June 21th, 1892 — Foxwood House gardens, dusk (Basil's Birthday)

Basil was absolutely, wretchedly miserable. There was nothing in this world - no greater power - that could have contrived a worse birthday culmination than that at hand. He knew his mother and Atticus didn’t mean to put him out so obviously, that they really were just trying to do what they thought was right. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like a shrimp on display in a lobster tank. There was nothing about Basil Foxwood that was prepared or deserving of all the female attention his mother was attempting to hurl at him tonight. Left, right, center, there was always another face - some familiar, some less so - that made him want to turn tail and hide. How many times had Basil talked through banal pleasantries already? How are you enjoying the mild weather we’ve been having? How clever that you decided to host a birthday celebration! Do you dance? And the worst of these: Do you still teach at Hogwarts, Professor? As if anything on this Earth could entice him to willingly stop doing so and refocus his attentions on finding a wife. Merlin above. And, of course, there was never a damnable: How is your research coming along? At least then he might have weeded out one or two as mildly more tolerable than the lot!

Feet aching as a quadrille mercifully ended, Basil beat a quick retreat to the refreshments and stole not one, but two firewhiskeys and gulped them down in quick succession. He dreadfully wished he could find Ms. Victoire Malfoy and hide behind conversation with her for a time; at least they had an understanding! Speaking of said understanding, Basil scanned the garden courtyard for his meddlesome sod of a brother. Atticus, for all his faults, was chatting away happily with Poppy and looking blissfully at peace. The sight made Basil wrankle even more. He should have thought to invite Tillie to bolster his own army, but alas. Gulping down a third fire whiskey, Basil nearly startled out of his skin as someone addressed him from behind. He desperately hoped it was not another debutant fresh out of class, less than 30 days. Those had the most energy!

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Eldritch Morgan

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"You ought to pace yourself," Morgan said as he approached his friend. Not that he really had much rights to give Basil any advice. They were the same age, relatively the same point in life, and generally avoiding all the same things. Morgan tended to avoid them by engaging in some conversation, with men from the club or likely enough young women who nonetheless would never get the wrong idea about his (lack of) intentions, while Basil tended to... sulk and drink. Not that Nee could blame him, but it with his propensity for such things (at least lately) one could almost understand where his mother and brother were coming from. He did give off the impression that he would be quite hopeless forever.

"Continue on like that and they'll stage an intervention," he said, picking up a small bunch of grapes from the refreshment table. He pulled one off and popped it into his mouth as he settled in next to Basil, then gestured vaguely in the direction of Mrs. Foxwood in case it was unclear whom he'd meant by they in that sentence. "What you need is about five women you can stand for the length of a dance. You sit every other dance out by getting a drink or finding someone to talk to. It leaves you looking busy all night," he advised. "And during the dance you just make sure to say one or two things that make you look terribly foolish, so none of the girls pin any serious hopes on you. Repeat for the next ball and the next. It looks like you're trying," he said with a shrug, popping another grape into his mouth. "Instead of just drinking."

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Basil was infinitely relieved when the voice that floated towards him was a familiar, welcome one. He turned to see Eldritch meander up to him and offered his friend a sheepish grin. He wasn’t handling all the attention so very well… in fact, Basil felt much like he imagined a debutant felt on the eve of her coming out ball. Was this what Poppy had gone through a few nights ago? She’d been remarkably calm about the whole ordeal; he had a newfound respect for in that sense. Turning back to Nee, Basil gulped back the third fire whisky and shook his head a little at the bite.

“While I appreciate the advice, I rather prefer to drink,” he replied, tossing his friend a lopsided grin. “I think you overestimate my tolerance for banal conversation.” Besides, Basil thought to himself. What could he possibly find to talk about with a woman that would last the length of an entire dance?! Grabbing a glass of champagne and shuffling away from the refreshment table a touch, Basil turned his back to the crowd hoping that by willing it away, it might in fact diminish. Unfortunately, he had no such luck. “I am glad you’ve come,” he added gratefully, turning his full attention on Eldritch. (Was it Basil or did he look particularly like a shining, handsome knight in this moment?) “Bolstering the ranks with a few other eligible gentlemen who seem to have the technique under control can only aid my rescue.” he chuckled.

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Eldritch Morgan

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Morgan shook his head with a smile of chagrin. "Well, suit yourself," he replied, making a mental note to consider all of the different ways he might phrase I told you so after Basil sent his next letter complaining that his mother and brother had yet to let up on their incessant desire to push him off on the nearest crowd of young ladies. Morgan never minded conversation, banal or not — as a lawyer, talking was at least eighty percent of his job. It was actually a nice change of pace to go through a dance with someone where he didn't really have to pay proper attention to the conversation; with most small-talk you only needed to catch about half of what was said in order to form a decent reply.

