26th May, 1894 — Coming Out Ball, Hogwarts Great Hall

Mattie had resolved to spend as little of the night as possible on her father’s arm, or hovering about listlessly with him and her aunt: now that she had graduated, she would have endless hours in their company. No, tonight was for old faces and new – she had flitted back and forth from groups of girls she knew to dances with men she didn’t.

She was about to dance again in this set, with another new face. (All that textbook learning was only going to serve her in an ability to remember names now, wasn’t it? The idea was almost as funny as it was sad.) Mattie knew she ought to be so immersed in the excitement of her own night, but it was all but impossible to tune out everything and everyone else around her: so she craned her neck a little as they took their places to try and see if Miss Adebayo was dancing with anyone for this mazurka, and if so, whom.

Perhaps this had been a mistake, because between this and remembering her proper form and footwork for the dance at it began, she hadn’t been listening to the gentleman attempting to make conversation. “Oh – excuse me?” Mattie affected, feigning that she simply hadn’t heard his question – had it been a question at her, or had he been talking about himself? – over the music. She returned her gaze and smiled at him so as to seem properly enthused.

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open to a MC/UC bachelor!

  

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Don Juan had not asked for this dance; it wasn't his name on her dance card. But the fellow who had asked for this dance was indisposed — indisposed because of Don Juan, as it turned out — so he thought he ought to help with some of the damage control by going and ensuring the young lady wasn't obliged to sit out a dance. It seemed like the least he could do, since he'd offered Mr. Thomas the potion-laced cigarette which had almost certainly caused his allergic reaction. A healer was seeing to him out on the patio; Don Juan was seeing to the dance floor so that Miss Farris didn't feel she'd been stood up.

He explained the situation very briefly as he drew her towards the dance floor. Her excuse me seemed like a fairly natural response to a rather ridiculous anecdote (her broad smile slightly less so, but maybe that was what she did when she was nervous? Debutantes were always nervous for their first few parties). He nodded and continued, "Yeah, throat swollen up like a bullfrog. The rest of him was going the same way. Wouldn't have been any good on the dance floor, probably."

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MJ made this <3

She hadn’t been best pleased to learn that the bachelor who had asked her to dance would not be delivering on his promise; she was also not very interested in one of her dances at her debut being thrown away on a man who had stepped in only out of guilt or consolation. But it wouldn’t do to look put out – and he was not unhandsome, either – so when Mattie had shelved her disappointment and tuned back into the conversation, she had resolved to remain attentive for the rest of the dance.

And she had to admit the story was – a little amusing. (Was Mr. Thomas in real danger from the mishap? She wasn’t sure, but in his ill-timed absence it was hard to feel too sorry for him.) “But it was all a great mistake, I’m sure – or did you have any particular reason to take the poor gentleman out of commission for the night, Mr... Not-Thomas?” She was joking, naturally; although she would have enjoyed spinning up a tale of rivals and strategic, nefarious incapacitations just as much. Nevertheless, she wasn’t sure of her replacement dance partner’s identity yet, so she waited expectantly to see whether he would fill her in.

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Don Juan offered her a wounded look. "Me?" he asked, as though the very notion that he might have intentionally sabotaged someone was inconceivable. Which it was, sort of. He may have been responsible for Mr. Thomas' present condition (or at least as much as anyone was responsible; one would have been hard-pressed to find someone more culpable in the matter than Don Juan, if one was to go pointing fingers) but it was hardly as though he'd done it on purpose. How was he meant to know what people were allergic to? He couldn't possibly have, so no one could blame him. And it wasn't as though Mr. Thomas had asked what was in the cigarette before he'd taken it, so maybe if someone was to blame in all of this it was him, truthfully. Don Juan was fairly sure he'd mentioned that the cigarettes were more than just tobacco, so Thomas ought to have thought to ask. At the very least he'd implied it, certainly.

"Will you be disappointed if I confess I was not driven to attempted murder just to oust someone from your dance card and take their place?" he asked. "At least not yet; I suppose the night is still young. Maybe if this goes exceptionally well I could consider it for the last waltz of the evening. Mr. Dempsey," he offered. After he said his name he wished he'd said something better instead — not a different name, but something more leading up to it than just an unceremonious Mister. He so rarely got to introduce himself; everyone already knew who he was. He ought to have savored the experience with this fresh face — or maybe he ought to have held off on the introduction longer. Perhaps she did know him, just not on sight; he might have had an easier time of flirting with her if she remained ignorant a bit longer.

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MJ made this <3

“Maybe a little disappointed,” Mattie answered unabashedly, because she had never been quite able to hold her tongue when there was an opportunity to make a quip, and she wasn’t much in the habit of meeting new individuals yet – though she realised she ought to learn to school herself now, when first impressions mattered so much in shaping her future.

