BlossomFest Blossom Ball 2018

"They aren't childish!" Edric impulsively argued when Marcia picked at the flowers in her hair self-consciously. "They are pretty, I like them. You look very nice, it's not your fault that the other girls are overdressed!"

His accent came through then, and his voice creaked at the end, but Edric didn't notice. He thought Marcia looked lovely, and that the silly girls in the dresses they weren't old enough for made her feel bad irritated him. It was like when his brothers had made fun of him because he wasn't as good at chopping wood as them when they were three and four and half years older than him. He hated that.

Edric listened as she told him of her experience with big gatherings... and was a bit astonished. Her family lived in a muggle town and attended muggle festivals. Were her parents muggles? Surely not, she was familiar enough with magic. One of them, then? He would have never assumed that she had muggles in the family. She was so... normal. He blinked and brought his focus back to what she was saying. It would be really rude to ask her about that right then, so he pushed the thought aside.

"We... well, my Mam's family breeds winged horses, so I've been to a lot of tournaments! The races are the best, but we've always been with the riders and never in the stands." He furrowed his brow. "And we've celebrated the holidays with other families, so maybe that's similar to those... town fairs you said? The muggles in our town don't have that. They sing, though, all together."

He tried to remember about the times they'd heard the music and singing from the muggle town and how his parents had explained about it. His Tad had been there a few times when he'd been young, what had he called it? Rowdy but lots of fun, he thought he remembered him saying.

"Up Helly Aa?" he repeated after Marcia, butchering the Scots a good bit even when using his plain British accent. "Is that... bonfires? Like on Calan Haf? My nanna says that the Scots make the best bonfires! She tells lots of stories. I wish we'd have more feasts like this, too!"

Sebastian entered the ornately decorated hall, dressed in a simple but crisp black suit, noting all of the students who were already present. Many of them had dressed very well, showing a level of wealth Sebastian was surprised at, considering not everyone was from rich families. He suspected some of the clothing had been touched up with some magic, but that didn't take away from some of the obvious standouts in the crowd - several first years were wearing beautiful dresses, which intricate hairstyles and accessories.

In comparison, Sebastian almost felt under-dressed.

Still, these kinds of gatherings were part and parcel of wealth, so Sebastian felt oddly comfortable, despite the crowd. Having attended numerous events with his parents, this was just another reason to play the part, engage the people, and glide through the evening on autopilot. There were several students and professors Sebastian wanted to speak with, of course, so the ball could end up being enjoyable - rather than just another obligation.

Scanning the crowd, Sebastian noted the intricate chandeliers, tables of food and drinks, small groupings of people, and someone he was looking for speaking to a professor - Dymphna. She wore a simple but elegant dress with strapping, which made Sebastian smile. In a celebration of girls wanting to fight for the spotlight, Dymphna wasn't afraid to be herself.

Deciding to make his way over to his preferred Ravenclaw, Sebastian passed the tables. He selected two butterbeers, one in each hand, before he began moving across the hall. Dodging and weaving and generally avoiding being bumped with the drinks, Sebastian approached Dymphna and Professor Barrows from one side.

"Sorry to interrupt," Sebastian said after several moments, waiting for a lull in the conversation. "I brought you a beverage, Dymphna. Would you care for one, Professor?"

Sebastian was happy to offer the second drink, should it be wanted.

"You look very pretty, Dymphna. And you, too, Professor."

Rosie saw Howie at about the same time he saw her. She met his eyes and beamed when he began to make his way to her. His suit... well... suited him. He looked handsome and she just barely succeed at keeping the blush from her face when he stood beside her. His compliment made it even more difficult. “You look great, too.” She grinned and looked down awkwardly at her feet which were currently sporting white flats.

She looked back up in an attempt to not be so awkward and immediately noticed how nervous he suddenly was. Granted, she hadn’t known him long, but she couldn’t recall a single time Howie had stumbled over his words. Her gaze went out to the dance floor. It had to be a girl. The thought never even crossed her mind that his nerves would be because of her, and her head snapped back to him in surprise when he asked her to dance. It took her a moment to regain her composure and when she did, the dreaded blush immediately took over her face, but so did a big smile. She nodded, “I’d like that, Howie.” Silently, she prayed he knew how to dance because she would need to rely on him for the next step. Like almost everything else in her life at the moment, she had no idea what she was doing. She looked out at the dance floor; everyone looked so graceful. Please don’t make a fool of yourself, Rosie.

