The summer had been particularly busy for the Von Tschirnhaus-Comyn household. The London Social Season, which had beckoned laird Comyn to the nation's capital to socialise and politick, made what could have been a nice, calm summer at Lochindorb a hectic back-and-forth between the family's ancestral estate in the Scottish Highlands and their town mansion, Badenoch House. His lairdship had even gone so far as to involve his children - proudly showing them off to the wizarding elite at London mere months before they would attend their respective schools.
"Looking sharp, boyo."
A familiar voice echoed through the room, immediately startling poor Alasdair, who had become lost in his own thoughts, as well as the reflection in the mirror. There was an obvious touch of derogatory sarcasm in that voice, a touch of derogatory sarcasm the young Scotsman had heard all too often. "Aoife.." he replied, his voice wavering a tad bit. The young Scotsman turned his head sideways, towards where he thought the voice must have come from. When he did, he was met with the sight of his sister, dressed in a magnificent green dress made of fine silk. His eyes wandered over to the delicate gold bracelets and pearl earrings that must have cost his family a fortune. He tried to convince himself that Aoife looked gawky and inappropriate for an eleven-year-old, which was seriously difficult to do, as even Alasdair could do little but admit that she rocked that dress.
Both siblings had always had very strong personalities in very different ways. Aoife, the elder of the twins, had a very dominant and rebellious personality, which translated to a broad air of apathy and nonchalance, particularly when other people's opinions were involved. She had been the family favourite, as she demonstrated her first feat of magic years before her brother did. This, coupled with the fact that she had a far greater natural affinity with the arcane than Allie did, made her twin harbour some envy towards her. Alasdair, who liked to present himself as a very acquiescent young lad who had no qualms about playing by the rules if it suited him, and who had some snobbish disdain for supposed anti-social elements that wouldn't, was a very different kind of child entirely, having been thrust into his sister's shadow at a much too young age.
He looked back in the mirror one last time, pulling at his tartan sash and checking his golden cufflinks. When his eyes browsed over those small nuggets of gold that sparkled from beneath the sleeves of his Prince Charlie jacket, he responded to his twin sister in a tone that conveyed mild annoyance. "How good of you to notice." The two conversed in a tongue of their own, an ungodly mixture of Scots-Gaelic grammar, pronouns and determiners combined with German nouns and verbs. To the woefully uninitiated, the siblings' conversation would have been totally unintelligible, but to Alasdair and Aoife, it represented an immensely personal and intimate side to their otherwise very ruthless and rough sibling rivalry.
A small silence set in, and the pair could already hear chatter from the other room. It seemed as though most of the guests had freshened up after a good afternoon of hunting nogtails on the Comyn estate. Alasdair thought to himself that it might have been time for the both of them to rejoin the others in the castle's main hall. He pulled at the ends of his robe and straightened himself out one last time, trying to convince himself to stop worrying about his appearance.
"We should better get going, Fifi. Papa's been waiting for you all evening."
The boy shot his sister a glance, making out two fiery eyes that were clearly not too content with the way Alasdair spoke. He knew how much she hated being told what to do, much like he knew how much she hated being called Fifi. It must have been the only reason why he still called her that, he reckoned. Without saying another word, she brushed past him, thrusting at him with her hip, and rudely bumping him into the cabinet upon which the mirror stood. When said mirror looked as though it was about to fall, Alasdair dove for it, and whilst his sister opened the door to the Great Hall's large staircase, presenting her father's guest with a perfect grin, her little brother clumsily bent himself over the sideboard in the background.
After a quick groan, Alasdair managed to compose both himself and the delicate mirror, following Aoife into the great hall. He looked about himself, his eyes scanning the opulent ballroom decorated with tall white curtains, ornamental chandeliers, and bewitched musical instruments playing quiet classical music, contributing to a pleasant ambiance for the ball's attendees. "Fitting", Alasdair mumbled to himself, recognising the soft tunes as Felix Mendelssohn's The Hebrides Overture.
He shifted his gaze to his sister, who had begun walking down the steps to the dance floor. The Scotsman followed suit, watching over the mass of visitors that stood about the hall, greeting them with a warm smile. Alasdair identified some of the socialites present - there were the usual suspects, old school friends of his father's, Anglo-German nobility with ties to his mother's family, chiefs of allied clans, but a collage of fresh faces presented themselves as well. Hurrying along at waist-height was the family's very own house elf, Rigby, presenting the numerous invitees with a platter of hors d'oeuvres, including vol-au-vents with pheasant, stuffed mushrooms, as well as other light appetisers.
Alasdair met up with his sister at the bottom of the staircase, who had been waiting for him there with a mischievous smile. He would be scolded for this later, he knew so for certain. In their household, a gentleman always walked down a set of stairs first, lest the lady stumble or fall. The two marched over to their parents, waiting to be introduced to the guests.
