways.

And then someone looked up.

One face, then two. A woman tucked into the spandrel of the stairs nudged her companion. A man mid-sentence stopped and turned. The effect rippled outward from the base of the staircase like a stone dropped into still water. Heads turning, conversations thinning, a widening ring of attention that climbed through the crowd toward the archway and past it. Not silence, not quite, but something close. A lowering. A settling. A particular hush that drew a flush to her cheeks.

Of her family, it was her father who turned first. His reading glasses were gone, but he looked up at her on the stairs, and the corners of his mouth moved. She knew him to be a man who was not given to spectacle, but he looked at her, and then he smiled. A soft thing, a precious thing, free and loving in its ease.

"Well," he said, and cleared his throat; there was something distinctly rough in his voice.

Her mother turned, second, William third. Mother had been speaking to a silver-haired woman near the foot of the stairs, one hand resting lightly on Walter's arm, and whatever she had been saying died on her lips as her gaze lifted. She did not gasp. She instead clasped her free hand to her chest, her expression compacting into everything that had to do with pride. William, on the other hand, glanced between his parents and then up at the staircase. His eyebrows rose a fraction. He looked like he wanted to say something clever, but had thought better of it.

.. brothers.

Ellen continued her descent, tunnelling on her family that grew closer and closer, and at the last step-

Her father extended his hand.

"My girl," he whispered.

She took it.

The crowd parted.

It was not choreographed, and no one had been instructed, but it happened with the inevitability of water finding its level. The guests nearest the staircase shifted back and aside, drawing their conversations and their champagne with them, opening a path that cut through the entrance hall toward the archway out. It was not wide, perhaps a few feet at most, bordered on both sides by evening dress and candlelight and faces turned inward, watching, but it was unmistakable. A corridor of attention.

As her father led her off the staircase and forward to the ballroom, her mother and William close behind, whispers immediately rippled forth.

"..the dress, Charlotte-- the beadwork— always did have Paris in her pocket.."

"..fine girl. Fine breeding. One only has to look at the mother-"

"..beautiful girl. Sixteen! Can you credit it? I remember the christening.. Walter looks well—"

"..saw Laurence boy? —heir to the whole lot, apparently-.."

"—well, the blood isn't there, is it. You can dress it up however you like—ha-but--"

"--on his arm, yes-"

"..see the Russians? The grandfather's moved the whole family over, I'm told. Lock, stock, and barrel.."

"..Nordstrom! Yes— Allegra— well, I heard— the granddaughter was in tears not five minutes ago.."

"—hardly the place, but you know Allegra.."

"..is that the son? Goodness, he's tall.."

"..did you see the Whistlers came? —which ones? —the older one. And the boy. Ezequiel, I think.."

"—bad lot, that family-"

"..hush, hush, they're coming through.."

The archway passed over them, but the noise only continued. The hallway stretched on both sides, corridors branching left and right into the deeper reaches of the house, candlelight warmer here, and directly before them, the ballroom doors stood open.

She had walked through these doors a thousand times. To play as a child, to practice her dancing, to sit cross-legged on the floor with a book while rain streaked the tall windows. She knew the room the way she knew her own hands.

She did not know it tonight.

The parquet floor doubled everything above it. The chandeliers. The garlands. The guests already standing along the room's edges. All of it reflected underfoot, a second ballroom hanging inverted beneath the first.

Three chandeliers hung in a line down the center of the room, old crystal, each one throwing fractured points of light across every surface. Candelabras stood at intervals along the walls, their flames steady, jasmine trailing through the ironwork and hanging in pale, fragrant loops. Above, garlands of white and green followed the cornicing, softening the stone.

The dance floor dominated the center. A wide, open expanse of polished parquet, gleaming under the chandeliers, conspicuously empty. No one had stepped onto it. No one would, not yet. That first footfall was spoken for.

To the left, set into an alcove, the orchestra sat on their low platform. The six musicians: a cellist, two violinists, a viola, a pianist at a quarter-grand, and a clarinetist whose instrument caught the light in a long line of silver. They played softly, a waltz at half-volume, sound moving beneath the murmur of the room like a current beneath still water. As Ellen stepped through the doors, the melody thinned instantly. Bows lifted from strings. The pianist's hands hovered. Professionals, she latched onto - something to quell the dawning trepidation in her gut.

