May 28th, 1891 — Hogwarts Coming Out Ball

This was the first time Bellamy had been to this event, since they'd been in pseudo-mourning the previous year. It was one of the can't-miss-it events of the season, apparently, but Bellamy wasn't sure why. He'd mostly attended for a glimpse of Hogwarts castle, since a recently-made friend simply couldn't stop talking about their Hogwarts experience and he wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And the castle was nice, but it didn't seem like it really compared to some others Bell had seen in his life, like Neuschwanstein or Dolmabace Palace or St. Basil's Cathedral. Maybe if he'd been able to see more of it than just the ballroom, he'd be more appreciative. Or maybe Englanders just had low bars, when it came to impressive, ornate buildings.

The ball itself was confusing. Bellamy understood the concept of a debut, but he didn't quite get why there was a staircase involved, and he didn't know any of these names that the announcer was rattling off. And they were all dressed in white, which was a frightful mistake for most of them; white was such a particular color that in order to make it look good you had to have a darker complexion, which was rare in Scotland where the sun never shown except perchance two or three times in a summer.

Earlier in the evening Bell had found an out-of-the-way spot to add two inches to his height so that he could better see the stair thing, but now he was feeling conspicuously tall (although 5' 8" was hardly conspicuous) and it was too crowded now to shrink back down without someone noticing. The next best thing to being an average height again was being engaged in conversation, he decided, so he turned to a likely looking young [man/woman] nearby.

"Are you a student here?" he asked. "Maybe you could explain this whole thing to me."

---

Why did she feel nervous? Hermia felt the proverbial butterflies all day, but watching the newest class of graduates, her friends, decend the grand stair made time real in ways it so rarely was to her. Hermia was of age with these young witches, she was them but for her September birthdate, and they were off to the world. That was it, the quills were down. In a year, it would be her turn. Maybe the nerves weren't all for her friends.

Fighting the urge to souch, her height always more noticable (at least to her) in such situations, Hermia was suprised to be pulled into conversation. A bit suprised to be spoken to during the procession, Hermia looked to this stranger quizzically. She was wearing her formal Prefect sash, something she'd had to fight her mother and a modiste on, of course she was a student. Her mother and ettiquette class harping in her mind that she remember how close she was to the spotlight, Hermia gave a quick curtsey before she engaged.

"I am, yes. Hufflepuff prefect Hermia Bonaccord, I am the Hufflepuff Prefect for Sixth year." And, remembering the odd phrasing, "I am happy to attempt, but isn't this much the same as your Coming Out Ball?" Hermia met more people than she could remember, of course, but this man (a bit of a stretch, perhaps) couldn't be more than a few years ahead of her and she couldn't place him at all.

---

Hufflepuff prefect Hermia Bonaccord. If she hadn't repeated the phrase Hufflepuff prefect again in her next sentence he might have assumed it was some sort of title, like princess or duchess. She had the sash to fit the idea, so it might not have been so far fetched. Based on the context, though, he supposed it had something to do with the school, though what it meant was beyond him.

"The Huffle-what?" he asked, raising one eyebrow at her incredulously. "And why assume I had a coming out? Do I look like a debutante to you?" he asked wryly. "My tailor will be quite offended if his handiwork is so easily mistaken for a ball gown."

---

"Hufflepuff." Hermia was familiar with some of the less than flattering nonsense that was said of her house, but to seem confused by the term was ridiculous. "I am a Hufflepuff." Did she sound exceedingly French today? "One of the Four Great Houses of Hogwarts. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor." Hermia was fluctuating between certain she was the target of a rather stupid joke and total bewilderment. Even her Beauxbatons brothers knew the Houses.

"You don't remember the year you graduated? How is that - what? No!" Going deathly pale to flushed and embarrassed in a blink, Hermia suddenly thought 'silent and tall' might not be the worst thing she could be this evening. "I mean no disrespect to you or your tailor, of course. You look most appropriately masculine, of course." No, that wasn't better, Hermia.

---

He'd understood the first time, though only because she'd said it twice. If she'd only thrown it in casually he really might have needed to ask for clarification, instead of just feigning misunderstanding to be obnoxious. At any rate there was no feigning misunderstanding now, because she'd said it three, four, five times in total. Gaumata, what was next? A rousing musical number featuring Hufflepuff and its apparently illustrious legacy?

