24th June, 1893 — London, Minister’s Ball

Whether or not he had worked at the Ministry for the last decade, somehow Nick had never come around to thinking of himself as a Ministry man. All the same, he had spent most of his evening in the company of other Ministry colleagues, generally on his best behaviour and trying not to notice whether the Flourishes had come along on the invitation as local business owners, and, if so, to aggressively avoid their orbit.

Speaking of orbits. He had begun to cross the ballroom in search of the woman whose dance card he was next upon, but as he approached her he could not help but overhear a conversation about the solar system. No wonder, considering the rooms’ decor, but Nick winced internally at the struggle they were having to remember a single accurate fact about the entire field of astronomy. He waited a moment, hoping the conversation would conclude itself without them doing themselves any further injury, but no – no, they were still befuddling themselves most egregiously. His whole body was practically vibrating with the urge to save them from themselves, and after another half-minute, Nick Blott could bear it no longer.

“Neptune,” Nick interrupted, falsely bright as the correction finally burst from him (not unlike an exploding star). “I believe –” am quite sure, you hopeless wretch, that – “you are thinking of Neptune.”

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The following 2 users Like Nick Blott's post:2 users Like Nick Blott's post
   Aldous Crouch, Edward Flourish

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Ivy considered the Minister's annual ball to be her penance for something. She very rarely stepped out of line at work, but the things she did within the lines and on her free time could be questionable if someone bothered to squint at them, and so once a year she spent money she didn't have on a passable dress and went to suffer at the Minister's ball. Hopefully she'd be able to find Persy here.

Ivy was half paying attention to a conversation about the solar system, and had a sense that she was wrong, but she had never been invested enough in astronomy to know for sure. She was starting to think that maybe she ought to escape before she embarrassed herself, but then a man — she recognized him as a Ministry man, but didn't know specifics — interrupted to correct her better.

She flushed. "Neptune, thank you, Mr. — ?" Ivy said, voice upbeat to mask her irritation. Who was he to be a stars expert?

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She had taken the correction well, he assumed, because at least she had not argued her point. (Not that he wouldn’t have half a lecture up his sleeve, if she had wanted to debate it – but at least she had a speck of sense, poor thing.)

“Blott,” he offered, in the same false-bright tone. “International Cooperation. Translator,” he added, because the young woman looked familiar enough from the Ministry. He wasn’t sure she would know his name from his own career, because he was hardly a Ministry notable, but Nick would rather preempt any avoidable assumptions about the obvious link, a little old bookshop called Flourish & Blott.

No, translator had to do for him. He smiled at her, a forced action entirely to resist the terrible urge to quip that, as well as his six or seven fluencies, he was also happy to do his duty as a translator of garbled nonsense to fact. Fluent in dimwit, indeed.

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Oh, a translator. No wonder he thought he was smarter than she was — even though Ivy wasn't sure that translating even required O.W.L.s.

"Sandow," she offered, "I'm an auror." She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, as if expecting a response. Still, Ivy could not stop herself from adding, "Do you often study astronomy?"

Her tone was the same, but now that she knew he wasn't in D.M.L.E. - well. She could try to trap him a bit, couldn't she?

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“Ah, of course,” Nick said, at her mention of being an Auror; less because he’d had any recollection of that, and more because now it all made sense. Most Aurors, as far as he knew, had had their heads muddled by a few too many hexes over the years – and he fancied none of them knew a thing about Astronomy.

(If the name Sandow rang any bells in the back of his brain, Nick certainly didn’t hear them.)

“I wouldn’t say often,” Nick countered, in pursuit of not seeming pompous about his superior knowledge, “but I do read rather a bit. And I’m a night owl, you know.”

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A night owl. Ivy narrowed her eyes at Blott. Their other conversational partner, perhaps bored by this turn, departed. "So you spend a great deal of your free time staring at the stars," Ivy said — realizing this was a statement rather than a question, and an almost-rude one in fact, she added: "I assume?"

They had too much time on their hands in other departments.