To the right, a long table dressed in white linen held the evening's gifts. Wrapped boxes in colored paper and ribbon, velvet cases left open to display their contents, envelopes of varying thickness propped between arrangements of hothouse flowers. A house-elf stood guard at one end, small hands clasped behind its back, watching the pile with the alert devotion of a sentry who would die at its post.

Beyond the tall windows, the grounds were visible in the blue half-light of August. The lawns ran dark and smooth between the house and the stretching forest beyond.

Her father's hand was warm around hers.

And squeezed, gently,

Then he walked her to the edge of the parquet. She knew what to do; she did. But it would be a first, and there were hundreds of eyes watching, and even she could not help but feel a bit of nerves. Natural nerves. The empty expanse of it stretched out under the chandeliers, gleaming, untouched, the reflected light of a hundred candles pooled across its surface. Guests lined every wall.

Her father stopped. Turned to face her. Released her hand only to offer it again, properly this time. Palm up, fingers extended, the formal invitation.

She placed her hand in his. Once more.

His other hand settled at her waist, light and careful, as if the beadwork on the dress might shatter under his palm. Or perhaps her father was nervous himself. She could not imagine it, however. His posture straightened, not stiff, but held.

The cellist raised his bow. Silence. And then the first note.

A waltz. Simple, clean, in three-four time. The cello laid the foundation, deep and warm, and the violins came in above it, carrying the melody in a slow, turning phrase that filled the ballroom. From the center outward, reaching the walls, the windows, the corridor beyond. The piano offered sparse chords beneath. The clarinet held back, waiting for the second passage.

Father led. Ellen could find no flair or theatre or any of the easy grace that came naturally to men who enjoyed this sort of thing, though she did not know many men, to begin with. But he was steady, he always was. His steps landed on the beat, every time. One-two-three. One-two-three.

They turned across the parquet. The reflected chandeliers wheeled slowly beneath their feet, the inverted ballroom spinning in miniature under every step. The room's edges blurred, faces, colors, candlelight, as the waltz carried them through its first full phrase and into the second. The clarinet joined now, its voice threading bright and clear above the strings, and the melody opened, lifted, the tempo steady but the music breathing wider.

Her father's eyes stayed on hers. He did not look at his feet. He did not glance at the crowd. Whatever was happening in his expression was small and quiet and entirely hers.

The waltz turned through its third passage. The violins climbed, held a note at the top of the phrase, then descended in a slow, unwinding line that the cello caught and carried to the floor. The music softened. The rhythm eased. His steps slowed with it, perfectly in time, and when the final chord resolved, a warm, open sound that the piano held and the strings let fade, they were near the center of the floor, stopped, still.

A beat of silence.

Then the room broke. Applause. Real applause, not polite, the sharp collective crack of dozens of gloved and ungloved hands striking together, rolling through the ballroom from every side. It came with voices beneath it, murmurs and exclamations that blurred into each other, and somewhere near the archway, somebody let out a whistle that was decidedly not aristocratic.

He released her waist. Stepped back. Gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod and then his hand squeezed hers, once, before he let it go.

He walked back toward the edge of the room, toward William and mother, who stood with her eyes bright in a way that the candlelight could not fully account for. Oh- and was that Grand-mère Pucine?

Ellen stood alone on the dance floor.

---

(OOC: The first dance is done, and the floor is now open!

THE SECOND DANCE. Traditionally, the second dance of a debutante ball carries social weight. It's the first partnered dance with someone outside the family, and the room will notice who it is. If any male PC would like to claim this dance with Ellen, speak up now! First come, first served, or if you'd prefer, your character can hang back and sign Ellen's dance card for a later slot instead.

Once the second dance begins, the floor opens to everyone. You don't need to wait for anything else! Simply grab a partner, find your footing, cause problems. The orchestra will move between waltzes and more modern numbers as the night progresses. Supper will be called later. For now, enjoy the ball officially.)

The glass he'd pilfered from the meandering waitstaff was brought to his lips fast enough to give his mouth some rest as everything started to unfold around Matilda; a girl he'd known for too long to pretend he didn't care.

His eyes still swung from the familiar freckles to the daunting shadowed visage of the towering stranger with the vulgar accent. Evan spent too much of his time analyzing faces to not notice when someone was equally trained at hiding their emotions, to letting the world unfurl and react in kind. It struck him sour and bitter, more so than the alcohol he'd accidentally stolen. Another lack back at Tilly, tore as she seemed when all the facets of her world seemed to begin to crash around her, and a sentiment he hardly ever felt hit him with equal unease. Why did he bloody care so much?