No, what was next was her going all flustered about his comments about the tailor, apparently. This was mildly amusing. Was she so distraught by the suggestion that she'd offended someone, or the idea of a man wearing a dress? "Well, I'm glad," Bell responded with a grin. "Though I wonder what might be inappropriately masculine."

This was perhaps a little mean of him— he probably ought to let the dress comment go and move on without forcing her to dwell on it, since she was already blushing. That said, he couldn't resist the urge to mess around a little more as he continued. "Bellamy Echelon, vizier of Snicklesnack," he said with just the slightest indication of a bow. "If we're still making up nonsense words."

---

Hermia had never said the word 'Hufflepuff' or used the term 'of course' so many times in any given exchange. She might have heard the House name less at Sorting, but who could tell at this moment? Probably not the rather uninformed gentleman that caused her to question her own knowledge of the term. "I assume inappropriately masculine would be anything that would offend your tailor. Unless he also enjoys dressmaking as well." Hermia offered with a tiny shrug she didn't catch in time to suppress. Unfortunately, she was now picturing the stranger in some Merlin awful ruffled gown she'd seen the year before when she was shopping with Frida. She couldn't unsee it.

Lips pressed firm to avoid laughing, her efforts were for naught when Mr. Echelon introduced himself. Clapping a hand over her own mouth to smother her wide smile and full laugh Hermia had no choice but duck into another curtsey, her shoulders still shaking. If she was lucky, the new debs were being thoroughly enchanting and her laughter and odd conversation were just noise in the room. "Salam Alaikum, Your Excelency. I am Hermia, daughter of Anselm. That's Darija and my father's name. All real words, I assure you." Curiosity fueling her, Hermia really looked at this Bellamy Echelon. She had no idea who he was.

"If you don't know Hogwarts, where did you study, Mr. Echelon?"

---

Bellamy's chest puffed slightly at the implication that he wouldn't recognize arabic, particularly such a basic phrase as salam alaikum. Not that he knew what it meant, since he'd never bothered to learn more than a dozen words in any of the local languages in any of the places they'd stayed, but it was the way everyone greeted each other in a wide section of the world so it was hardly the sort of phrase he would have forgotten.

"Wa alaikum salam," he responded, obviously annoyed. Had he been less insulted by the way she'd presumed he was ignorant of her culture, he might have thought to wonder at a girl in an English boarding school being able to greet him in Arabic, but at the moment it hadn't occurred to him to be curious. "And I didn't, Hermia daughter of Anselm."

---

Hermia could recognize the obvious shift in this Mr. Echelon, but why joining him in his joke would offend him seemed, well, odd. The mood of others always pulled at her own feelings, but Hermia's mind couldn't get beyond two important details he'd revealed. He understood her and he'd studied abroad! Whatever his sudden prickliness, it paled to Hermia's delight at finding someone else different.

"It is a pleasure, Mr. Echelon," Hermia offered, bubbly as the champagne. Perhaps he was only disappointed to be directly confronted about his education? She could fix that, certainly. That's what Bonaccords did (or at least how she saw her family's ambassadorial linage). "I apologize for interrogating you when you are the guest here. Being in Scotland most of the year, I find I miss the world abroad. My brothers were at Beauxbaton." She offered, hoping some form of foreigner solidarity would do the trick. She was certain she'd heard his surname, but it wasn't ringing memory bells. And he certainly didn't sound like her. Perhaps he was from a different school, but Durmstrang seemed unlikely and she couldn't imagine he'd be from Uagadou, but it would give him an opportunity to learn Arabic dialects. Ilvermorny, perhaps? Her curiosity was scratching at her well-ingrained manners.

Fighting the urge to ask again, she made a small effort to answer his original question. "Tonight, our recent graduates and debutants are considered out. This is a celebration, but I've always seen it as a last exam of sorts." Not that she would say such a thing near one of her older friends. There were already enough nerves for the evening.

