11 July, 1894 — Midsummer Masquerade, Dempsey Estate, Ireland

Don Juan was enjoying himself. This was the second sibling-hosted ball of the season, which was a treat — the Dempseys were not known for being at the center of society, but perhaps Oz's election had changed that. He liked this one better than the Minister's Ball, as the atmosphere was more his speed; more ethereal and transient, less stuffy. It also helped that he'd gone the entire night only wearing half a shirt. His mother had side-eyed the costume, but even she could not argue with the logic that Puck, as the principle mischief-maker of the fairies, was unlikely to care much about collars and shirt sleeves. The party had been going on some time — he had lost track of how long, just as he'd lost track of which drink this was in his hand — when he spotted a young woman with river reeds in her hair. The reference was obvious, of course. She seemed to have gone a step further with the costume and lightened her complexion (or at least he supposed her pallor was unnatural); not just Ophelia, but Ophelia several hours after the drowning, he guessed.

"It's poor form, you know," he said, tone mock chiding. "To wear the same costume as the hostess." Technically his mother was the hostess, and she was dressed as the fairy queen, but everyone knew it was Lottie's ball and she had come as Ophelia too. Probably it was unfair of him to expect every guest to know what Shallot's costume of choice would be before the party started, but he hadn't seen any other Ophelias here tonight (plenty of Juliets, though — didn't these ladies realize that was a tragedy, too?)

"I thought there was some sort of underground network where you all coordinated these sorts of things," he said with a shrug.

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November Malfoy

  

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MJ made this <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

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Nova had been inordinately excited to attend this event seeing as it was hosted by Miss Dempsey's family, and she'd intentionally kept her costume a secret and asked very little about it from Porphyria so as to preserve an element of surprise for both of them. Now that she was stood in their house dressed as Ophelia incurring the scrutiny of Porphyria's brother, it was clear to her this had been a monumental mistake.

She hadn't realized someone else was dressed as Ophelia, she hadn't seen the lady in question thus far and now she hoped she never did. Nova almost felt like her face was on fire so deeply was she flushed. She should've gone with Juliet, or Cordelia, or Desdemona, Merlin's hell why had she chosen Ophelia?! It seemed so obviously foolish to her now in this moment that she could only blame herself. She didn't know Don Juan at all except she was pretty sure she recognized him as a Dempsey by sight.

I did not know, I should have- have- I- She wasn't sure if she was more likely to cry or faint first but rather hoped it would be the latter so she could at least momentarily escape this situation. Of course this would be perfect moment for a fainting spell and of all the times for her not to feel lightheaded, it had to be now. You are one of- You are Porph- Miss D-Dempsey's brother?

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She stammered; Don Juan assumed her nerves were a byproduct of his partially bare chest and decided to take it as a compliment.

"Indeed." He took a second to crane his neck and cast about for another drink before turning his attention to her. His drink wasn't empty yet; he just hadn't wanted to seem to be peering at her too eagerly, since she was already on the verge of melting into a puddle. "Are you a friend of hers?" he asked with obvious curiosity. He knew that Porphyria had friends, of course — or at least he assumed she did, because she sometimes disappeared from the house to go visit them. Still, the idea had always seemed strange to him. If someone told him that when Porphyria was supposedly off visiting her friends she was actually lying to everyone and disappearing into the bog to commune with the swamp life he would have believed them. It was difficult to picture her doing any of the sorts of things young women did with their friends — sitting around sipping tea and exchanging gossip, shopping for trinkets, discussing the cheap serial novels they read.

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MJ made this <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

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Yes, I am. I like Miss Dempsey very much. She realized as soon as she shut her mouth that the latter was implied by the former and was completely unnecessary. Mr. Dempsey didn't need a testimonial that his own sister was likeable, whether he believed it for himself or not. She supposed a part of her was hoping that it would distract him from the fact that she'd made such a grievous faux pas in her costume choice. This is what she got for trying to impress Porphyria and keeping her costume choice a surprise. She only hoped Porphyria hadn't mentioned it to her and she'd somehow missed it, that would be unforgiveable. How she could possibly miss her mentioning that her sister was going to be Ophelia, she didn't know, the revelation would've horrified her too much to forget.

As her thoughts ran along this line, she found herself wondering what his costume was and then it dawned on her that she was making eye contact his bare chest skin and she forcefully looked away. She felt the need to distract from her embarrassment by saying something but all she could think of commenting on was costumes now. She felt every millisecond of time passing as she stewed in her discomfort until she looked back at him (fixing firmly on his general face area only) and said hastily, I thought I saw her just then, but it was someone else. What had seemed an ingenious way of explaining her sudden head turn, now seemed incredibly stupid and transparent.

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Don Juan didn't miss the way her eyes drifted to his chest, or how hastily she'd shifted her gaze away. He was feeling very smug by this point. He hadn't gotten her name yet, and decided this was an opportune moment to remedy this.

He took her hand. His eyes met hers with a playful intensity. He brought her knuckles towards his lips. "Don Juan Dempsey."

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MJ made this <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

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Well he was very aptly named, wasn't he? November flushed furiously as he kissed her hand. She felt more than a little flustered to say the least, but then she'd been wrong-footed from the very beginning of this whole interaction. H-How do you do? she squeaked, looking decidedly away from his eyes and at his nose instead. She was quite certain he was intentionally toying with her and she didn't much care for it, but she could hardly be rude. Not to Porphyria's brother, not after copying her sister's costume idea on the same night.

