May 30th, 1889 — Hogwarts Coming Out Ball

Bragi’s first society function in Great Britain had arrived earlier than anticipated, and had gone rather well, touch wood. Yes he’d accidentally elbowed a gentleman in the back, but he’d made small-talk, and even some medium-talk, and had partaken in the dancing without tangling his tails. Now, for the first time in about an hour, the young Dale found himself without a partner in dancing or conversation, so he seized the opportunity to do something he’d been dying to do all night — peek beyond the Great Hall.

Still holding his glass of Elf-made wine, Bragi sidled away from the chattering, laughing and music of the Great Hall, and made his way down the corridor opposite the Entrance Hall. His pace was leisurely, as if he were strolling through a museum, for he didn’t intend to venture far or to border on nosy. He just couldn’t resist the beckoning of the unknown.

Bragi gazed with silent wonder up at an enormous portrait of a paunchy pointy-hatted Duke, who gazed back down at him from beneath the sternest brow he’d ever seen.

Elias Grimstone (Tyb/Max/Theo!)

  

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It was almost like old times.

An occasional dip into the past couldn't hurt him, either: his present life - his new profession - was altogether relentless, and the future was too distant to often dream about. Tybalt was dreaming about it now, being here, at the Coming Out Ball. Thank Merlin Elsie had stumbled on the stairs that night, the year they'd graduated. Thank Merlin he'd gone after her.

She must be here tonight - he hoped she would be; the twins were graduating, she wouldn't miss it - but, that said, the most that would happen here was getting a furtive glimpse of her across the room or a dance if he was lucky, if she wasn't being prodded towards other partners in a room full of men with better prospects. His mouth twisting a little at the thought, he excused himself from his current conversation, and wandered out of the Great Hall. (Not because he hoped he might bump into Elsie hiding out somewhere. That was not part of the plan.)

There was no sign of her, anyway, and soon enough Tyb found himself summarily distracted by the castle. God, he missed it. Or missed being a student; missed not having worries, not having to think so much, missed not having to know where he was going all the time. He didn't know precisely where he was going now, tracing his footsteps of a few years ago through the hall, liking the quiet of it: it was like he was out of bed past curfew, up to some kind of mischief.

He hadn't gotten far before he spotted a figure alone in the hall: his first thought, because of their slight figure, was that they were a student out of bed. But no, if the boy was a student - he looked youngish, though Tyb didn't recognise him, and he'd always been fairly good with faces - he'd been invited to the party, he could tell that by his clothes. Still, maybe he was up to mischief.

A grin slipped onto his face as he wandered over, supposing he'd find out. "Have you ever seen him sneeze?" Tybalt asked in a cheerful murmur, cocking his head towards the portrait, not sure if the portrait would be able to hear him. "He sounds like an elephant."

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   Elsie Kirke

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Despite telling himself he was not getting himself into a puckersnatch by wandering off, Bragi must’ve had a guiltier conscious than he thought, for he jumped a little when a voice hailed him along the corridor. The young Dane turned around shiftily, but matched the stranger’s smile as the reception seemed thankfully warm. He did not know the fellow, who was dapper with dark colouring.

Bragi felt a touch shy, but could not help chuckling lightly at the man’s remarks on the portrait, who gazed down at them both looking terribly austere. ”Really? No, so far he’s only frowned and goggled, though I can easily picture him looking a bit like an el — an eleph —“ Bragi trailed off, recoiling slightly under the Duke’s tremendously affronted expression.

  

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When didn't this portrait Duke frown? There were some wonderfully amusing portraits at Hogwarts - Tybalt had been a nosy sort, happy to strike up conversations here and there with more eccentric characters than the common room portraits - but the only thing better than the eccentrics was making fun of the poor grumpy painted souls who had to exist in a school eternally and seemed to hate noise, and children, and life.  