“Jupp, this was as boring as i expected it to be” Parcel had finished his cookie and was on his way back to the table for more snacks. Sometimes he wished he had four arms like a Doxy. Then he would be able to hold more food at once. With his glass of juice still in his left hand he pushed through yet another crowd of students. Most of the students here was from the older classes and he hadn’t seen anyone he recognized yet.
Stopping by the far end of the table with all the snacks Parcel took another swig of his glass. He had started to hope that he wouldn’t see anyone he knew, then he could sneak out early while still saying he had attended.

While picking up another one of the girly flower cookies he’s ears picked up on a somewhat misplaced noise. It kind of almost seemed like a… um, yelp maybe? Something like that at least. Looking around his immediate vicinity Parcel noticed a girl not to far away from him (Ami Procoppio). Standing by one of the many punchbowls filled with water and such. Not fully remembering who she was, his first instinct was to look behind himself “Who is that girl waving to?” Finding no one that seemed to respond to the wave he ended up assuming it was him she was waving at.

Parcel started walking closer to her as she yelped again. It took him by surprise and he almost halted his step, but it only took a second for Parcel to figure our that she probably had the hiccups or something.
Taking another look at the freckled girl while she was franticly gulping down a glass of water, Parcel finally realized who the girl was. “She’s one of the beaters from the quidditch match! One of those eggbeaters!” A smile escaped from his otherwise serene expression. He had planned to go and apologize for being a bit rough with her under the match, but she had left early to help that silly seeker that couldn’t stay on her broom, so he ended up forgetting it.
Well, a ball was as good as any place to relive him of his past sins he thought.

“Hi, you’re that eggbeater from the game, right? I’m sorry for being a bit rough with you (completely driving over you) I probably shouldn’t have used as much strength as i did, but it looks like you are okay though!”
He was smiling playfully at the girl while scratching the scar on this chin a bit gingerly. He couldn’t really see if she was okay, as most of her skin was covered by a blazer, so he could only guess to as if she had gotten bruised or not. She did have on a skirt though, but he was pretty sure that if she saw him staring at her legs she would take it the wrong way. No matter if he retorted with the reason of “checking for bruises” or not.
Deciding that he better just look her in her face, he kept on talking with a teasing smile.

“I’m Parcel by the way, it’s nice to meet you on the ground, Eggbeater”
He knew it should be a sincere apology, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to add a little playful nickname on the end, after all, he had never gotten Eggbeater’s name so who could really blame him.

Eri grew tired of walking around and looking at all of the amazing decorations. She wanted to go find someone that she knew. There had to be people in the ball that she knew, right? Of course all the first years should be there, but since there were so many people she didn't know it would be hard to find someone that she did know. Scanning the ballroom with her emerald green eyes Eri spotted a familiar red head. (Ami Procoppio) Eri began to walk over there. She was by the punch so Eri decided she might get something to drink when she got over there. 

As the Ravenclaw got closer she realized someone was talking to Ami. Not wanting to overcroud actually avoid having an awkward conversation with a stranger. Eri walked to the drink table since she was already there, grabbed a glass of water, and shot a quick glance at Ami. Maybe Eri would talk to her later? 

The brunette changed her mind and walked over to Ami and the boy. She didn't recognize him very much. Then it hit her. He was one of team two's beaters. "You were one of team two's beaters? I'm Eri Windstone." She avoided saying, the girl who fell off her broom. She turned to Ami. "You okay?" She asked noticing the hiccups.

The boy she'd waved at earlier now walked closer, and seemed to recognize her from somewhere, asking if she was the 'eggbeater' from the 'game'. "Eggbeater? Game? What game?" Ami stared at the boy with a blank, confused expression. While he looked familiar, she had decided that it was because she'd seen him around the halls corridors at some point in time. As the kid continued, introducing himself as Parcel and continuing to call her eggbeater, Ami continued to squint at the boy, trying to remember where on earth she'd seen him, and why the hell he was calling her eggbeater. Was he suggesting that she was a good cook?

Recognition finally dawned on her, and her eyes widened, jumping up and down in excitement. "You're that Whoever You Are boy!" Ami excitedly, a large hiccup nearly causing her to drop her drink. "The one Aurelia tried to hit with a bludger! From the pickup game!" So that was the game he was referring to. Yes, that made sense, now. "I remember you!" How could she not? He'd hit a flipping bludger at her, of course, she remembered him. "Oh! Where are my manners? It's nice to meet you too, Whoever You Are- I mean, Parcel." She threw in a teasing wink, just to clarify that she didn't intend to keep calling him "Whoever You Are"- she'd find a suitable nickname later. Maybe Package? Bludger Hurler? Bludger Hog?




