Ida did not give much thought to signing up when the opportunity arose at Flint Institute, and this was a mistake. It was only now, eying some of the ladies in their decorous fineries, that she understood most were here to find a suitor at best, or were starved for attention at worst. Some weren’t even Hogwarts graduates yet, which irked her most of all– what sort of fair play contest is this? (It wasn’t. It was all a cute show for the men, wasn’t it?)

If only this competition could be won for having a worthy educational cause alone. If someone academic had organized this event then that would count for something, especially since Ida simply needed the money to print her future publication.

Perhaps because this competition no longer felt like a serious one then, Ida could not help her quiet (but no less unladylike) snort of amusement over Mister Prewett’s elaborate metaphor. This was the sort of thing she and June might have a good furtive giggle about, but they were not on those terms anymore. Still, after what felt like the millionth Patronus, Ida could appreciate her (former?) friend’s wit in conjuring Prewett his bouquet of flowers in response. This inspired her weather-modifying charm, meant to cast a bright warm sun in the dark chamber with a refreshing breeze she hoped might topple over some of the more obnoxious hairdos.

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