There seemed to be a touch of genuine enthusiasm buried under her words when she talked about transfiguration, and Ford didn't miss the slight hesitation before she dismissed them as hobbies. He'd been on the other side of this often enough to know what was happening. Half his conversations at Hogwarts and most of the ones after he'd graduated had taken the same turn. When you were passionate about something that wasn't popular or socially acceptable, you learned not to take up any air time with it unless someone had expressly invited you to do so. Transfiguration wasn't exactly a niche subject, but a young woman engaging in any sort of scholarship went enough against the grain that many might be uncomfortable hearing her talk openly about what she was doing. Ford felt a pang of sympathy for her and momentarily forgot about the mental scoreboard he was keeping for the night.
But only momentarily. She'd steered the conversation back to blander, safer waters with her question about the party. Was there a correct way to move forwards? Ford had never considered this before, but now he wondered if emphasizing with a young woman and responding out of that empathy would be giving too much away. Did normal people (for all Ford did not feel abnormal, he had no more descriptive term for it) default to the same well-trodden conversations because they had been socialized to fall back on those, as he'd always thought, or was there another reason? Were normal men driven to talk about themselves ceaselessly any time a woman asked? Was there actually some difference in the way Ford's brain worked, relative to other men? Was that why Noble had found the revelation so entirely incomprehensible?
Ford chewed his lower lip for half a second. He had no desire to talk about himself, or the party, or the Ministry, but he also didn't want to give himself away. But on the other hand, it wasn't as though his brother was sitting at his elbow, judging every word out of his mouth.
"I imagine that's normal for these sorts of events," he said. "The Ministry is where people work when they wanted to be scholars but didn't have the guts to try and make a real career of academia. So of course they'd flock to a party like this, to rub elbows with everyone and feel involved. Not that we're all like that," he added with a quick smile. "I've no foiled dreams of academia. Don't have the vision for it."
Ford spotted a waiter with drinks and nearly dove at him in his haste not to let him walk away too soon. He appropriated two glasses of champagne. Slightly emboldened by his victory with the drinks, he asked as he handed her one, "Can you tell me more about your research?"
But only momentarily. She'd steered the conversation back to blander, safer waters with her question about the party. Was there a correct way to move forwards? Ford had never considered this before, but now he wondered if emphasizing with a young woman and responding out of that empathy would be giving too much away. Did normal people (for all Ford did not feel abnormal, he had no more descriptive term for it) default to the same well-trodden conversations because they had been socialized to fall back on those, as he'd always thought, or was there another reason? Were normal men driven to talk about themselves ceaselessly any time a woman asked? Was there actually some difference in the way Ford's brain worked, relative to other men? Was that why Noble had found the revelation so entirely incomprehensible?
Ford chewed his lower lip for half a second. He had no desire to talk about himself, or the party, or the Ministry, but he also didn't want to give himself away. But on the other hand, it wasn't as though his brother was sitting at his elbow, judging every word out of his mouth.
"I imagine that's normal for these sorts of events," he said. "The Ministry is where people work when they wanted to be scholars but didn't have the guts to try and make a real career of academia. So of course they'd flock to a party like this, to rub elbows with everyone and feel involved. Not that we're all like that," he added with a quick smile. "I've no foiled dreams of academia. Don't have the vision for it."
Ford spotted a waiter with drinks and nearly dove at him in his haste not to let him walk away too soon. He appropriated two glasses of champagne. Slightly emboldened by his victory with the drinks, he asked as he handed her one, "Can you tell me more about your research?"
Set by Lady!