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It was difficult to conceal how much he was enjoying this. He bit the corner of his lip to keep his smile from becoming too wide. If she became any more flustered she might lose the capacity for speech entirely.

"Not so well as I might if I had your name," he prompted, without releasing her hand.

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MJ made this <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

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Really it oughtn't to be so surprising with a name like Don Juan and hailing from a family such as he did, but he may as well have leaped off the page of a romance novel. Except for the undertones of smuggery and the fact that he'd started their interaction by mortifying her, for she found herself perturbed rather than allured by him. Oh. It is November Malfoy. Despite doubting his sincerity, she couldn't seem to help but respond rather seriously.

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She'd managed her name without even a stammer, and consequently Don Juan was inspired to try something else that would take her capacity for reason away. She seemed like the sort that might be impressed with Romantic metaphors — if she was friends with Porphyria, it was as good as a certainty.

"November," he said warmly. "Of the leaves worn so thin the light shines through them. November of the crisp clear mornings and the teatime sunsets. November with steam rising slowly from mugs of hot cider. November wrapped in cloaks and scarves and still seeing breath cloud on the air." He raised her hand slightly, as though to kiss it again, but stopped short. He was still looking at her eyes, even if she wasn't looking at him; he thought she could feel his gaze regardless.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Malfoy," he said, finally dropping her hand.

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MJ made this <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

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Her eyes widened in horror as he began to wax poetic. Horror because it was obviously making the already uncomfortably intense situation more so, but also horror because he'd immediately found her weakness. While she wasn't in the right headspace to be truly vulnerable to his words, that didn't mean they had no affect on her at all. For a start, she was now blushing brighter than she had since- Well, probably whenever Porphyria had last made her blush (a shockingly regular occurrance really if one thought about it).

When he dropped her hand, her hand stayed exactly where he'd left it in an awkwardly rigid snake-like post for a full two seconds before she finally remembered to return it to her side. And you. Too. For me. A pleasure. Desperate to recover from this awkward attempt at courtesy, she threw out the first words that came to mind and then seriously wished she'd just never left home that evening. You kn-know Porphyria, do you not? Of course he knew his own sister! What I meant- I- I know she is your... She abruptly gave up talking before she could somehow make it any worse than it already was.

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That seemed to have broken her. He was on the verge of taking her hand again by the time she dropped it — to do what he didn't know, but the invitation of her hand frozen in midair seemed too good to ignore. And her cheeks were so red they'd practically burned through all that pale makeup she'd worn.

"Met her once or twice, yes," he teased. She was really falling all over herself by this point. November Malfoy. If he remembered her name by the end of the night perhaps he'd ask Porphyria if she was always so easily shocked or if he was just special. He couldn't really imagine Porphyria getting through many conversations with someone with such a weak constitution when it came to social oddities. "Were you going to ask me something about her? Trying to uncover her darkest secrets? In the middle of a party," he remarked; this not a question. "How bold."

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MJ made this <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

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While others would note her discomfort and try not to disturb her further, he was doing the complete opposite. Clearly that was a familial trait. Meanwhile, she felt as though he was now mocking her and she could hardly bear it. Porphyria would surely think less of her for how poorly she was handling herself. She lowered her eyes as she felt a swell of shame in her chest. I am not bold, sir, she murmured, eyes now locked on his knees.

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She was not bold, she said. That much was obvious; her whole demeanor screamed the opposite. She seemed incapable of looking up enough to make eye contact with anyone taller than a house-elf, her cheeks were bright red, and her voice was low. Don Juan was terribly amused.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked suddenly. She'd brought up his sister and then never finished whatever she presumably wanted to say about her, but Don Juan didn't really care whether the conversation was interrupted; he was having a grand time tormenting her at this point. He took a large swallow of his drink, intending to finish it off and then take her hand and wend their way through the party towards the dance floor before she'd had a chance to stutter out a refusal. Obviously she wouldn't want to dance with him, obviously she was not enjoying his company in the slightest, but he was having fun and no polite woman could outright refuse a dance, particularly not if they were already on the way to the dance floor. She might not have been bold, but Miss November did strike him as infallibly polite.

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MJ made this <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

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How arrogant of her to assume that things could not get any worse! She finally looked up at him again, eyes wide with horror. There really was only one way this could go (unless she feigned an illness but she was sure she couldn't do that because they would both know the truth). She swallowed nervously. Dance? She felt so conflicted - she knew what she had to do but it went against every fiber of her being and yet it was a hopeless struggle because she would inevitably do the proper thing no matter how she felt.

As you wish, she finally added in little more than a whisper. Maybe some miraculous twist of fate would save her - like a chandelier falling and crushing a few people.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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Just as he'd expected, she had agreed to the dance; also as expected, she looked positively overwrought about it. Don Juan took her hand and lifted it enough to catch her dance card. He scanned it briefly, contemplating just how cruel he wanted to be.

"You have a waltz free," he observed with a smirk.

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   Ursula Black

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MJ made this <3

The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes--
The life still there, upon her hair--the death upon her eyes.

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She strongly suspected he was suggesting the waltz for the exact reason that it horrified her. What was to be done though? Do I? After a beat, she hastily (and daringly in her opinion) added, I believe I am also free for the next quadrille? She anxiously gnawed the inside of her lip as she awaited his response.

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