He'd been so focused on the small exchange that he didn't even acknowledge the rest of those gathered around them. He gave Alice a nod and smile, letting her know that she needn't worry. He almost didn't notice Hogwarts favorite couple, the usual pair he attached himself to as a third wheel, when Benji went chasing after someone else who'd arrived. It all seemed rather fucked that this felt both like a usual meal at the castle in this sea of minted, forced glamour.

Tilly spoke up next, reigning in the focus to a more comfortable sense of normalcy.

Evan scoffed at the idea that he lacked the ability to compliment or have manners. She wasn't wrong if she was basing it on quantity, but he could most definitely compliment. There were about a thousand swimming in his mind he could have said. Evan, as per usual, chose the one least likely to be held against him. It didn't stop him from flashing Rae a glare at the idea of taking her out for a spin like some used school broom.

And through that, the last thing he expected to hear was what came out of the large bloke's mouth after introducing himself, mostly to Tilly. The reason why spat out plainly for everyone to digest.

"It would be honour to have first dance with my betrothed."

Time seemed to stop. The sound of clattering glassware, of resounding laughter, of shuffling feet and grunts and all the rest that made up party noise continued on but the space between those gathered was still as a lifeless heartbeat.

Alice broke first. Tilly didn't get to express the disdain flooding her face before she was pulled away, leaving the rest of those there, mainly Evan and Dragon-whatever, standing in the wake of it. He looked up (because he had to), eyes flaring, before he swallowed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down. He didn't have to breath words into his opinion on all this. Who just showed up [art ogre part poet and announce their plans to marry someone who cavalierly. He needed space, and a cigarette, which was exactly what he walked out to do before saying anything he'd likely regret.

---

He flicked the remnants of the cigarette just in time, it appeared.

The whole of the place encircled the dancing pair, the girl of the hour and her father. Many marveled, some appeared close to weeping, and Evan still felt sickened by the word betrothed. His eyes wandered back over to where he'd been, where they'd all been, seeing Tilly march back and talk to the bloke who'd announced himself as her fiancé with a look of defeat that cracked something within him.

Before he thought it all through, he was veering away from then and towards the birthday girl, now left to her own awaiting the next person to ask her to dance. Unfortunately for her, it was probably the last person she'd expected.

"We're dancing," he announced, his tone clad in steel. He'd approached her from the side, claiming the space before she might have fully noticed he'd been the one to do so. It was not an offered hand, but a clasp of wrist into leading just as the first new note of the next song hit, swinging into the melody before there was a chance to protest. Evan did love attention; he couldn't deny it. Especially when motivated by spite.

At least, for the girl adorned in white, he was a rather talented dancer.

---

powerplay for ellen approved

"Tough crowd, huh?"

She answered that with a pointed, admonishing look, aiming to shut him up.

There was little point in lecturing Benji on the suitability of certain conversational points at functions like these. The dynamic of her family certainly wasn't one of them.

It seemed the boy hadn't changed one bit since her move to Russia, not even the fact he'd been adopted by the Laurences seemed to have taught him restraint. Or control. That stupid grin still spread as easily as she remembered, betraying the shrivelled brain sitting uselessly underneath. Maybe James Laurence should consider training the orphan out of Benji the way her family had.

All thoughts of mental torture died however when his grin dropped like a stone. Liliya stilled. "What."

"She's um...not here."

Everything zoned out as her heart fell into a low rhythm of trepidation, blood running cold. Something was wrong. He wasn't acting right. Something had happened. His voice had lost its colour, taking on a tone she'd never heard him speak with before, the casual ease he carried suddenly seeming tense, almost anxious.

"What do you mean she's not here," she pressed with constrained calm, eyes boring holes into his skull. "Where is she."

Fear gripped her, settling like lead in her stomach.

"Rosie's not been herself lately. She's had a really hard time. This...isn't really the sort of place she should be right now."

Panic, worry and dread pool all at once, heavy and dizzying as she stared at him with hard eyes. Her jaw tightened as the urge to rage grew overwhelming, the need to squeeze every little piece of information from him, to bolt from the room and look for her.