"Oh, what are you going to do?" Tybalt challenged the portrait when the other lad trailed off, grinning brazenly at the dour old man and the lack of its ability to do anything about being teased but grumble. "He's lucky I don't have a feather on me," he joked, with a conspiratorial eyebrow-quirk at the ginger. A little wave of the feather under the old fellow's nose, and the elephant-trumpeting would be echoing right up to the Astronomy tower. A tried-and-true tactic.

"'Course, he's not a patch on Headmaster Black, as curmudgeons go," Tybalt said brightly, not in the least worried about the prospect of the portrait feeding this assessment back in vengeance, being that he wasn't even a student anymore - and it wasn't as though he was the only student (or professor, probably) who had spoken ill of Phineas Black before. "Wouldn't you say?"

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Given that they were in a school, it was entirely unironic that Bragi felt really rather childish right now. As the fellow made fun of the terrifically grumpy portrait shooting them such daggers, Bragi could not help but giggle like a schoolboy.

As for his dark-haired acquaintance, Bragi had the strong impression that while he enjoyed entertaining he’d probably be doing this even with nobody else present at all.

”Merlin you’re brave”, Bragi could not help but utter, smiling, impressed. But then the impressive party attempted to tug him good-naturedly into the ribbing session, and Bragi had to shake his head. Not just because he wasn’t as naughty as the other, but because — ”I confess I’m not familiar with Headmaster Black. I attended Beauxbatons”, he explained. ”Though the more I see of Hogwarts the more I wish I’d been placed here. With - with a few sparse exceptions”, he added, glancing again at the affronted portrait in a cheeky attempt at a dig of his own.

  

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“I mean, I was a Gryffindor -” Tybalt interjected, at the stranger’s assessment of his bravery. This sort of thing - provoking a portrait - was not an action Tyb would have classified under that umbrella, but it was rather gratifying to hear all the same, that who he had been during school had not rubbed off since then completely.

But perhaps Gryffindor-ness meant little to this young man, who didn’t know Headmaster Black from Merlin either, because he’d gone to Beauxbatons. Tybalt’s eyebrows leapt up in curiosity to hear it, though between the unfamiliarity and the slight accent, he really should have guessed. “Huh,” Tyb exclaimed, and broke out into an appreciative laugh at the last comment as the portrait before them muttered darkly. Deciding that it would perhaps be prudent to let the crabby old Duke alone before he broke into a real tirade, Tyb turned all his focus onto the stranger, and took a moment to appraise him. “And how much of Hogwarts have you seen, so far?” He inquired innocently, though a gleam in his eyes said otherwise.

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Bragi had heard of the four Hogwarts houses, but wasn’t aware of their intricacies. If he had been, it wouldn’t have surprised him in the least o know this windswept, brazen fellow was a Gryffindor. Still, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff or Flimbleflop, he was nice chap and Bragi was very much enjoying his company. Indeed, he laughed along with him at the portrait’s perpetually disgruntled reaction, unable to resist.

He perked up further at the Gryffindor alumni’s question, fidgeting thoughtfully with his sleeve. ”Oh very little. The Great Hall and entrance area. They’re spectacular”, he added truthfully. If that was all of Hogwarts he’d ever see, he was content.

Then again… if there was truly an opportunity to see more…

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   Elias Grimstone

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“Oh, pfft,” Tyb scoffed cheerfully. The Great Hall and its ceiling was fairly spectacular, that was true, but the school liked to show that off rather too much. “I think we can do better than that,” he declared, brightening to the challenge - a challenge set possibly more by himself than the guest of the castle beside him, (but that was only what politeness prevented, Tybalt was sure). Either way, he was delighted for a distraction such as this.

And if there was a little selfish nostalgia in it, well there was no harm in a hasty turn of a tour, was there? The young'uns would all be safely tucked up in their dormitories, and the professors tied up at the ball. They might bump into the ghosts, or perhaps even to Peeves, but Tyb didn't suppose either of those a particular drawback. Perhaps he should expressly try to engineer that...

