28th June, 1894 — Misses & Matrons Spellcraft Ball, Hogsmeade Memorial Assembly Rooms

Callista would have preferred not to be here tonight; indeed, she would have preferred not to have gone home after the Spellcraft competition the other day. Sinking through the floor would have been a better course of action than having to face Genia and her Ìyá and the rest of the family. Two of their women veritable successes, in the final round of the competition as they should be; Callista who hadn’t even managed to properly transfigure a parasol. (The weaknesses of wandwork, of a Hogwarts education – they were not even convincing excuses to comfort her, when her younger sister had been given the same tools and still flourished in spite of them. So Callista was the exception here. She had never liked being an exception to anything.)

So she was quietly nursing her wounds, and half-grateful to speak to people who didn’t care half so much about her Transfiguration skills or lack thereof. Her waltz with Mr. Harper had been entirely pleasant – he was entirely pleasant, a perfect gentleman, with much to recommend him – but it was only as she curtsied and they parted that Callista was struck with a more dizzying realisation. She felt – irrationally reluctant to see him go. The prospect of dancing with anyone else would feel somehow monotone, because – she preferred him. No, this couldn’t be – she couldn’t. It didn’t make any sense, that one short waltz could change things so wildly, throw her into such disarray; and Callista had always had such careful intentions, not to let her feelings get the best of her.

She had almost been rooted to the spot since then, accepting her next dances as if by rote, and doing little else in between but scrutinise her own symptoms. There was a horrible fluttering in her chest she couldn’t settle. Her hands felt clammy. There was a dissatisfied yearning ache in her stomach. And her gaze – she was a fool indeed, because she could not control her gaze as it drifted back to him for the countless time this evening. Callista was intent upon cutting off this behaviour as soon as she could, but... oh, Mr. Harper was gone from where he stood and – coming over to her again? As if he could read her fears and desires plainly on her face. She felt breathless and disconcerted and clumsy, her hand trembling a little where it held her still-full glass. “Mr. Harper,” she said, trying desperately to gather her wits, worried that if he smiled at her once more she would lose them all again. “How – has the rest of the evening been treating you?”

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Emmett Harper

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   Aldous Crouch, Emmett Harper

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Emmett, being ever the optimist that he was, had only seen some of the actual competition, but thought everyone had performed admirably! It was difficult to be put on the spot and perform for such a crowd. He had played quidditch and still had not mastered the skill. He didn't often put himself in similar positions anymore either, so he could reasonably understand the sheepishness in some of the ladies this evening. Truthfully, he thought the whole thing commendable, so Em was out to hopefully cheer some spirits.

The first two dances of the evening had been enjoyable, but as soon as he had set his eyes upon Miss Adebayo, everything else seemed to pale in comparison. It had been a simple waltz, one he hadn't messed up, even in his thoughts caught up in her. He had never had the pleasure of meeting her, nor had he seen her efforts in the competition, but now he could not stop searching for her in the room, after they had parted ways. The conversation and the flow of the dance had been electrifying and Emmett wondered if this was that spark that his parents had always spoken of when they told their love story.

Seeing her in the arms of another man on the dance floor lit a fire in his gut that could not be doused, even as he sucked down a whiskey in his break from the floor. He thought he had caught her glancing his way, (maybe more than once, or was that wishful thinking?) but now as she was devoid of company, Emmett couldn't help himself, he set his glass down and strode toward her. He did indeed smile warmly at her, "Lackluster since our dance, I'm afraid." He was not usually so forward, but why should he skirt around the truth? "Yourself?" He might sink through the floor if she had been enjoying herself without him.

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   Callista Adebayo

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His smile seemed incredibly genuine, warm and warming; she felt flushed, though mercifully no one would see it on her face. And that was nothing to his answer, which she ought to have considered horrible flattery, if she hadn’t felt precisely the same.

“You might have taken the words from my own mouth,” she said softly, before she could so much as stop to think long enough to maybe stop herself. That was – too forward, for one, as well as too honest, and – and – why did she feel so stupid all of a sudden? What had come over her?