Her breath grew shallow but she forced herself to keep composure. "What the fuck does that mean, Benji." The words are pressed, little more than a hiss. "Where is she."

"Betrothed?"

An appalled outcry pulled her gaze for a split second, snagging on the bloodless face of Matilda before darting to the faintly confused one of Drago. Liliya ignored the commotion, the meeting clearly gone wrong. This was more important right now.

"Benji, what happ—"

"Good evening. How are things going over here?"

Lev's cheerful voice cut her off and Liliya straightened. His hand settled at her lower back just as his gaze landed on her face. "Great," she prompted, shooting Benji a sharp glance. Keep your mouth shut. "We were just talking about you." Liliya smiled at Lev, a movement that didn't reach her eyes, before gesturing towards Benji. "Lev, Benji Laurence, a former classmate. Benji, Lev, my—" Her jaw set, "—fiancé."

She wanted to kick him. She knew he'd come over here on purpose, that he had suspected. He knew of Rosie, knew her last name and he sure as hell knew who Benji Laurence was. It didn't take much to add two and two.

Lev smiled pleasantly, all casual innocence and polite talk. "A pleasure to meet," he offered and Liliya wanted to punch his face in. Pretentious little fucker, doing exactly what her family had put him at her side for.

A hush fell over the room then, turning everyone's heads including hers and Lev's, interrupting a conversation that was surely headed into total disaster. Knowing Benji, she was almost certain. She supposed one thing was going in her favour at least.

After a moment she finally spotted her. It appeared the girl of the hour had emerged and it was the crowd's duty to ooh and ahh, losing their composure over a sixteen-year-old in a too-short dress. Liliya barely managed to keep her face straight, containing the eye roll that would have plopped both of them straight out of her skull.

Her face remained impassive however, watching as Ellen claimed the first dance, impatience eating at her insides. There was no way to get more answers from Benji now, not with Lev at her side and sure to drag her onto the dance floor the minute it was declared open. She'd have to find a way to escape his clutches.

A subtle shudder ran down her spine.

A dance with Benji it was.

Liliya sent a mental complaint to Rosie.

At last the song ended and she joined in the applause ringing loudly and enthusiastically, pretending to be moved. "Excuse us," Lev expectedly announced to Benji, turning without another word and taking her with him.

She didn't dare glance around, but Benji better knew she wasn't done with him yet.

Drago watched the colour drain from Matilda's face, his own smile faltering as a flicker of concern passed behind his eyes. Was she ill? Maybe she hadn't eaten, he'd heard from Liliya a lot of women did that sometimes. His own mother refused any type of food the day of an event — to look slimmer, she claimed. Matilda didn't exactly look the type to but you never knew with women.

For a second he worried she might faint but then the affronted exclaim of her cousin grabbed his attention.

“Betrothed?”

He stiffened, eyes sliding to Alice but it wasn't him her anger was directed at. Mrs. Nordstrom appeared, gripping Matilda by the arm like an unruly child, and suddenly things began to make more sense.

“Mr. Zdravkova, so nice to finally meet you. I see you have met Matilda. Please, excuse us for a moment, we have an urgent matter to discuss.”

He watched them leave, hard eyes boring into the back of Mrs. Nordstrom's head and the grip of his hands clasped behind his back tightened. Next to him he felt Evan's attention return to his profile, a wave of annoyance rolling off him, but Drago ignored him. Without a word, Evan left, and suddenly he was alone.

Nadežda sidled up next to him.

"She didn't know," he informed her, voice stony. "Her grandmother didn't tell her."

Unusual.

It was normal for the girls in his family to be arranged to a man of grandfather's approval at about her age — they all expected it, they knew it would come. Did they not do it like that here? Or was it simply the fact she hadn't known known? At least the Zdravkova women were informed about arrangements before stumbling into their intended. But Matilda's shock was palpable even from across the room, the disappointment and refusal tangible.

Nadežda hummed, a brief sound of displeasure, lips thin. "Yes, I can see." A sigh audible to only him escaped her cool composure. "Don't crowd her, we don't want her making a scene." Drago didn't say anything. He watched the continued exchange of the Nordstroms, eyes trailing ruby and emerald as it whirled from the room.

It wasn't how he had expected this to go. The annoyance simmered underneath his skin, invisible to the people filling the room, carefully masked, but he couldn't shake it. Somehow, it vexed him, and he couldn't figure out why.