“Come along, young man,” Tybalt said, mimicking Mr. Grumpy-Pants Portrait up there in tone and in his chivvying of the stranger down along the hallway. “Let’s give you a real look at the place.” Without waiting for the other young man to trot on - or introduce himself, for that matter - Tybalt broke into movement, bounding off and trying to decide what would be most interesting to show him. Fortunately, it being in the grounds and not the castle, the quidditch pitch was out - he missed it too badly to go back - and the classrooms were very quickly dashed off the list as possibilities. They could go snooping about in the dungeons, perhaps, or up behind some of those tapestry-hidden passages. They mightn’t make it all the way up to the Astronomy Tower - oh, but you could see over all of Hogsmeade from there! - but even the set of staircases on the way up was rather something.

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Bragi breathed another soft chuckle of amusement, rather wide-eyed — he'd never met anyone with this sense of humour before. It was incredibly compelling.

He could almost hear the young adventurer's mind whirring — or was that the purr of a satisfied lion?

Still smiling, Bragi hurried elegantly to keep up with the taller fellow's stride, heart thrumming with excitement. "You are making me realise what it might be like to be a schoolmate of yours here", he could not help but remark, amused. Bragi was a follower, the rogue was a leader. But Bragi was resolutely not the type of boy to call this a bad influence...

  

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He had not been expecting the other young man to refuse his schemes, exactly, but he was pleased all the same when he didn’t hear a whiff of protest. “Oh, I was much worse at school,” Tybalt said in impish jest, but he slowed down for a pace to properly introduce himself. It was true enough: most of the time these days all he felt was young and useless and out of his depth.

“Tybalt Kirke, by the by,” he said brightly, coming to a halt just before they broke into view of the hall of staircases, seven floors of them. “And - if you don’t mind me asking - what brings you to Britain, Mr. Beauxbatons?”

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In the depths of his fair chest he felt something a bit like… was that envy? (Actually it was most certainly attraction, but Bragi did not know of such things.) He was not envious of Tybalt Kirke himself, for only very few people in this world could pull off such jolly daring, and Bragi was not one of them. No, he was envious that he’d never lived this life. He’d never been so led astray at the age you were supposed to. He’d never explored and endangered and fled the beaten track.

But it wasn’t too late to relive the schooldays he’d never had.

”Bragi Holm”, he replied warmly, ”and I came to Britain because, erm —“ Bragi didn’t hesitate because he didn’t know why he’d come to Britain. He knew precisely why he’d come to Britain. He hesitated because they’d just reached an enormous, cavernous stairwell, and several of the vertigo-inducing staircases above were moving through the air, producing a constantly changing play of candlelight on the walls and floor.

”I came here because it’s marvellous.”

  

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Bragi Holm was most certainly a foreign name. It didn’t sound French to Tybalt - but then Tybalt did not know a great deal of French. Nor had he travelled very far. The most he’d done was met a few international quidditch teams, which had not given him much knowledge on the wider world. In fact, he was rather curious to hear what Beauxbatons was like, if it was not like Hogwarts - but he also did not want to interrupt Mr. Holm’s state of awe.

He couldn’t help but grin at it, though, and peer out at the stairwell, trying to remember how it had felt to see it for the first time. But that had come after seeing the boats floating across the darkened lake, and the turrets rising in the night sky, and the feast on the table and the candles above it, after the whirlwind of a thinking hat and a new house to call home and a wonderful tiredness at all the high of all those incredible things, as though one had overdosed on sugar.

So the stairwell had perhaps not gotten its fair dues.

“It’s a little less marvellous when you’re late to lessons,” Tybalt said matter-of-factly, making no pretence of the fact he was speaking from experience. “But,” he offered, nodding at the next stage of their little adventure, “I hope you’re not scared of heights, because it’s ten times better from the top.” Perhaps it was straying a little too far (Tyb had no illusions that an invitation to the Coming Out Ball was a mandate to visiting the castle entire), but as far as he could see the staircases were yawning with emptiness - and who knew when Holm would get another chance to look around?