At that moment, Eri, the seeker who had fallen off her broom from her team, wandered over, introducing herself to Parcel- and Ami realized she hadn't introduced herself, either. "I'm Ami," she said with a smile, sticking a hand out to shake. "Formerly known as Eggbeater. Your beating was magnificent, I'll have to get some tips from you someday." Turning to Eri, she added, "Yeah, I'm good. Just the hiccups."

Eri noticed that Parcel kept calling Ami eggbeater. Hopefully he would not have a nickname for her. Since she didn't want many people knowing she fell off her broom. Her fingers were no longer broken and despite what some others thought, she decided to not where the splints on her fingers for the last week she was supposed to. Hopefully Ami didn't notice that either. 

For somebody who fell eighty feet. Getting a few broken fingers, a sprained ankle, and bruised ribs was not as bad as what she thought would have happened if she fell. She also hoped her aquantince Emmet didn't hear about her falling off her broom. 

Smiling Eri looked at Ami. She just had hiccups. "I was glad that you didn't fire any bludgers at me. You seemed to have very good aim." She said to Parcel. Again she didn't mention she was a seeker. He probably knew she was the seeker that fell, but she didn't want to say it herself. She was just glad to be alive and didn't want to relive that moment again. 

The brunette drank from her cup of water why she waited for either of the two students to speak.

If a single girl could be crowned with the title of "Most Oblivious Towards Obvious Romantic Interest," Phaedra would be Queen. Wes' wandering orbs gazes were interpreted as simple appreciation, nothing more, and the girl smiled before smoothing down the front of her dress after getting comfortable in her seat. They were eleven for goodness sake, and she didn't even know what liking someone meant. In her eyes they were only good friends, so therefore Wes must've thought the same - the idea of him fancying her had never once crossed her mind.

"Oh, that's fine," Phaedra replied, raising up a hand to console him after his explanation of wearing his brother's suit. She had not a clue what that was like, receiving hand-me-downs from someone, because nearly all of her wardrobe was kept new and particular to her preferred style. Still, she didn't judge him for it as he was her friend - to add, not knowing the complete story there was the possibility that he simply forgot to get one better tailored in time. Regardless, she figured he still looked quite handsome no matter the situation's context. "Don't worry." 

"Cider? I'm not much of a fan, I'm afraid," she told him, giving a laugh. Phaedra turned her head to where Wes was pointing, leaning forward in her seat a bit to look past his curly head of hair. Upon this she spotted the drinks table with a long, white cloth draped over its surface, and several students crowded around the fountains and bowls. "Ah, there they are, thank you. I might just wait a bit before getting something. I hope there's Butterbeer, but no - wait, that wouldn't make much sense would it?" the Ravenclaw said after furrowing her brows, her voice trailing off into thought as she finished. Her parents had allowed her first, quick sip of the sweet beverage at one of their gatherings months before, and being the sweet tooth that she was, she had thoroughly enjoyed its butterscotch flavour. Unfortunately, if the professors wouldn't allow in the slightly alcoholic drink (which she highly doubted they had in the first place), she would just have to choose something else. "Hmm, I'll settle for Pumpkin juice instead, if it's there."

Looking back to Wes, Phaedra gently placed both hands on the table and drummed her neatly manicured fingers. "Say, where is your brother anyway? Is he coming?"

Upon entering the ballroom, Adam had to take a minute to admire all of the spring decorations. It was amazing how the grand chamber had been transformed in such a short amount of time; vibrant flowers in glass vases adorned each of the tables spread out across the room, resting on tablecloths in relaxing shades of purple and pink. There seemed to be a limited amount of seating at each -- only four chairs -- but the Hogwarts students were adapting to it quickly, sorting themselves into dinner groups and locating the best seats in the room. Adam was sure that everyone would be thrown together when the dancing started, but it made sense that the professors would want dinner to have at least some sense of order.

Perhaps even more beautiful than the colorful seating arrangements was the spread of snack foods that dominated the front of the ballroom. The windows behind the long table offered a spectacular view of the grounds, but most students were paying attention to what was in front of the windows instead. Cookies, punch, juices, strawberries, chocolate, and more were open for the taking, and the supply never seemed to diminish. Adam didn't consider himself a "foodie", the term he'd heard used to describe people whose lives revolved around eating, but he had to respect the impressive batch of desserts laid out in front of him.

