Hogwarts Ball - Arrivals

[fi_admin]

Date: Saturday, 03 March, 2001
Time: 5:00pm
Location: Hogwarts
Rating: PG
Characters Involved: Anyone who wishes to attend

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[mostfalldown]

It had been quite some time in which Fern had the opportunity to dress herself up. At least, that’s how it felt as she had stared into her closet that afternoon. She breezed past the menagerie of bright colours and bulky sweaters to the back. Next to the silky suit she had pulled out just a few days ago for the banquet was a black dress. Though she had never been much for the colour, she had to have the dress the moment she saw it in a shoppe window in London. It wasn’t until today, however, that she had occasion to wear it.

The rest of the afternoon had been sacrificed to the attempt to tame her hair. It was the exact reason she arrived at Hogwarts as late as she did. Though most would term it as “fashionably late”, she just considered it “tardy”. Tonight, she’d forgive herself. She’d managed to coerce the dark strawberry-blonde of her hair into a rather beautiful constellation of waves and curls that bounced around her face and cascaded over her shoulders. She knew it was unlikely that her hair would stay so perfect through the night, but for now, she was proud.

As she stepped into the entrance of the school she felt truly glamorous. She would never deny how nice it felt. The dress she had chosen danced around her as she walked. Layers of sheer black fabric swayed with every step, tickling the backs of her knees. She had bewitched the golden bow that created the empire waist of the dress so that it wouldn’t slip or come undone. Still, she worried about it as she wove through the people around her. And her heels, how she loved them. They were nothing spectacular, but the point of them she loved so much was that she was finally tall while wearing them.

Dressing up was something she’d definitely have to do more often.

Like most, she walked slowly through the entry, taking in the spectacle of the evening’s decorations. Before she could ever truly appreciate them, the pull of the crowd began to drift, not in the direction of the concert, but more towards the side. She attempted to make her way through the crowd, but ended up only closer to the object of fascination-- a man. Even as she tried to weave through the people, find a new current, she couldn’t help but look at what had caught people’s attention. Who. She expected it to be Harry, and was met with surprise when her eyes caught a tall, dark man instead. She’d offer the man a small smile if their eyes caught, but she would continue on towards the great hall.

[silhouetteatrox]

There was a certain strangeness to being engulfed in a crowd of would-be admirers that inspired a sudden need for solitude. He felt the pull towards a private darkness most of the time, but the tendency towards modesty actually increased when his vanity was being polished by a crowded school of socialite goldfish. Internally, he shrugged, indifferent. C'est la vie; he wasn't one to argue with the inner void at this point.

Thus, he counted himself doubly fortunate when a particularly unique-looking woman entering his view just over the shoulders of the revelers. She was a welcome distraction, if nothing else, and he spent a moment looking her over, as was his wont. She had to be nearly a score centimeters shorter than he was, but she carried herself as though she were tall as one of his own clothes horses. Her dress wasn't his style (but then, so many things weren't, these days), but that only made him want to deconstruct her and build her up from scratch.

Ah, well. Life was about patience, and the little concessions made to elevate the rush of the death [or little death] at the end. Nonchalance, nonchalance; was there anything else? Ciarán glanced down to straighten his lapel with a disinterested flicker of his long [and frighteningly strong, but isn't that a tale for a more private setting?] fingers, and when he looked up the striking girl was looking him right in the eyes.

They smiled at each other from some distance while a corpulent wizard in a velvet suit [don't try it if you can't pull it off, love] expostulated on the wisdom of recent investments. Ciarán tilted his head, holder the woman's gaze for just a fraction of a second longer than one might expect of a haphazard meeting of the eyes. Now, who might you be, little duckling?

[mostfalldown]

Fern hadn't expected his smile.

It would be the sight of such a charming smile on an otherwise intimidating man that would cause her to pause in her path. The sudden stopping, of course, caused those around her to collide, and those who wanted to get closer to Ciaràn to attempt to push them out of the way. It caused Fern to stumble to the side, but not so badly that she would trip. In fact, her eyes rose in time to see that moment-- the very moment in which the gaze became less of a friendly return and an inquisitive stare.

Fern's smile grew past that of friendly to the size reserved only for an embarrassed smile. An awkward fraction between polite and amused. She looked away for a brief moment as she felt color rise to her cheeks. But her eyes returned to his. Icy blue challenged the gaze of a sea blue.

The full curve of her bottom lip disappeared behind her upper lip, ensnared by her teeth. She looked over him as though trying to decide something. The idea of him, perhaps? Who he was? Fern wasn't even sure exactly what it was as he rolled about in her head like an unfinished question mark.

Come find out, she would say, finally, with the quick raising of her eyebrows.