The Graymere daughter's entrance passed in a haze, music drifting at some point, applause smattering afterwards. Drago trailed his thoughts, keeping the outward appearance of polite interest all the way through. Nadežda excused herself another time once the applause died down, probably off to tie more connections, and Drago steeled himself.

He wasn't going to let this mishappen encounter dampen the evening of meeting his future wife. He still had every intention of getting to know her.

She reappeared then, Alice in tow. Neither looked happy.

He met Matilda's red-rimmed gaze when it finally found him, accepting the unmistakable defiance on her face without a reaction. His attention briefly darted to the ring of red around her arm, tightening his jaw before he managed to swallow his displeasure.

“Sorry about before. I’m Matilda, it's nice to meet you.”

She held up her dance card but he didn't move right away, watching her a moment longer. The contempt was rolling off her like vapour, densening into a wall to block him off, thick and full of resistance. He could feel the unruliness simmering underneath her skin and it shot into his blood like a challenge.

Drago felt the corners of his mouth lift, eyes twinkling.

It was gone as quick as it had appeared, stored away behind cool composure, and at last he pulled forth his wand, tapping it once against her card. His name appeared in the very first spot. He stored away his wand, held out his arm. "May I?", he offered, waiting for Matilda to accept, reluctantly, before nodding once at Alice in silent excuse.

Drago claimed a spot amidst already twirling couples, not quite in the centre, but near enough, and turned to face Matilda. With one smooth movement his right hand settled just below her shoulder blade while the other lifted to hold hers in a firm yet gentle grip, brown eyes watching her face with calm intensity. Surefooted, he fell into the rhythm of the music, steps fluid as he began to lead Matilda into their dance with unperturbed ease.

He let a few beats pass before speaking.

"I am sorry for upsetting you." His voice was low enough for only her to hear. "I did not know they did not tell you."

It was hard for Matilda to wrap her head around the events of the evening. Not the birthday, specifically, but her world crashing in around her. Her grandmother, while a complete bitch, was the one constant besides Alice being by her side through everything. Her grandfather stabbing her in the back was almost worse than the discovery of her fiancé…

Wow…

That word, fiancé, held a lot more significance than it did an hour ago. It was once an abstract term for a future she wasn’t sure she had. Now, it was the definition of the man standing in front of her, brown eyes taking in every inch. If she wasn’t mistaken, he didn’t look all that happy when she returned from her chat in the hall.

At her offered card, he put his name at the top spot, then wasted no time in asking for a dance. "May I?" Matilda released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and put her hand in his. Her hand feeling tiny in his, shook with nerves.

With a confidence she could only dream of having, he directed them to the dance floor and took up his position. Within seconds they were moving in sync around the dance floor.

Matilda had taken dance classes, as directed by her grandmother during their training “sessions.” It was one of the more enjoyable parts of the training. Being lead around the floor by the man in front of her was a different experience altogether. He commanded attention, was smooth on his feet and held her with precision while moving them to the music, never missing a step.

"I am sorry for upsetting you." He said, his voice low, only for her. "I did not know they did not tell you."

Her lips turned up in a sad sort of smile. Up until then, there had been no visible emotion, just a shell of her normal bubbly self. “I’m not upset with you,” she added after a beat, her voice softer now, more certain. “This isn’t your doing.”

The music kept playing, and they kept dancing. It was a testament to his ability that they were able to hold a tense conversation while never missing a beat.

“It’s a lot to be told your life has already been decided for you. And to be told, by a stranger, that you were betrothed, in the middle of a very public event, well…” she said with a simple shrug to her shoulders, “It was a shock. I’m sorry for how I reacted, it has nothing to do with you. How could it, I know nothing about you.”

As the shock wore off, Matilda started to feel more like herself. The sassy, snarky attitude was starting to surface. She needed to reign it in, making a spectacle would not help this situation. Still… he didn’t give off creepy energy. Normally she trusted her instincts with people. If something was off, she felt it immediately. And aside from the rather inconvenient flutter of butterflies in her stomach, there were no serial killer vibes. Which, all things considered, was promising.

“I didn’t catch your full name before. Did you say Zdravkova? Like Eir… Umm, Liliya? I knew her a little from her time at Hogwarts.”

All things considered, this could have been worse. She still had no intention of marrying him.
But being in his presence didn’t make her want to bolt for the nearest exit or break out in hives, so she was calling it a win. For now.