Charming

Basil was in awe of his mother and elder brother’s powers of persuading him to do the very exact thing he hated doing most, all while he had full responsibilities elsewhere. There was no justification whatsoever that he ought to be doing this, and yet, here he was, traipsing down the street in London, dressed up and freezing his tail off in the cold January air. In hand he had a fresh bouquet of blue periwinkles and white acacias, chosen specifically to spite his family and contradict their wishes. Blue periwinkles were symbols of early blooming friendship, while white acacias very clearly drew the line between friendship and romance. Sour and fully plotting to pack his things and head back to Hogwarts in the morning, Basil seethed. He still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get spun around three times for this!

The youngest Foxwood was currently on his way to court (bleh!) the youngest Miss Victoire Malfoy. That would be the name of the woman he’d been chatting with on New Years Eve, apparently. (If Atticus was to be trusted, which Basil severely doubted.) There was no true heart behind the action and he felt ridiculous even holding the damn flowers as he stomped along. This was an empty gesture and frankly, he pitied the poor girl for having to put up with him this languid, cloudy Sunday afternoon.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t liked Ms. Malfoy, truly. After their initial awkward er… not quite introduction, Basil hadn’t minded conversing with the woman all too much. They had absolutely nothing in common and ran out of friendly topics in a few minutes, but she had been pleasant enough. In all truth though, Basil wasn’t sure he could pick his interaction with Ms. Malfoy out of a lineup with other debutantes if someone had asked him to. They were all very much the same, some with a little more zest than others. Victoire? Well she was… less pretentious, he supposed. Less pretentious by far than some smug professors he knew, for sure.

Still thinking about the ambush he’d walked in on that morning at breakfast, his face was dark. Basil sucked in a deep breath as he arrived at, what he hoped, was the right door. Shaking some of the cobwebs and storm clouds from his face, he knocked respectfully three times. Perhaps Miss Malfoy would be out. That was the only cheering thought he could cling to as footsteps approached from the other side of the door.

---

Awkwardness crept up Basil’s spine and into his face betraying him as red splotches on pale cheeks. As he faced the ever lovely Miss Malfoy and she addressed him with evident confusion, he cleared his throat. Yes, what a surprise indeed.

“Miss Malfoy,” he greeted simply. Then, moving towards her, he handed the young blonde the bouquet in hand and took a decisive step backwards. “I hope you like them,” he tried. “These colors seemed to fit your, erm, countenance.” And they did, in truth. Blue and white, despite his hidden intention behind the choices, seemed a very flattering duo against her pale skin and fair hair. Not that Basil noticed these things, surely. His face remained peaked with red. She did look rather lovely, he had to admit.

Lacing his fingers behind his back, the professor tried to keep his eyes from darting rudely around the room. He didn’t meet Ms. Malfoy’s eye, but he didn’t dare meander about like he knew her or her family with any confidence. In fact, he rather looked like he’d prefer if the room swallowed him up altogether standing there nervously. He had no inclination whatsoever to make polite conversation, and frankly, no idea how even to begin a social call of this sort. He supposed there was likely a time limit he had to satisfy so as to not appear wholly rude or calculated and he wished, desperately, that he knew what it was.

“Lovely weather today,” he said rather stupidly. As soon as the words left his lips, he cringed internally. What a dull thing to say! For someone who spent so much time with their nose in the crease of a book he ought to have a little something interesting to remark. The worst part? It was as dreary and dull a day outside as ever in London. “If you like the rain, I suppose.” he amended. By George, could this interaction get much worse?

---

Basil was still reeling from the stupid question he’d posed when Ms. Malfoy, ever the gentle lady, offered him a seat. He looked at the chair for a moment too long before accepting it, and shuffled awkwardly. He was lucky the young woman was as socially competent as she was; she more than made up for his failures in that regard.

Listening to Miss Malfoy speak, however, relaxed Basil just a touch and he nodded, impressed by how she could so easily find a delicate way to answer his stupidity. The rain was a soothing sound on the windowpanes, especially when one was curled up with tea and a good book in front of a fire. Basil almost smiled at the thought. He was just starting to try and find a delicate way to change the subject when his hostess managed to do so and rather cut to the chase. He froze a little bit, anxious about what the correct protocol here might be.

On the one hand, he could tell the lady that he was here as a suitor and wanted to get to know her a bit. That was certainly what his family had intended, and the duty he was fulfilling by his presence. On the other though, Basil felt the need to be honest with her and admit that he really was here just out of duty and that he was no more interested in courting not only her, but anyone, than he was leaving his post at Hogwarts at present. But that seemed impossibly rude. He shifted in his seat.

“Yes. Well…” Basil paused and cleared his throat searching for what to say. I just thought it might be nice to….? After our conversation over New Years...? I’m here because my mother forced me to call… Basil shifted again.