Tyb overtook the young man at the first step, both in order to coax him on, and to warn him about the various hazards of Hogwarts, like its affinity for trick steps. And moving things.

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Bragi gave an exhalation of sympathy as he imagined what it might be like to dash to class with the staircases changing underfoot. Bragi had always been a good boy, never late for a class (or at least very rarely), but Tybalt Kirke painted a very vivid picture. And Bragi was in an uncharacteristically rebellious mindset anyway, as he adventured through a mysterious castle out of hours.

”Oh no, I’m all for heights”, Bragi smiled enthusiastically, and followed Tybalt up the first dark staircase, noting every detail from the worn-but-regal carpet to the rows of animated portraits, all of them well-dusted for the Coming Out Ball.

He was careful to step where Tybalt stepped, though lifted his gaze quickly when he heard something at the top of the second staircase. Two people were chatting quietly, unseen, as they made their way along the corridor towards the stairwell. Startled, not knowing just how much he was not allowed to be here, Bragi looked to Tybalt for instruction.

  

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It had all been going so smoothly; Tybalt felt as home here as he ever had anywhere, and Mr. Holm was proving to be easy company.

(Sometimes people you didn’t know - people who didn’t know you - were easier company.)

Speaking of company, however, it abruptly became apparent that they were not alone, or at least not going to be alone in a matter of moments. The other boy had noticed it too, that much was obvious by the way he’d stopped and looked at Tyb, a touch wide-eyed... and though Tyb liked talking his way out of things as much as anyone, he thought that was probably a route best not taken. He didn’t know if they were prefects patrolling, or even professors, but... Yes, whoever they were, popping up to introduce themselves was probably a last resort.

Which did not leave them a great deal of options. Tybalt clutched at the other young man’s sleeve and tugged him down to duck there, crouching on the stairs: the banisters would spare them from view for another bit. The game would be up if the other two turned onto the stairs, or even looked.

“There’s a tapestry,” Tyb muttered out of the corner of his mouth, jerking his head silently to just round the corner from the stairs. If they could creep there without being seen... He nudged Bragi to make his intentions clear enough, trying not to grin at the way his heart was pounding out of his chest at the thrill of it all. “We’ll hide behind it. In three, two, one -”

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Simply by the glint in Tybalt’s brown eyes as he suddenly became still, Bragi could tell that the pair of voices along the corridor were not simply to be shrugged off. If the lurking danger came in the form of prefects, they were younger than both offenders — but he and Tybalt were children again as they started, and the leader quickly voiced a plan. Bragi obeyed the instruction as bid, natural stealth and grace allowing him to make progress without detection — though he thought maybe the people would hear the hammering of his heart.

He slipped behind the long tapestry just in the nick of time. Had he not been so trusting, he might have feared his skull would encounter a hard brick wall. But luckily there was a dark, narrow passageway behind it, and Bragi leaned his back against one of the walls, breathing deeply, peeking out through the sliver of light to watch the threat grow nearer, nearer…

  

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Tybalt had very nearly forgotten that he wasn’t a student at school anymore, the way this felt. And funny as an odd confrontation with the passing pair might be, there was a great deal of fun in trying to be stealthy. (There had used to be a touch of excitement in sneaking around with Elsie, too, before they had gotten caught.)

The greatest test - at least in Tyb’s case - was that of quietness, and one he had failed before. If he had been more cautious, or more worried, he would have scampered further down the darkened passageway into the depths of the castle. Instead, he grinned at Mr. Holm, who was watching through the edge of the tapestry, leaning back at first as well, and then crooking his head to the side to try and get a look too, his fingertips brushing idly against the back of the tapestry. And he had been quiet,

but the situation was too funny not to laugh. So laugh he did, a chuckle that came out of nowhere and escaped him before he could help himself, and as it echoed around them he was quite certain he had heard the footsteps stop.

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