She glanced sidelong, looking for somewhere to put her drink down. She hadn’t touched it, so she could not even blame the refreshments for this particular bout of weakness. Callista swallowed as soon as she met his eyes again, and had to dip her gaze for the odd swooping thing it had done to her stomach. She must be ill. “Although I think I may feel... a little lightheaded.” She wasn’t sure if she was telling him this as some explanation for her lingering gaze, or just as an excuse to flee the scene. Her feet had not unfrozen from the spot yet.

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   Emmett Harper

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Grinning stupidly wide, Emmett reveled in her sentiment; she had felt the same! More than he could have hoped for! He felt far less foolish now knowing he wasn't the only one with these feelings. He couldn't quite put to words what was running through his head, everything was all jumbled, thoughts tumbling over one another as he tried to collect himself from the unexpected rush.

It lasted only a moment, however, as he watched her features fall, concern coloring his expression as his brows furrowed. He immediately reached out to take her by the elbow, preemptively trying to keep her upright if she were to swoon. His other hand went to the small of her back, better leverage there and he looked around, thinking he could guide her to the nearest chair. "Have a seat," he ushered her a few steps away to a table and urged her to sit down. He gently took the glass in her hand from her and set it on the table. "Is that better?" He asked earnestly, worried that she might pass out at any second.

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Oh no, oh no – perhaps she ought to feign she had something contagious? Because now he had come nearer, and put his hands to her arm and her back, and she could almost pick out the scent of his aftershave from here. So now the lightheadedness was not even a lie, because if she let the moment wash over her any more forcefully she fancied her knees would buckle under her.

So it was just as well he had led her to a chair. Callista sat, straight-backed, hoping having both her feet firmly on the floor would set her back down on earth. She imagined this was how other girls, fanciful ones, let themselves get carried away on the wings of charm and insincere attentions in the space of an evening. He did not seem insincere, but Callista hoped that he would do something thoughtless or inconsiderate soon enough, and make this easier for her. “Thank you,” Callista said anyway, because she was conditioned to politeness however uncomfortable she may feel. She wanted to press his hand gratefully as he took her glass, but she forced herself to resist, curling her fingers gently into her hand and dropping it into her lap.

“I’m sure I will be well again soon,” Callista heard herself say. To help her chances, she refused to quite meet his gaze this time. “Please do not – do not feel you must wait with me.”

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Emmett had already pulled up a chair and set it a respectable-but-still-within-catching-distance from Miss Adebayo before she could absolve him of any further responsibility. "Nonsense, unless you would like me to fetch your chaperone?" He would be nervous to leave her if she was feeling dizzy. He would feel terribly guilty if she were to swoon and he'd run off trying to play white night. Perhaps once he was sure she would not fall from her chair, he could figure out the next step.

"Some small sips of your drink may help." Something with some flavor to help restore her fervor. Emmett remembered his quidditch days with too much practice and not enough food or drinks. Or a night of too much booze and the day after. The sugar typically helped. "I'm sure it'll pass in a few moments, I don't mind waiting, just to be sure." Emmett was nothing if not a gentleman and he would hate to leave a lady in distress. .

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Naturally he was being a perfect gentleman, and she felt struck by guilt that she had apparently not noticed how perfect he was before, even from afar. It was a wonder all her friends were not in love with him already. She focused on blowing out a slow breath, sure that the shallow breathing from his hand at her back hadn’t been helping matters.

“No, no – that’s not necessary,” Callista insisted, more quickly than necessary as he mentioned chaperones. Her father or her grandmother, seeing her like this? She was sure something foolish would be evident in her expression, or even in the way she now kept studiously avoiding Mr. Harper’s gaze. They would have words for her, no doubt. (And weren’t the Harpers halfbloods, anyway? She ought not even be thinking that way –)

Because she had rebuffed that suggestion, she felt helpless but to take his next piece of advice, and gingerly took a sip. (If the drink had not addled her feelings, then perhaps it might just clear her head.) She managed a smile at him that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Thank you,” she said again, embarrassed at herself. She hated to cause a scene. “I don’t know what’s come over me. Perhaps,” she suggested slowly, out of some secret selfish desire to learn more about him, although she knew already that wouldn’t help, “if we could continue our conversation, and you could tell me something more about yourself? The distraction might help.”