“Quite frankly, I don’t really know why I’m here,” he finally admitted. “I don’t have the… most intuitive social instincts. I apologize terribly if the interruption is unwelcome or if you had other plans that have been waylaid on my behalf.” Basil gave her the most pleadingly apologetic look he’d ever felt before, hoping he could communicate without words how distressing this was for him, too.

---

Basil felt his cheeks warm a touch as Ms. Malfoy pointed out his flower choices. They had been deliberate; he’d grown up knowing all the intricacies of the so called “language of flowers” women liked to share because of his mother. He had meant for these choices to symbolize friendship and new beginnings, but nothing more. Evidently Ms. Malfoy was well versed enough to recognize as much. Basil cleared his throat. “Yes,” he agreed. “I… had hoped to become better acquainted with you…” As friends. He paused a moment, scratching the back of his head. It was lucky then that the maid interrupted with tea just as Basil balked internally about how to say as much.

He hated to give Ms. Malfoy the wrong impression. He hated being here, firstly, but he also hated the very implication of his calling on her to be romantic. Perhaps he ought to have fought back a little more decidedly against his mother and brother’s wishes. He had no such inclination to lead Ms. Malfoy afoul for affections that were not his to give. Not really. Nodding as the young lady pointed out the staff excitement, Basil suddenly paused - pulled from his internal guilt monologue. He eyed the maid curiously as she curtseyed and left them alone, noting just what Ms. Malfoy had said in the woman's face. Interesting. Even more fascinating was Ms. Malfoy’s next quip which took all the flame out from under Basil’s anxiety.

She knew.

The Transfiguration professor let out a tremendous breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Then, he laughed. It was a light, airy little laugh that was more astonished than anything. Perhaps he hadn’t given the young lady enough credit. “Am I so obvious?” He finally asked, sheepishly. There was no point denying it if she’d already found him out. He was glad, too, in a way. It wasn’t like he was willing to go through with the sham himself.

“In reality, I have to place the blame on my brother.” Basil admitted. “He saw our conversation over New Years and decided it was as good a premise as any to have me trespass on your hospitality. He doesn’t feel I do enough to find a respectable wife on my own, so he… meddles.” It was as kind a version as Basil could, or wanted, to give of the affair. He knew Atticus must have seen his conversation with the young lady that evening because he’d been there, at the event, and she was the only such young woman Basil had spoken to. At least more than just banal pleasantries. (He hadn’t stayed long, after all.)

“I do hope you don’t mind too terribly?” He said again. “Please consider my accepting the ludicrous proposal as a compliment to your temper and manner, if nothing else.”

---

Basil wasn’t sure if he preferred being addressed as Professor or Mr. Foxwood given the current predicament he was in. It made him feel slightly inappropriate to be considered her professor - especially given Miss Malfoy’s apparent age - while in the same vein, it was familiar and easy to lean into. Mr. Foxwood sounded much too formal, and left a window for propositioning that he didn’t much care for. Shifting awkwardly in his seat, Basil nodded. He was glad she wasn’t easily offended. It said something of her character to be able to read the room and ease her companions, even when they were as fidgety and flighty as he.

Attempting to do as she asked, he settled further into his seat and nodded again. Friends, yes that was it! Basil shifted. “How machiavellian of you,” he replied quietly, with a hint of a tease and smile. “Thank you.” It wasn’t meant as an insult, in fact, it was an easy compliment and Basil was glad to think Miss Malfoy would see that. She’d seen much already, and he hoped they might settle on an understanding here.

He eyed the tea then, wondering just how put off she’d be if he settled about pouring his own cup. Tea was a small comfort in moments like these, as they gave one something to do with their hands. Instead however, he looked back up to her blue eyes as the woman spoke and resisted the urge to reach for his wand. “No, actually,” he replied wryly. “He just thinks he knows best when it comes to these things, as older brothers are wont to do.” Basil sighed a little and gave a small look of ‘que sera, sera.’ He was used to it he supposed; Atticus had always been there for him: protecting him, caring for him, aiding him when he most needed it. Basil wasn’t ungrateful, per say. He knew he was lucky to have a brother who cared so much but it was stifling. Especially when he also had his mother to contend with.

“He means well,” Basil conceded. “He is…” Obtrusive? Interfering? Determined to solve the worlds problems without being asked? The brunette struggled to find a good term to describe his brother without giving too much away about their fractured relationship. “…pragmatic.” Basil sighed. “He’s dedicated to our family and to doing what he thinks is best for all of us, sometimes at the negligence of his own needs.” And it was true, now that Basil thought about it. Atticus was always worrying about and interfering with his business, instead of putting himself out there to find a wife. Or perhaps he had and was just far too selective for his own good? (Pot meet kettle.) Basil shrugged a little bit. “I suppose he just wants us to be comfortable or even happy in our lives and uphold the good Foxwood name.”