---

She was certainly a perky one, wasn't she? Bellamy listened with an impassive expression as she apologized, though he did take note of her comment about the world abroad. Beauxbatons was a French school, he recognized (there were few enough formal academies for witchcraft and wizardry in the world that he could not fail to recognize the names of any of them, regardless of his lack of interest in formal education), which didn't wholly explain her use of arabic. She must have traveled more widely than just France and Scotland, then, which was mildly intriguing. It didn't necessarily mean that she was interesting, but she probably had a better chance at it than anyone who'd spent their entire life living in the same country.

"An exam, right," he agreed with a nod of his head. He understood the concept of being out, as in ready to be married, but he was still a little unclear as to how tonight was supposed to connect to the idea. "So men are supposed to propose based on how well these ladies walk down the staircase? Or — is there some sort of programme I've missed, where they list out all their other qualifications?" Arranged marriages and otherwise brief relationships prior to marriage were hardly uncommon in many cultures, so the idea that tonight might be pivotal for the futures of these young women wasn't exactly shocking to him. He just didn't really understand how anything they'd done so far was supposed to really help decide anyone who was on the market for a wife.

---

Thankfully, Hermia didn't seem to have ruined the conversation irrevocably. Mr. Echelon was still here and he seemed interested in learning how the evening worked. The poor man couldn't possibly know that giving Hermia leave to teach someone anything was a dangerous endeavor if you planned on a short interaction. He hadn't even recognized the houses, surely he would be thrilled to learn more!

Nodding her approval as her unknowing student echoed her sentiment, Hermia's quickly forming lecture came to a halt in her head. Out of all the things she'd learned, had she ever truly questioned how the Coming Out Ball operated? What a strange oversight, considering she was dreading contemplating her own future. "I," her forehead furrowed in thought as she looked to the assembled debs. "I suppose the purpose is to show potential husbands and families that you are graceful and serene in public. Though I think there must be more to marriage than avoiding a tumble down the stairs or making sure not to stomp on toes during a dance." Hermia certainly hoped there was more than that.

"Proper exams finished this week, it isn't as if any of them can show the men their N.E.W.T.S." Something that felt much like despair crept into the pit of her stomach. How absolutely unfulfilling it would be to make a match that wasn't interested in her education!

---

Bellamy was inclined to shrug off her first comment, about there being much more to marriage than that. It depended a good deal on the marriage, didn't it? He was young enough never to have given the matter much serious thought, and had never envisioned any variety of a future where he married, but he'd seen enough diverse examples in his life to know that marriage was not a concept with a universal definition. His parents' marriage had been unconventional by both American and English standards (or at least, their reception in their extended family would seem to imply so), so it wasn't much to judge by. He'd talked to some people during his travels abroad who hardly ever saw their spouses, though, so he knew not everyone's marriage was like his parents' had been.

But then she made a comment about the girls showing off their newts, and Bellamy blinked at her, honestly not sure if she was making fun of him or not. Hufflepuffs and hinkypunks were all well and good, but was there actually any significance attached to newts? Was he expected to believe that each of these ladies was keeping some sort of amphibian menagerie in their dormitory rooms, and that anyone outside of the school was expected to care if they were? Surely if this was common practice, he would have heard about it before now. Actually, the reason he was most certain it was not was that everyone seemed so surprised by William Shakespeare, his brother's monkey; if they were all carrying little lizards around surely they wouldn't be so taken aback by exotic pets.

He decided not to address that comment, since he didn't know what to say about it. "How many of them will be engaged by the end of the night?" he asked instead, with a passive glance back towards the parade of women in white.

---

Hermia considered the procession carefuly, her mind flicking through the list of girls and their prospects. It was one thing to discuss marriage and matches in abstraction, but seeing girls she'd known for at least six years approach that threshold was a different matter entirely. With only a few exceptions, the idea of any of the seventh year girls accepting proposals seemed ridiculous. Then again, wasn't that the goal? Perhaps she should have taken more at lunch, Hermia certainly felt faint.

"I suppose that will depend on their connections." She offered cautiously. The last thing she wanted to do was be caught gossiping at such a time, but it was a fair question. "It is possible, though there are very few courtships or matches I've heard of before tonight." And courtships came first, unless a girl was already promised. Or her parents already knew her mind. If they knew her mind. If they cared. Oh, Merlin, what if your father didn't care? What if there were impending engagements and a girl wasn't even aware? No. No, absolutely not. "No, perhaps an expression of interest, but an engagement? That seems," Awful, insane, ridiculous, nightmare-inducing, "hasty."

