Having had a bit of pre-festivities fun with some friends, Fitzroy Prewett was in excellent spirits when he arrived (a bit tardy) to his mother's fete. Christmas was a time to celebrate, after all, and this particular wizard was celebrating his newfound skill of delegation that had left progressively more of his responsibilities in the lap isntead of his assistant head. And why shouldn't he? The Quidditch World Cup had been a mess that had left two of his friends sad and tedious, and saddled the typically fun-loving gentleman with far too much serious work for his liking. Add to that that his mother seemed to have redoubled her matchmaking efforts, and Fitz was indeed deserving of a good time.

Or so he had expected. Instead, his mother had swiftly introduced him to a Miss Something Unremarkable, who immediately launched so aggressively into a soliloquy about her favourite breed of lapdog (a papillon, if you were wondering; Fitz most assuredly was not) and their merits. Even under typical circumstances, Miss Camilla Zabini would have been a welcome sight—attractive, poised, enjoyable company—but in this particular moment, she was something of an oasis in the desert.

"Miss Zabini, yes," Fitzroy returned, flashing the debutante his trademark smile. "Please pardon my oversight—I had simply lost track of time with my companion here! Miss... it was so lovely making your acquaintance, but I fear I have promised Miss Zabini the next dance."

He left the dog-loving debutante no room to reply, instead moving his arm to Miss Zabini's elbow that he might swiftly steer her away.