Grabbing a napkin and wrapping it around two of the cookies, Adam bit down on one and chewed it as he turned his attention to the growing crowd. Most of the upper years had arrived earlier than his class, and he caught sight of his brother's girlfriend Sydney looking like she was prepared to wrestle one of her classmates to the ground for a claim on a nearby table. Dean was behind her, trying to keep a straight face and apparently awaiting her call for backup. He gave Adam a small wave of acknowledgement and the younger boy laughed before seeing if he could find any of his own friends. His gaze slid past Professor Barrows, in a flowery gown suiting the occasion, and a multitude of classmates that he'd met only in passing. For a second, he feared that he wasn't going to see anyone he knew at all.

That was before he caught sight of Amadea standing alone a short distance away. She looked a little uncomfortable in the dress she'd worn, but it looked nice on her. Everyone at the ball looked like they belonged in a fancy scene of a Hollywood movie. Although reluctant, Adam had realized that he would look a little ridiculous if he didn't put much effort into his appearance, and had met up with Dean in the Owlery about a week before the ball to collect the formal-wear sent to them from home. He didn't quite like getting dressed up, but he supposed there were worse things in the world.

Anyways, his attention had been on Amadea. Sliding through the crowd and making his way over to her, he grinned and greeted the Hufflepuff warmly. "Hey! Good to see you again! You look nice!" Looking down at the remaining treat in his hand, he held it out to her in question. "Want a cookie?" He'd been waiting to run into Amadea again since their time as teammates in the Great Maze. Now all they needed was Cecily, and the trio would be reunited again. That being said, he wondered if he and Amadea should track down a table before it got too crowded. Maybe he should ask, just in case. "Want to sit together? I'm sure there's still an empty table somewhere."

Scoping out his surroundings in search of somewhere to sit, Adam wondered where his other friends were. He wanted to spend time with them, too, but he couldn't exactly do that if no one else was here. Oh, well. I'm tall enough for people to find me. Returning his attention to Amadea, he awaited her answer and marveled once more at the fantasy of the Blossom Ball. It was definitely going to be an exciting night.

It was about time for Anatole to make his much less than dazzling entrance into the ballroom for the cumulative event of the season, the Blossomfest Ball. It was supposed to be a marvelous night of chatter and waltzing, an exquisite event of meet-ups and side-steps, a gorgeous evening to be a first-year Hogwarts student.

Yet amid all this beauty, Anatole felt out of sorts.

Guilty, one could say.

He hadn't gotten himself a date. Well, Rosie had asked him, but there was nothing to cue him to man up and say yes to her. He wished he could say yes to her, but at the same time he needed to hold off. He kept procrastinating on his reply to her sweet poem until the last moment, and at the last moment, he had decided just to not do it. The date of the ball snuck up before he knew it.

And, saying yes to take a girl to a ball was a big commitment in his mind. It wasn't suggested that they were going as friends, and yeah, Anatole thought love was gross and all, but it just seemed...too much. It was just a ball with a bunch of little people trying to do their best to show off.

His heart stung when he saw Rosie across the room, talking with some girls he surely knew but didn't feel like talking to. He knew he hadn't done what a prince would have done and manned up, sending her back an enthusiastic reply saying something like ”Yes, I'd love to go with you! We're going to have so much fun together.” Maybe even an ”I can't wait to dance with you.”

Now, Anatole wasn't sure if he was going to even dance. He didn't want to make Rosie mad if he danced with another girl, especially one like her like Lucy O’Sullivan. He didn't want to hurt her.

On the other hand, Anatole knew the first thing he had to do was apologize. He'd have to go up to her and say the painful truth. But anyone who had a brief knowledge of Anatole knew he hated apologizing after Clary had whacked him with her ponytail. It stung, saying sorry.

Here Anatole was, dressed like a prince in a short-sleeved white button down shirt and a small burgundy vest with a long black necktie. He was supposed to be feeling like a prince too, but looking across the room at the other waltzing couples and joyful faces only made him feel a little worse. What else hurt is that he knew he was taking this all a little hard on himself. It was just a dance. He was only eleven. It didn't matter.

Cracking a smile while watching Ackerley across the room, he sat at the other edge of an already populated table, trying to scout out some sort of beverage to help ease this nonsensical pain.