September 5th, 1895 — Lestrange Ball, Library

The sooner this season was in the books, the better. Angelica couldn't say goodbye to the summer of '95 fast enough, even if it marked another season where her husband disappointed her daily. To her own horror, Angelica's social season had been more at the mandate of her father than her husband. Oh, she arrived at every Society function alongside her husband, and they played their parts, but Angelica no longer expected him to try for them. She'd never lost hope, but she'd lost the energy to dream. It was almost a blessing when her father asked her to consider rejoining the family business in some capacity. Angelica missed being wanted.

How, exactly, appearing at the Chief Warlock's ball benefited her father, Angelica couldn't really comprehend. She was grateful for the excuse to leave the tedium of her days at home until she endured the first hour of the evening. Angelica had imagined, like a fool, that the Chief Warlock would at least surround himself with interesting people.

When she overheard that the library was open to guests, she quickly made her excuses. It was not like her to abandon a social scene, but there was only so much inane blather she could tolerate. Slipping into the library, she'd no sooner slipped into a chair when she was joined by a new escapee. Rising, Angelica chained the movement into the smallest curtsey. "I seems I wasn't the only one seeking more intelligent diversions."

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Open to anyone at the Lestrange Ball who would have made for the library.

  

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MJ made this miracle!

It had, in hindsight, probably been a mistake to come at all. Trystan was just respectable enough to garner an invite – a fact that was plain to her, even if no one had dared say as much – and somehow his lack of standing amongst the very best of society reflected worse on her than it did on him. In a rare show of solidarity, however, Ambrosia refused to be cowed by the almost-but-not-quite-exclusion and held her head high throughout.

It was, as was often the case with Lestrange Balls, extremely selective and mostly dull. Even Ambrosia, not one for outlandish themes herself, thought it wouldn’t hurt to have a little bit more cheer in the room. You’d think no one had ever caught a werewolf before, she thought scathingly as their host glowered superciliously around the crowd he deigned to be amongst.

Peeling away from Trystan – who had probably caught more werewolves accidentally than Lucius Lestrange ever had; knowing Trystan he’d probably slept with them too – she set off to see if the library was less tedious. Idly, and bitterly, wondering if Lucius Lestrange had a man specially employed to go around shushing everyone, she instead found a semi-welcome face and sidled up immediately.

“Don’t let our hosts hear you say that,” Ambrosia replied, glancing around the empty room before taking the seat opposite Angelica. “I would not put it past them to have an oubliette where they throw disgruntled party guests.”

  

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Ambrosia's got 99 problems but this hot af set from MJ ain't 1 of them