  

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He didn’t know why Miss Sandow (he assumed she was a Miss, because the person she’d been with had been evidently keen to be rid of her, and had drifted away to leave her on Nick’s hands –) was suddenly getting so belligerent about this conversation, but he didn’t like her narrowed-eye scrutiny.

“Why?” Nick countered, half-smirking, half-irked by this little interrogation. “Is that a crime?”

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She did not like Mr. Blott's half-smirk — it seemed as if he thought that he was smarter than she was, and Ivy could not abide that. But this was a work event. Temper, Ivy, she thought, and focused on controlling her expression to simply a raised eyebrow. "An interesting use of one's time, that's all," Ivy said, the word interesting sounding almost-derogatory.

  

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He might have been sorry for his own pettiness, if she had been the sort of woman he was looking to marry (rich), but she obviously wasn’t, even before the attitude.

“And how, pray tell, do you spend your leisure time?” Nick parried. He personally thought that occasionally learning a little astronomy was really one of his least harmful habits. Did she have a chip on her shoulder about academic learning, or what?

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Ivy wanted Blott to know that she was smarter than he was. It was as if he was radiating condescension, and she knew she was reading into things, but she still felt as if he was projecting an air of superiority. She could not fight him too much here, but — she was having fun with their verbal sparring.

"Practical academia," Ivy said, with a smirk, trying to keep her expression from becoming openly hostile.

  

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It felt as if she were trying to be purposely opaque now, because he couldn’t quite piece together what practical academia meant – and that was probably her point, because she was determined to be contrary and annoying. “Are you sure that’s not an oxymoron?” Nick said dubiously (and because he could not say I didn’t think Aurors could read).

“What kind of practical academia do you mean?” he challenged, both to try and catch her out and because he was determined to know now, and could not walk away without comprehending her. (Something banal like offensive hexes, perhaps, because she had no unrelated hobbies from her career? And astronomy could be practical! To some people. Besides, just because he didn’t make any real use of it didn’t mean the knowledge was any less valuable!)

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"Ancient magic and herbology," Ivy retorted — this was as close as she could get to saying I read about dark magic in my spare time at a work party. She wished that she could have been ruder to Mr. Blott, but the work party really was getting in the way of things. And she wanted to make him feel just as stupid as he'd made her. (And never mind that it had — only been mildly embarrassing.)

"I suppose you would think those are too earth-bound," she added, hoping to bait him — practical magic an oxymoron, how silly was that?

  

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Herbology was one thing – and yes, that topic was a little too mundane and muddy for him to care – but he would have been suitably impressed by an auror studying ancient magic. Would have been, if only his ego could afford it after he had taken so solid a line of general condescension with her thus far. His eyebrows had risen, but he would pretend that was in continued disbelief.

So, if he was going to be facetious about this, he might as well be facetious. He had taken all the ancient studies back in Hogwarts, and had kept them up rather well in his reading. However – “And you find ancient magic particularly practical?” What was she doing, casting ancient spells for fun? And he had thought of something else to stump her, and his eyes came vengefully alight. “Does that mean you read the original languages, or do you read them in translation?” Ha! She had scoffed at his being a translator, but here was his own superiority clear as day! He would naturally have better luck recreating ancient magic than she did; she could probably barely trust what she read.

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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.)

  

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Nick was radiating far too much smugness for what was ostensibly a Ministry event – he ought to be a little less childish, a little more professional – but she looked so very vexed that he couldn’t help himself. Every word that came out of his mouth felt like a sing-song heavenly delight. “More than you do, I expect,” he said, grinning wide. He was risking getting punched or something by this, perhaps, but it would be worth it no matter the consequences – “You just let me know if you ever need my help.”

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She hated him. Ivy had never actually spoken to this translator before, but she was sure of it now — she hated him. Unable to moderate herself any longer, she tipped her champagne flute upside down so the remaining liquid poured onto his shoes.

The following 1 user Likes Ivy Sandow's post:1 user Likes Ivy Sandow's post
   Elias Grimstone

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