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Emmett was even more in the dark about what it was that could have possibly come over Miss Adebayo, but he truly didn't mind waiting until she felt better. How could he leave her at a time like this? He could never. Secretly he was pleased she had refused a chaperone, this way he could continue to monopolize her time, even if he felt bad that she was not feeling herself.

"I'm sure you will be alright." He would make sure of it. At the request to share something about himself, suddenly nothing felt good enough to share. "All of my siblings also have E names," he started, wondering why of all things he had chosen that. At least it was sort of amusing. "I am sure it was my mother's doing, but I cannot fathom why she thought that was a theme to go with." Fortunately they were all fairly straightforward. Ember was the oddest one of the bunch, but it did seem to fit her. "We are fairly close though, an interesting mix of brothers and sisters and personalities." Was this too mundane to share? He didn't know, but now he had to run with it. "Do you have any siblings?" He was curious to know more about her family now.

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Perhaps, she had resolved, if she allowed him to keep talking to her, he would eventually say something damning (callous, or thoughtless, or rude) and this illusion she was under would save her by shattering? No, it was not yet to be – he had chosen his siblings for a subject, and their name scheme. This was so sweet that she couldn’t help but smile, and accidentally meet his eyes again, watching his face light up as he spoke. She almost liked him better for his bashfulness. (That was bad. She ought not to be charmed by anything about him at all.)

“Oh, but the letter E is a very pleasant letter,” she assured him, half in teasing and half to defend his mother’s choices. “And it is always nice to have something to unite you all. I do – my brothers’ names are all from Yoruba,” Callista said – and she knew something was wrong with her now, because she was already speaking too freely; people were not often interested in her family’s language and heritage. “Though my sister and I – I have three brothers, and one sister, younger – have less unusual names than that. But we were raised more here than our brothers were.”

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Emmett cast her an appreciative smile. It could have been worse, he supposed, his mother could have fallen in love with a letter like Q or Y. Speaking of Ys, "Yoruba?" He wasn't familiar with this. Was it a country? A language? Emmett had done a little traveling in his youth, but nothing beyond the typical jaunt to the continent. "Is that where you are from?" He was immediately intrigued, as if he hadn't been enthralled by her up until now. He leaned closer, subconsciously showing his interest. At least his chosen topic of family hadn't been a complete waste. Emmett could listen to Miss Adebayo speak of just about anything for the rest of the evening and be perfectly content. He hoped, if nothing else, he was providing a distraction to whatever had ailed her and that she would soon feel better.

"Pardon my cluelessness, but I am intrigued." He added, trying to find some semblance of the thread of conversation, rather than just idiotic questions that he hadn't thought through before asking. Emmett felt wholly unworldly at that moment, like he should know better, and it was a travesty that he did not already know all about Miss Adebayo's place of heritage. Hopefully he could soon rectify that!

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She might have better command of herself if he had not leaned closer to her; Callista felt herself holding her breath, as if catching the merest scent of his cologne or the exhaled air from his mouth mingling with hers would doom her. Clearly, if she was already overthinking about things like this, she was already doomed.

This isn’t love, Callista told herself sternly: this was both a reprimand and a comfort to her. Whatever happened here, it could not be that. She had never been in love, but surely love did not come on so fast, knowing so little about a person. This was infatuation, and if she could not simply stamp it out with logic, she could – ride the wave until it crashed. (Hopefully. She had never been surfing, either.)