"The other option would be to pick one non-banal conversant and show some serious interest in her," he pointed out. Somehow, he didn't think Basil would be thrilled by the prospect. There was no surer way to get his family to stop pushing him off on new women than to demonstrate that he was already smitten with one, though; it was nothing if not effective. And if they could find someone Basil actually liked, Morgan didn't know why his friend would object to marrying. He seemed to be in a position to do so, or at least as close as Morgan himself was. Basil's first love was Transfiguration, of course, but couldn't one teach and be married at the same time?

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Basil wasn’t sure if Eldritch had suddenly decided to take up the mantle of ‘proper society gentleman’ or if he’d always been that way and the brunette had simple failed to notice. Either way, he wasn’t thrilled with the direction of this conversation and he perused the table of refreshments distractedly. Perhaps Nee had met some wretched debutant that had turned his head; they all seemed to, eventually.

“I have one I rather like, except I see her as a… student” daughter/friend “more than any potential for romantic interest so that would be simply out of the question,” he hummed, boredly. (Not to mention the other, that he was trying to set-up with Atticus.) Deciding on a small cake instead of the cigarette he was more and more twitchy to pull out, Basil stepped to the side. “Enough about this though,” he said, waving the conversation off with his hand and trying to change the subject.

“How are you finding London these days? Still damp?”

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Eldritch Morgan

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"You don't have to want to take her to bed. Just talk to her often enough and everyone will make their own assumptions," he pointed out with a shrug. But Basil wanted to drop the topic, so he dutifully said no more on the subject.

"If London ever stops being damp, Hell will have frozen over, too," he joked. "But I've not much to report. I got into a bit of trouble at work," he said with a shrug. "Owing to being accidentally cursed and being quite rude to a few of the judges as a result, before I figured out how to break it. I was rude to quite a few other people, too, it turns out. They're just not as consequential as the judges." With social missteps, all he had to do was apologize the next time he saw someone and explain matters; they would either forgive him or they wouldn't, and either way was of little consequence. Cases lost could not be un-lost, though. Preventing the cases he'd been trusted with during that window from putting a nail in the coffin of his law career had taken some fancy footwork on his part. It was a good thing that Mr. E-A was by definition the most forgiving lawyer in history; anyone else and Morgan likely would have found himself out of a job.

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Glad that Nee was willing to drop the topic of debutants, Basil took a bite of his cake and listened, dutifully, to his friend’s tale. He let out a small chuckle wondering what the former Slytherin could possibly have said to have been rude. He’d never found Nee a particularly impolite person and the idea almost made him snort.

“Well that does sound abstractly terrible,” he replied. “Did you ever manage to figure out who cursed you or why?” A small wrinkle creased the professor’s brow as he thought about it. It was a rather a serious thing, actually, to find oneself cursed. Hopefully the miscreant had been apprehended and served the justice they deserved. Basil didn’t know what he’d do if he ever found himself in such a situation. Well, technically, he did know one person who could help… Brushing the thought from his mind as quickly as it had occurred, the brunette took another bite of his dessert. Passionfruit… it was no pumpkin pasty but he supposed it was tasty enough.

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Eldritch Morgan

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Morgan shrugged at the question. "Accidental, I think. At least, I don't know of anyone who has it out for me," he joked. "And I think if I'd offended someone so terribly I probably would have remembered. We traced it back to a dodgy artifact shop in London I was in — on an errand for my mother, so goes to show what you get for being a dutiful son — but I don't think it was aimed at me, or at anyone, really. Just some shopkeepers not doing their due diligence on how to store potentially-cursed items."

As this concluded basically everything interesting that had happened to Morgan in the past several months, he was inclined to change the topic back towards Basil. Even holed up in Hogwarts half the year, he'd probably accomplished more of interest than Morgan had. Morgan didn't tend to accomplish much, and hadn't for years. (That was, perhaps, an issue that he ought to devote some thought to trying to solve, but this was not the time for it). "How's your research?" he asked, with interest. He was usually only able to follow roughly half of what Basil told him about his academic pursuits, but his interest was always sincere nonetheless.

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Basil Foxwood

  

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Basil couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea that someone actually had it out for Nee. Who, and why, he couldn’t imagine. Eldritch was such an amicable fellow; it was hard to dislike him. Still, the notion of a dodgey artifact checked out. Basil himself made no habit of his own collecting, or touching, rather strange items for this very reason. “Well I’m glad you’ve survived the escapade relatively unscathed,” he hummed in amusement. And he was. Basil didn’t know what he’d do if he ever lost Nee. It was rather a bleak thought he preferred not to think about.