"Do you have sisters, Mr. Echelon?" When did it get so warm in here?

---

Was it hasty? He supposed maybe it was, but Bellamy had also been given to understand that marriage was the whole point of a dance like tonight. Why bother having a whole ball showing off a new debutante if not to try and encourage attention from suitors? And if she spoke Arabic, surely she was familiar with at least one system where matches could be made with less than even a formal dance beforehand. If it looked good on paper, anyway; that was why he'd been surprised at the lack of a programme with some sort of other information about these ladies. But perhaps it was all done through word-of-mouth, and if you were really looking you were expected to already know which ladies were serious contenders for the sort of match you wanted.

He was going to ask if English courtships were long (he had no first-hand experience with entanglements of any kind, and Val hadn't given him the impression that most people wanted much build-up to coupling up with someone) when she asked him a question, apparently changing the subject. "Two," he answered without thinking. Then, after a second of hesitation, he corrected himself: "One, now, I suppose."

He wasn't in the habit of thinking of Eve as properly gone, and he didn't know how he was supposed to have answered that question. It was asked in the present-tense, hence his correction, but — surely Eve still counted, even being dead nearly two years? If she'd asked him do you have a mother he would have said yes, of course he had, even though she was dead too — but no one asked people if they had mothers. It was a ridiculous stupid question because everyone had a mother. This was the first time that anyone had asked him anything where he'd had to consider it in this light, wondering if he still had two sisters or not. He didn't particularly like it, and his unease showed on his features.

---

It was a harmless question until it wasn't. Hermia recognized the moment he remembered that a simple familial fact was no longer true. She'd see and felt the look enough times since Pierre died nearly three years ago. For Echelon's sake, Hermia hoped the memories he had were better than her own. Not sure what to say, because words never made it better and neither did time. Time just made pain different. Still, "I am sorry. I - one of my brothers is gone, as well." Unsure how to go forward with that, Hermia veered back to a question he hadn't answered. "You never mentioned your schooling, Mr. Echeleon." Please, please don't remind him of the dead sister.

---

It was less painful and more confusing, being reminded of the stark difference in his family dynamic now that Eve was gone. Bell had never taken much time to think through it all, honestly, and so it was more that he wasn't sure what to think of this now that it had suddenly been brought up. Nevermind that he wasn't entirely convinced she was really gone for good. It was like she'd gone away for a while and might appear at any moment around the next corner. The idea that she had left forever was too much to wrestle with.

But whatever had been playing out on his features must have made Hermia-daughter-of-Anselm uncomfortable, because she'd changed the topic rather than try to talk about it, and now they were back on something he thought they'd already covered. Had she not heard him when he answered before, or did she simply not think his answer was sufficient?

"I didn't," he said again, but continued on with slightly more detail this time. "I was tutored by different people. People all over the world," he explained. He personally thought this was preferable over a boarding school, and not only because the boarding school required them to stay in one place for the entire year. His education had been different from his siblings', because it had been guided by his own interests; he'd been able to devote special attention to the charm work behind moving portraits, for instance, that would have bored Eden or Val, and they'd gone more deeply into other subjects that he had very little interest in. Who wouldn't choose that over some standardized curriculum?

---

Hermia was thoroughly relieved her stupid mouth hadn't ruined the evening for her foreign guest (at least not visibly). He was handling himself better than she had after her brother's demise, which was odd, considering the shameful relief that came with Pierre's death. Merlin, was she really so horrible a person?

Turning her attention to happier things, Hermia's polite interest rapidly evolved into complete fascination. "All over the world?" Her head buzzed with the idea, how much she'd wanted to join her oldest brothers at Beauxbatons; her love and longing for Tunisia; what if she'd continued on with the bevy of tutors her parents employed? What would her life look like if she wasn't ensconced in Scotland most of the year? "I can only imagine what you've learned. Do you still use a wand? I know some cultures do not and it seems so difficult to learn without." Remembering the most fundamental rule that hovered over students until they reached seventeen, Hermia lit up at the thought. "Does that mean you've practiced magic whenever you wanted?"

---