“Oh, I’m sure most people are clueless, but scarcely anyone takes the time to ask,” Callista admitted – more freely candid than she would have been otherwise, only because his closeness was distracting her. He was handsome, but not in an almost cruel way, the way some men were. His eyes were all kindness. “It’s a language, and a people – my family comes from Nigeria. One of my brothers lives there still.” She curled her fingers around the edge of the table they were sat by, to resist a truly inexcusable urge to touch his forearm instead. “You said your family had an interesting mix of personalities,” she continued bravely. “So – which sibling would you say you are?” (She had her guesses, of course; but she didn’t know his family well enough to know them, and she was curious to see how he would define himself in comparison.)

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Emmett was enthralled with he every word. He did not know much about languages at all, but did at least know where Nigeria was. "That's fascinating." He was going to have to read up to make sure he was better prepared for any future conversations he might be lucky enough to have with Miss Adebayo. He may be clueless now, but he did not have to remain so. She turned the conversation back on him much too quickly, he would have liked to hear more, but he wasn't about to ignore her question either.

"Oh, I am a second son." It suited him. Eamon was much better suited to the role of eldest brother. "My elder brother, he's much less fun sometimes." He was far more serious and dedicated to a much more impressive job that Emmett was. "But my younger sister, Ember, and I are most alike in personality, I think." They were the most charming at any rate, though he doubted Elsa would have any issues being out in society once she graduated as well. "At least we have the same sense of humor, but there are six of us altogether, so it's better to have variety." Which was nice, considering the rest of them couldn't take a joke very well.

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He was a second son, which was – unfortunate for her, and also irrelevant, Callista, because she wouldn’t be, and couldn’t ever dream of, marrying him. Because she was sure the Harpers were halfblooded; because she was sure she would never live down tonight and be able to speak to him again without blushing, even if she managed, eventually, to stave off this sudden strange feeling of butterflies. She prayed he could not read her thoughts or the real reason for her bout of faintness.

At least talking about their families was a way of not talking too much about themselves, and safer – she was still hoping she would say nothing foolish to him that she would regret. “I believe your sister may be of an age with mine,” Callista commented, of Ember – a new debutante, or in her final years of school; she was sure Genia had mentioned the name before. “It is a certainly great deal less lonely with siblings at every turn to liven things up,” she admitted, with a fond, faraway smile – and then looked tentatively at him. He had an easy demeanour and evidently a sense of humour; she felt out of her depth even conversing with him. Lightly, but recklessly, she continued – “Though I fear you are the most charming of your family, and I am certainly the least fun of mine.”

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Nodding along as she spoke, Emmett would have to ask Em if she knew of another Adebayo sister. He wondered if he could do so tactfully so as not to raise any suspicions, but he wasn't so sure Ember would care overmuch either. Emmett had never been quite so keenly interested in a young lady before and he didn't want to be peppered with questions by the women in his family before he got his head on straight.

"It is never boring," he conceded with a chuckle. At her self-depreciating comment, Emmett's face fell. "I would beg to differ, I have quite enjoyed out conversation," he countered gently, not wanting to seem too aggressive about it. He did disagree, quite vehemently, she had been nothing but lovely this evening, especially considering she was not feeling completely herself. Speaking of, "Are you feeling any better?" He asked, eyes furrowing a little with concern, hoping it was just something fleeting and not the start of something worse. He would hate for her evening to be ruined, or worse yet, for her to have to leave so soon.

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   Callista Adebayo

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Oh no. Why couldn’t he stop being charming? This was the last thing she needed – Merlin, she needed no encouragement at all to keep thinking these foolish thoughts. He was charming and concerned about her and his eyes had crinkled around the edges to prove it, and Callista desperately wanted to see him smile again, or throw caution to the wind completely and kiss him.

Which was madness in any case, especially to an almost stranger, especially when she was as good as sober, especially in a crowded ballroom. So something really was wrong with her – her eyes had widened slightly purely at the thought. Foolish, reckless, unwise love would be her downfall, that was the warning that lived in her head. “No, I –” could ruin my whole life over you in a flash, Callista considered, and instead said, wildly, “– I think I’m going to be sick. Please forgive me, Mr. Harper,” she stammered – it was not entirely a lie – and scrambled up from her chair as quickly as if it were on fire. She had to go home right now.

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