The brunette shifted in his seat, wondering if he’d said too much. He cleared his throat then. “Do you have any older brothers?” He asked. “You mentioned two sisters before, are there only the three of you?” He knew he ought to know the answer to this question but Basil paid little mind to society and its ton. He hoped Miss Malfoy would not think less of him for it. He didn’t know why, but her good opinion was starting to weigh on him.

---

Basil couldn’t help the brilliant grin that stretched across his face, open and honest, as Ms. Malfoy countered his quip on Machiavelli. So she was rather clever academically, after all! He actively decided he liked her all the more. How splendid.

At news of her siblings, Basil tried to put faces to his imaginings of the elder Malfoy siblings. He was scarcely able to fish for a name in the dark void that was his supposed acquaintanceship amongst the upperclass. Estelle did not in the slightest ring for him, but then again, neither had Victoire before Mama had announced it so eagerly. He nodded understandingly at the lady’s commiseration but refrained from commenting on the eldest’s difficulty. He knew it was not a gentleman’s place to inquire, nor were they friendly enough yet for Basil to feel privileged.

With that thought however, he was finding it rather easier to relax in the young lady’s presence. She was sweet, in that picture perfect younger sister kind of way Basil had always imagined. (He’d always wanted a sister growing up, and he’d even asked Mama for one on his fifth birthday. She’d only laughed and said that it simply wasn’t possible, whatever that meant.)

“Siblings do rather make it hard to live one’s life peacefully,” Basil quipped back, a small joke shared between them. “That said, I do think you’d actually quite like my brother,” he offered with a small, ironic laugh. “Despite his faults, he seems to be what all aspiring debutants might look for. Charming, witty, comfortable.” Basil felt the pain with every compliment tickle at him and he laughed again. “I’d be willing to pay handsomely if you or any of your sisters should like to take him off my hands,” he teased. Two birds with one stone, how fortunate for them both.

---

Basil chuckled as Miss Malfoy responded in kind. He was pleased at the rather tame friendship that seemed to be blossoming. It was odd, though. Basil didn’t have many friends, and even less of them were female. It would be nice this upcoming season to find a friendly face in the crowd when he, inevitably, was forced into ballroom after ballroom by his hurried family. He made a friendly, faux-grimace at the idea of a swap. “How on Earth do you imagine me to be a match for an unmarried sister if I can’t even escape a rather unattached, overly involved brother!” he replied, feigning shock.

Basil shifted slightly in his seat then, deciding it was as good a time as any to prepare himself a cup of tea. He was much more relaxed now than when he’d first arrived, and at this point he had much less of an inclination that he’d offend Ms. Malfoy by doing so himself. Pulling out his wand, Basil tapped the edge of a tea cup and slowly the instruments danced to life. He considered her question then.

“If I am a misanthrope, my brother,” he mulled, contemplatively. “Is… a bit of a self-righteous moralist.” Basil grinned again; they were both exaggerated extremes. “But I mean that in the least objectionable way possible, really!” he added, hastily. “He means well, I know he does. But he tends to push a little harder than necessary at times. He thinks his way - or, better yet, our father’s way - is the right way. The only path forward.” Basil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “In fact, he lives his life in the most typically upperclass fashion possible,” the brunette chuckled. “He’s focused, avoids scandal, and is dedicated to our family in a way…. in a way frankly our father never was.” Never was… with me. Basil sighed. (He knew Atticus tried to make up for their father’s favoritism by being overbearing.) “He wants what any bachelor should want, a family - a wife and children - to call his own and for my to follow in those same footsteps. It’s… sweet, I suppose.” Basil paused to look down at the cushions on the seat he’d taken.

“Atticus has always been there for me though,” he added, more quietly. “He’s always there for all of us. Poppy, Tillie, even Anthony.” Basil looked up at Ms. Malfoy again and offered her a sad little smile. “He’s the most reliable person you’ll ever have the chance to meet.”

---

Basil was surprised, albeit not displeased, with Ms. Malfoy’s conspiratorial suggestion as the young lady leaned in and conceded to being friends. How interesting! The professor sat back in his seat and considered her proposal briefly. How unusual it would be to endeavor introducing his brother to a young lady, one that very well had all the grace, elegance and poise to be the future Mrs. Foxwood. For once, it could be Basil pulling the fate strings and the idea did not wholly deter the youngest.

“I do rather think you’d like him,” Basil agreed, amiably, as he continued to mull over her proposal. Perhaps there was a way he could endeavor to set them up without himself having to attend any additional social events too. Surely keeping Atticus occupied with his own courtship would give the eldest something better to do than monitor his baby brother’s coming and goings… Yes. In fact, absolutely - it was a splendid idea!

“Yes,” Basil echoed. “I should rather like to be friends,” he conceded, offering Ms. Malfoy a lopsided little grin. “I shall speak with mama. Perhaps an invitation to some banal event or other can be invented."

---