20th December, 1888 — Destiny Hotel, Destiny Christmas Ball
He was supposed to be getting sensible, he knew that. By and large, he was being sensible: he might have rather gone to the Yule Ball at Hogwarts, and gotten to see the castle again, but he didn't exactly have galleons to spare. So, instead, he'd come to the Destiny's celebrations - perhaps a bad idea when one was still mildly hungover from the Pettigrews' party the night before, but who was Tybalt to turn down an invitation?
Besides, he had to enjoy what remained of his youth, because the year was coming to a close, and the quidditch season quick at its heels. Try to enjoy, he ought perhaps say... he couldn't admit aloud to still being out of sorts for the same reason he had been all year. That wasn't being out of sorts anymore, a months-long mood. That was just a new normal. Pathetic, maybe (definitely pathetic) but now the expected standard.
He wasn't over it. That was the truth, plain and simple, irrefutable. And Tyb wasn't sure when he was going to be over it, because besides that one blip, he had been thinking far too much about Elsie. One short blip. One short, forcibly-induced pink-lettered blip, which had not exactly spared him from heartsickness, only meant he had spent three days not pining over one girl who didn't love him, but mooning over another girl (who didn't know him, let alone love him), some Miss Delaney -
That Miss Delaney, as it happened. Tybalt had been on the dancefloor (on ice skates, as the festivities required) and had worked up a rather fast pace - between all the spinning of the dance that had just ended and from a desire to speed off the rink to find himself another drink - when he caught a glimpse of her, the brunette from Diagon Alley. To make matters worse, she had looked over at the worst possible moment, right his way - no doubt she remembered him; he'd been too mortified to even seek her out again to apologise - and caught him looking. Tybalt's eyes widened, and, in his alarm, he went hurtling blindly into one of the large fir evergreens at the edge of the pond. Fabulous.
Besides, he had to enjoy what remained of his youth, because the year was coming to a close, and the quidditch season quick at its heels. Try to enjoy, he ought perhaps say... he couldn't admit aloud to still being out of sorts for the same reason he had been all year. That wasn't being out of sorts anymore, a months-long mood. That was just a new normal. Pathetic, maybe (definitely pathetic) but now the expected standard.
He wasn't over it. That was the truth, plain and simple, irrefutable. And Tyb wasn't sure when he was going to be over it, because besides that one blip, he had been thinking far too much about Elsie. One short blip. One short, forcibly-induced pink-lettered blip, which had not exactly spared him from heartsickness, only meant he had spent three days not pining over one girl who didn't love him, but mooning over another girl (who didn't know him, let alone love him), some Miss Delaney -
That Miss Delaney, as it happened. Tybalt had been on the dancefloor (on ice skates, as the festivities required) and had worked up a rather fast pace - between all the spinning of the dance that had just ended and from a desire to speed off the rink to find himself another drink - when he caught a glimpse of her, the brunette from Diagon Alley. To make matters worse, she had looked over at the worst possible moment, right his way - no doubt she remembered him; he'd been too mortified to even seek her out again to apologise - and caught him looking. Tybalt's eyes widened, and, in his alarm, he went hurtling blindly into one of the large fir evergreens at the edge of the pond. Fabulous.
