Ah, shit. She should have come up with a different hobby; ancient magic was translated.

Ivy puffed herself up like an irritated cat; her chest pushed forward, and her free hand balled up. She took a sip of her champagne. "Do you speak Ancient Greek?" Ivy attempted, hoping to save her dignity — otherwise she was having to hope that this man got hexed sometime soon and had to go to the aurors like the obviously-pathetic specimen he was. (She was going to be hoping for this regardless.)