Driven to attempted murder was too funny as a jest to merely ignore, though, even from... Mr. Dempsey. Matilda knew the name, of course – everyone did, now that they had a Minister Dempsey in government – but this certainly wasn’t him. Nor was this the brother whose face and name she was sure she had seen listed amongst eligible bachelors in Witch Weekly before, she didn’t think. And she couldn’t recall how many Dempsey brothers there were, but the only other she had heard of in the pages of Witch Weekly was in conjunction with a hundred lurid stories of illegal duels and affairs and other wildly scandalous things.

She hadn’t known he was in society here, any more – and if this was another less-well-known Dempsey, Mattie was sure he would be quick to correct her when she said, “The notorious Mr. Dempsey, do you mean? Then I am disappointed,” she said, intentionally lowering her tone (she did not want to look out and flinch if she saw anyone’s faces lingering disapprovingly on her dance partner; this would not bode well for her entrance into society) but refusing to let her smile fade, all the same. “Though I suppose the reputation that precedes you might be overblown.” Was she being too incendiary, by discussing it directly? Ought she have politely ignored it instead, feigned ignorance about him? (But if he was the Mr. Dempsey soiled in scandal, he was at least more interesting than her intended dance partner. And one single dance could not stain her by association. She could enjoy one dance and make a dignified retreat.)

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Don Juan chewed back a smile at the title of the notorious. His eldest brother might have become the most famous Dempsey (even in his moments of fullest sibling disdain Don Juan would have found it difficult to argue with that) but Don Juan still had the distinction of being the most infamous, at least amongst the fresh-faced graduates. He would prefer that to being boring or forgettable any day. And it was harder to be the anything, in a family like his — even Oz hadn't had the distinction of being the most famous Dempsey for very long. He'd had to go conquer magical England to do it; Porphyria or their parents had that honor first. The notorious might not have been an especially glorious niche to have carved out for himself, but at least he was in no danger of losing the title to any of his siblings.

"Not overblown," he replied (though it probably was). "Understated, if anything. Or let's hope so, anyway, for my sake. I've disappointed you once already and I'd hate to do so again before we've made even one full circle of the floor. Are you the easily scandalized sort?"

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MJ made this <3

Understated. That would send Mattie’s imagination reeling, if that was so, and what was known of him was only the tip of the iceberg. It was probably designed to, that remark. But if she was supposed to be worried, his talk of disappointing her was still only making her smile.

“That’s hard to say,” Mattie mused playfully, on whether she was easily scandalised, “so fresh from being cloistered up in the castle.” She tossed him an innocent smile – you shall have to try me – and, then, because she could just picture his frown just at seeing her dancing with anyone unscrupulous without needing to look, she added conspiratorially: “Although I’m sure my father is.”

(So she could not let herself look as though she were enjoying the dance too much. But of course now she was terribly intrigued.)

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Perhaps under other circumstances the comment about her father would have left him wary, but as it was he only shrugged. "Fathers often are," he pronounced. When it came to their barely-adult daughters, anyway. Or — easily scandalized was not exactly right in most cases. Too world-worn to turn a blind eye to something they knew might end in disaster was closer to the truth, at least when it came to Don Juan's interactions with disapproving fathers. He didn't think Mr. Farris posed much of a threat, though; right now there was nothing going on between Don Juan and Miss Farris except a dance, which was about as innocent as any interaction could possibly be. If he wanted to take exception to it and go blustering, he would be hurting his daughter's reputation more than Don Juan's; it was as good as an admission that either he suspected something untoward had happened, or that he didn't trust her to prevent something untoward from happening.

"Cloistered is a good choice of word for it," he said approvingly. "I suppose you haven't done anything fun yet, then, if your father is one of those sorts?"

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MJ made this <3

She was altogether pleased with herself when he deemed her choice of words a good assessment – this was no grand compliment, of course, but for all their talk of his disappointing her, Mattie found herself – just a little – wanting to impress him.

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” she countered, and this time her innocent smile was all irony. “I do try.”

Her father might be one of those sorts, but both at home and at the castle, she had still found some avenues for fun. She ought not be saying as much to anyone this brazenly, but she fancied no one respectable would much care what this Mr. Dempsey had to say – and she imagined Mr. Dempsey had far better things to spend his time talking about than the crop of new debutantes. She tilted her head at him, an eyebrow slightly quirked. “Though I’m sure I have much less fun than you.”

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Don Juan assumed this was a bluff, because she was eighteen and from the sort of family whose parents invested in a gown of decent quality for the Hogwarts debut, with a father who was no fun at all — but he could appreciate a confident bluff. She might not have done anything properly fun yet, but she had the spirit.

"Oh? Maybe we shouldn't assume." This was a bit mean of him, maybe... but he was curious to see whether she'd be able to keep up, or whether she'd crumble if he poked this confident facade just a bit harder than she expected. "What does Miss Matilda Farris do for fun?"

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   Matilda Farris

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MJ made this <3

She pressed her lips together slightly, because this felt rather like a test, and she had never failed a test before in her life. And it struck her entirely that this conversation was the opposite of what she ought to be saying, at her very own cohort’s Coming Out Ball – she ought to be saying that she had been a prefect, and was looking forward to society, and was perfectly thrilled by the dance and her dress and the night. Making good impressions.

