Now here was an event Beckett could get fully behind. He was a social guy, his life revolved around events and people pleasing, schmoozing and flirting, but when the event did not involve quidditch he was not as invested as he should have been. Fortunately his mother seemed pleased she did not have to physically drag him into the building this evening and he was quick to find some friends to chat and drink with.

It was of course a ball of sorts as well and he took a few turns on the dance floor with some young ladies he was sure his mother had his eye on as their names had come up a time or two in the days leading up to tonight. It left him parched and so he went in search of a stiff drink. More impressively (and amusing!) what he found was his perpetual Damsel in Distress, Miss Scamander.

She toppled and Beckett instinctively reached out to steady her, one arm catching hers and another wrapping gently around her waist. "Ankle still giving you trouble?" He mused aloud, though was genuinely concerned, as he straightened up to steady her.