It's been a loveless year, I'm a man of three fears
Integrity, faith and crocodile tears

May 30th, 1889 — Hogwarts Coming Out Ball

As much as he was feeling an increasing pressure to remarry, now that he was at the Coming Out Ball he couldn't help but feel that he wasn't quite that desperate yet. Going to these things just screamed 'I'm looking for a wife' and they all looked so young and, well, like children. Hand him a room full of spinsters and widows, however, and he'd declare them all far too old. There was no ideally aged woman for Charles for he'd find an excuse to avoid them all if he could because what if they were like Noelle? What would he do then?

It was a small mercy his late wife had died of natural causes (ghost issue aside), he'd been preparing to have her committed but that would've run into its own problems eventually. Unless she'd suddenly become considerate enough to die there. If his next wife was anything like his first he simply couldn't tolerate it and there was no guarantee she'd die in a timely manner.

He'd watched the girls descend the stairs with vague interest - picking out the pretty ones as they came into view and promptly forgetting their names and faces once they'd walked off - and now that he was surrounded by dancing he felt a certain degree of obligation to take part. Urgh. For once he wished ladies were encouraged to ask gentlemen to dance, he would have enjoyed picking only the most seemingly acceptable partners while abruptly declining all the others. Charles surveyed the nearby females and began calculating which dance card he'd be least displeased about putting his name on.

Someone's elbow suddenly sharply collided with his ribcage from behind. With a mild curse of surprise and discomfort, he whirled around to look at the guilty party.
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Bragi, a newcomer to Hogsmeade and to this country, was attending his first society function this side of the Channel. And it had been quite by accident. The young property investor had been meeting with his associate, Mr Wilson, when he'd invited Bragi to join himself and Mrs Wilson at the Hogwarts' Coming Out Ball the following evening, where the couple's own son would be joining the ranks of new young bachelors and admiring the debutantes — perchance to do more than just admire. That particular concept startled Bragi to no end, but he was curious and of course would not turn down such an amiable invitation. And so, the following evening, the young Dane found himself joining the Wilsons in their carriage up to Hogwarts Castle, eyes wide as he admired the great windows lit with candles, the soaring turrets, and, within, the Great Hall with its ceiling like the night's sky.

It was this spectacle that had his attention as he walked in — the stars, the navy clouds, the heavens shining as if the Hall had no ceiling at all. It was only a few seconds before he was punished for such distraction, as his side collided with the stronger form of a taller man in finer tails. "Undskyld... excuse me, I am so sorry", Bragi said, mortified, briefly dipping into Danish on instinct.

Not a perfect start in any sense of the term.

  

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The culprit was some young whelp who looked rather out of place in Charles' opinion. His lip twitched upwards slightly in a subtle sneer. "I hope you have greater mastery of your limbs on the dance floor." Not that the boy was likely to be dancing with (and maiming) anyone Charles would dance with, he didn't fancy the boy would have the confidence nor the social standing to be securing dances with the finest of the ladies gathered this evening.

He would ordinarily have turned away and resumed his business but something the boy had said stuck with him. Not that Charles knew what that something was which was exactly the issue. It had either been some (probably) disrespectful utterance under his breath or something in another language which also bothered Charles as he was fluent in more languages than the average individual but not whatever that might've been. He so loathed not being able to understand what people were saying, it was partly that which had pushed him to learn languages such as gobbledegook. The trouble was he really didn't want to outright ask what he'd said. Perhaps he just had some sort of speech impairment.

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In the novels Bragi read, he’d serenely explain that his distraction had been thanks to the wonder of the sky-ceiling stretching high above, and the stoic stranger would pause, offer a begrudging smile, then the two would muse over the spectacle of magical invention. But in reality it was neither polite nor prudent to answer back or to explain what had simply been a case of poor grace. And so to the dark gentleman’s rhetorical sting, Bragi obligingly replied. ”Yes, sir.” There was a slight quaver in his voice; but only on the inside did he cower.

Unfortunately, nor was it polite to dart off the moment their interaction was done — for the stranger was now holding him in a quizzical gaze. Quiet though he was at society functions, Bragi was well-bred enough to identify a silent question when he “heard” one, and so he answered, once more obliging. ”I’m… from Denmark”. At such events sometimes it felt blacker than sin to be any other sort of foreigner than French.

  

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Charles narrowed his eyes at him for second or so after he'd spoken. He'd gotten the information he'd wanted but he didn't like to think his curiosity had been so palpable. Either that or the fellow was presumptuous and full of himself and either way he deserved to be looked at sternly.

Denmark though. Interesting. No wonder it had sounded so alien to him, the nordic languages weren't at all similar to English or other western European languages, they probably bore a stronger relation to gobbledegook! "Are you now? What could possibly have brought you all this way?" As if anyone looking to emigrate wouldn't have Britain at the top of their list. The young man seemed rather naive and Charles saw a chance to patronize the man without him even noticing which was his favorite kind of patronizing.

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Although quintessentially human-sized, the stranger felt so large Bragi was entirely engulfed by his shadow. And it was a very dark shadow that left little room for escape.

Bragi felt that to respond to the question in truth would be to look awfully silly — for the truth was that he'd come to Great Britain for the romantical culture, tales of brave English knights and great Scottish uprisings — poetry. But he certainly could not lie to him.

So instead he met himself somewhere in the middle and said — "I came to seek my fortune."

Before realising he couldn't have uttered anything sillier.

  

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As composed as Charles was, generally speaking, he simply couldn't help a brief - but not as subtle as it ought to have been - snort of amusement. Charles might somewhere deep down have a romantic bone in his body but if he did it was probably one of those tiny ear bones, so of course he thought the boy absolutely ridiculous. He disdained the notion of class movement and while that was technically what this young fellow was aspiring to do, Charles couldn't take him seriously enough to even be disgusted. "And how do you intend to do that?" He braced himself for an even more entertaining response to this question.

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Aware that he was being laughed at, but unable to look away, Bragi peered back up at his captor like a laboratory mouse.

"Investing in property", he replied; probably an unexpectedly dry answer after such a romantical reply to the previous question.

"How did you find yours?" he heard himself ask on the topic of "seeking fortunes".

  

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How did he find his. Were he able to take the boy seriously - for how could he think of him as anything other than a boy - he might have been genuinely insulted. He clearly had no concept of there being a difference between making one's fortune and being born to one, let alone the implications. Ultimately both resulted in wealth but only one came with distinction.

Charles' lips twisted slightly in sly amusement. "I didn't have to." The way he said it implied heavily that he was quite proud of this achievement or, technically, lack thereof. "It really is a great honor to be in the company of such entrepreneurial spirit." The sarcasm was barely subtle.

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OOC: I’m finally hooking lil Bragi off this stage, though I have cruelly been enjoying myself with Charles. XD Pls feel free to reply or archive or continue with another participant, up to you~ <3

Not only did he finally get it (his normally sprightly mind slowed by fear alone), but Bragi finally found his footing. The floor was hard, flat, polished. He knew he could move one foot and then the other foot too.

Escape was possible.

Naive enough to believe the heights of his intimidation were simply a result of this stranger being extremely powerful, collected and imperious (not to mention unimpressed by Bragi’s earlier show of clumsiness), there was, sadly, genuine respect in the young Dane’s tone as he enacted his escape plan. ”Forgive me sir, I have just seen a familiar friend.”

Then his feet moved as promised, and eventually he would exhale.

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