But making a good impression would surely run counter to making a good impression on him. “Oh, I suppose I had a few extracurricular projects this year,” she said coyly, determined that Mr. Dempsey would not find her tedious or trite. “I have made a rather thorough... study of my father’s wine cabinet,” she started, having to lean in a little just be sure no one else could possibly overhear. “I struck up correspondence with a few mysterious suitors who would smuggle in cigarettes for me in the post, that sort of thing,” she shrugged slightly, doing her level best to seem nonchalant about telling incriminating truths to a stranger, “and the usual silly girls’ games, you know – trying to make the professors blush.” (Only the handsome ones, of course, but Mattie thought she had done decently for her efforts – she was sure she had left a memorable impression on Professor Foxwood, at least.)

Still, worried that her candid answer might backfire, or open her to ridicule, she added swiftly: “But I can’t imagine what a worldly gentleman does for fun.”

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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Don Juan laughed at that. "No, I'm sure you can't," he agreed, playfully. He wasn't sure whether she'd been trying to bait him into telling her some tales or whether this was just the common debutante instinct to avoid talking about themselves for too long; the knee-jerk impulse to turn the conversation back to their partner every time they paused for breath. (He knew why women were trained to do that; he knew how to seduce men, too). He wouldn't have been opposed to trying to shock her, but the dance floor at the Hogwarts Coming Out Ball didn't seem particularly the best venue for it. Too many innocent ears drifting by — for telling stories, anyway. He didn't feel the same compunction about teasing her within earshot of everyone else, and nevermind that she'd lowered her voice when speaking about her father's wine cabinet.

"Do you still trade letters for cigarettes?" he asked. "Or would I need to invest in some heartier vices to be assured of your continued correspondence?" He was only a middling correspondent, when it came down to it. He wrote well, obviously. If he happened to receive a letter when he was in the right mood he might respond to it at length and immediately. On the other hand, if the letter reached him when he was feeling melancholic he might neglect it for weeks and then respond only with the barest passable paragraph, or never respond at all. And he generally had no need of letter courtships, when the type of people he kept company with were quite happy to skip to the physical part of a relationship and forego such things. But he might write her, if the fancy struck him — the idea of corrupting someone seemed like good fun. She seemed like good fun. Of course if anyone caught him at this sort of game they would say have you no shame? At the moment she was bright and full of prospects; any interaction with him could only lessen those prospects, and he certainly had no intention of featuring in her long-term future. But no one would be surprised, either; it was by now not news that he was shameless.

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MJ made this <3

He was doing an excellent job of dodging any details of his own fun. Mattie couldn’t work out if this was purely to tease her, to leave her yearning to know and to let her imagination run wild in the meantime. But it was probably true that she couldn’t imagine all the sordid and scandalous ways a man like him spent his time (and all his endless freedoms; even not knowing, she was envious!); the alternative was that the man did not live up to the myth of him, which would mean he was only a good actor, and disappointingly conventional at his core. She did not like that option, and didn’t know whether such whispers would have followed him like smoke if there was no fire beneath them.

No, she preferred to think he was just biding his time, and making her wait – for circumstances in which to be more candid, or for some evidence of her continued interest. After all, she could not just give up now. She had told him (an utter stranger) things she ought not to have, so it seemed only fair that he should repay her with a tale or two. (That rakish gentlemen probably did not put much stock in the morality of fair exchanges, generally, was a fact conveniently absent from her reasoning, at least for the moment. What could it hurt, to string this acquaintanceship along for a little, and learn something for ill or good – or rather, entertainment – from it?)

He may well still be teasing her, but Mattie thought she might as well take him up on it, just in case. On the off chance. She flashed him a quick, brilliant smile, a little genuinely dazzled by him under all her pretences. “Ah, well, I have graduated now, so,” she said, mock-serious, “my prices have gone up since then, as I shall need to develop my collection of vices to bear all the letter-writing and calling hours of a debutante’s days. I’m sure you’re a connoisseur of vices,” she added. “Will you write?” It was more of a question than a request. She did not have much of value with which to barter, and it wasn’t as though reliable avenues for the supply of heartier vices were offered up much to debutantes, on the daily. She would simply have to rely on the goodness (or lack thereof?) of his heart.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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Don Juan grinned. He felt as though he hadn't needed to work very hard during this conversation — hadn't even been trying, really. Which was sensible, since it was unlikely he was actually going to get anything materially from a fresh debutante, still with the full eyes of her parents and all of society on her. But he seemed to be making an impression; she might not have been begging him to call the next day, but she certainly sounded at least open to continuing to write.

"Will you make it worth my while if I do?" he countered, raising an eyebrow. Hogwarts tales were unlikely to interest him, however much she teased her professors. Stories from a day in the life of a freshly minted debutante were probably not qualitatively much improved. But there were probably some things she might add to a letter that would interest him...

"I'll write," he decided. "And then we'll see."

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MJ made this <3