The conversation weaved back towards him then and Basil perked upon considerably, as he always did when academia came to light. “It’s going rather well, thanks for asking!” He chirped. “I’ve started teaching at the Flint Institute as a guest lecturer in exchange for use of their facilities. By god, Nee, it is a remarkable place. I’ve my own dedicated space to do quite as I like, and a personal house elf! Fancy that. I’ve also arranged to have one of the newly graduated seventh years take up a position in the fall; she’s a marvel that girl. I’m lucky enough to have her still willing to work with me from afar, but blast if I thought I could get on at all without her!” Basil prattled on. “Most recently we’ve been working on the animagus transfiguration. Ida has a lovely little thesis that the change actually correlates with the moon, time of year, and season and that different levels of magical ability can actually prompt certain variables to change.” He paused to take a breath. “It is really quite fascinating!”

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Eldritch Morgan

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Yep, roughly half; the rest flew right over his head. Morgan's knowledge of what went in to animagus transformations was superficial at best, and gleaned almost exclusively from listening to Basil periodically gush about the process like a schoolgirl with a crush. He didn't know what the moon, time of month or season would have to do with anything, and did not even really understand what would be the practical difference between the moon phases and the time of month, as far as magic was concerned, but there was a reason Basil was involved in academia and he was not. As intelligent as he was (and he thought he was), he'd never been able to internalize any of this dense scholastic material, much less recall it and try to build on it the way Basil delighted in.

"A house elf isn't that exotic, you know," he pointed out with a chuckle. "If you'd wanted one you could have just said. But anyway, this sounds interesting," he said — again, sincere interest and enthusiasm, for all he knew he wouldn't be able to recount this conversation to anyone once ten minutes had passed. "What sorts of variables do you mean? Like which animal they turn in to?"

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Basil couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up and out from within him at Nee’s comment and evidently glazed look. He appreciated his best friend greatly in that Eldritch always tried to take an interest in the things Basil found himself most consumed at the time. He made a valiant effort to follow it too, and as a rather clever fellow himself, he did a good job of it. “I appreciate the would-be gesture,” Basil teased in response to his wanting a house-elf.

“Variables such as frequency of lightning storms and temperature we believe can actually affect how a witch or wizard responds to the transformation,” he continued. “What animal one is or is not predisposed to may also play a part, but undoubtedly if one might be better suited to a mouse or a mole, they shouldn’t likely turn into a lion due to the atmospheric or preparatory changes in variables.” He shrugged a little bit. “It all needs a touch more research and experimentation, but Ida has done a lovely job of it thus far! I expect great things to come of this topic in the future.” He grinned again.

As such conversations tended to go, Basil settled in for a good long bout more of explaining his own recent academic pursuits. Around them the rest of the party seemed to sway and flow, Basil always careful to avoid his mother’s irritated glance to see that he was, once again, avoiding the many pretty debutants who were her undoubtedly for him. Finally, the gentleman decided to give in to the inevitable. It was with a reluctant sigh and a withering look in Nee’s direction that a desperate little plea for help danced in his expression. “Your sister wouldn’t happen to be here, would she?” He asked, inquiring specifically after the eldest one. While Basil certainly wouldn’t have considered her a prospect for himself, the young lady deserving better, she was friendly enough and seemed to have little such interest in him that it might be safe. “I can see the fury in my mother’s heart all the way from over here,” he mumbled as explanation. “I suppose I ought to engage…”

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Eldritch Morgan - wrap soon and move on to the bibliomancy plot threads?!

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Morgan lost track of time listening to Basil ramble on about transfiguration, so he was slightly surprised when his friend eventually changed the subject. A quick glance around the ballroom was enough for him to catch up; they'd been frightfully bad sports as far as partygoers went, hadn't they? And Basil's mother probably would be irate about it, given the nature of the event. Annie was the perfect sacrificial lamb for this particular purpose, he internally agreed. Neither Annie nor Basil could ever kid themselves into thinking anything serious would develop from that (Nee and Basil had been close enough for long enough that the Morgan siblings were practically Basil's siblings as well), but there could be no denying that she was a woman, and therefore Basil would be doing his duty as the man of the hour to dance with her.

"She's around here somewhere," he agreed with a nod. "I'll find her and send her your way — or if she happens to have the next dance taken already, I'll send you someone just as good," he offered, thinking of a few of his steady dance partners he could easily fob off onto his friend. None of them expected much from him, so it stood to reason they wouldn't let their hearts run away with them after one dance with the professor.

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   Basil Foxwood

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