Dropping the Ball: Day Five, and 10,012 Words

It was exciting to pass the 10,000 word count! I spent some time today adding to the scene with Shalini Patel, Oliver Goldstein, and Noah Williams. Shalini is hitting it off with Noah, and Oliver is listening intently to Nora as she talks with her friends about their plans to paper Toronto with "Ugh Ford" posters.

Then I shoehorned a ball into Pride and Prejuwitch, as a way of introducing the Wickham character: George Cauldronbaum.

And yes, Indigo, it is very hard to keep all of these names straight! I need to make a list...

Eliza and Jeanette entered the ball together, taking in the exquisite décor of what was usually the dining hall. There were long garlands of greenery hung on seemingly every surface, which Eliza recognized as a well-placed replication charm. Small lights appeared to be held up throughout the room by real fairies, and candles were suspended from the ceiling. The guest of honour, the partially deflated balloon that can sense the magic within, was floating eerily in a pool of green light. Eliza had always been unnerved by the balloon, as it would slightly inflate and deflate as if it was breathing. How a balloon had come to be able to sense whether a child possessed the gift of magic, and then to be able to communicate it to a registrar in some way, was beyond Eliza’s powers of comprehension.

Several small bars had been set up throughout the room, and Eliza immediately knew exactly which one that she would be frequenting. The bartender standing at a bar that had obviously been banished to the corner had a scowl on his face and a look that said he had seen a lot of shit in his lifetime. In front of him was a hand-made sign reading “This ain’t the Hilton.” Eliza wasn’t sure what a Hilton was, but she was hoping to find out.

Jeanette looked as beautiful as ever, wearing a black sequined gown and earrings dripping with diamonds. She was scanning the room, looking for a certain right honourable gentleman with whom she had been spending much of her spare time. She soon spotted Charles Charmfinkle, who looked positively dapper in a black (naturally) tuxedo. His face lit up as he saw Jeanette walking towards him. She noted that Charles was not with his social boat anchor friend, and hoped that he would not come to the ball after all.

Eliza thought that this was the only appropriate response. Any person who didn’t relish such a person choosing them out of a room would have to have been hit by a confusion hex. She watched as Jeanette and Charles began talking to each other in the corner, smiling.

The rest of the faculty were congregated by the fantastic water fountains that were shooting shimmering and colourful streams of water twenty metres in the air. Over the years Eliza had come to learn almost all of the faces across the three schools, and was expecting to be treated to another evening of listening to Professor Glamourcratz drone on about the history of magic.

There was one face that she didn’t recognize, however, and as soon as she saw this mysterious man she was immediately drawn in. He was standing on the outskirts of the assembled professors, as if he didn’t feel that he belonged there either.

He was wearing a tuxedo of dark blue with black lining. A suit that was sure to cause a stir amongst the conservative crowd of the Spellberg School of Magic, which Eliza took some pleasure in. He was a handsome man with a strong jaw, stylish blonde hair, and a twinkle in his deep brown eyes that told of mischief and puckishness.

When he made eye contact with Eliza, it took her breath away.

She looked down, embarrassed by the quickly rising red tint to her cheeks. When she looked up again, he was approaching her. She felt something bubble up inside of her, like she had swallowed the magical balloon.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she managed to say when he stood in front of her and shook her hand.

“I don’t think so either. I surely would have remembered,” he said, kissing her hand. He had an accent—was it English? It would make sense if he was a professor here, then, since there’s only one magic school in England and all of the professors are very old. They also had a serious wizarding supremacy problem over there, so getting out made a lot of sense.

“I’m Eliza Witchman,” she offered.

“George Cauldronbaum.”

“I’m a professor here at Spellberg.”

“How impressive,” he joked, but really meant it. “I’m at the Merlin Academy, although you probably could have guessed that.”

“I’d put it together.”

“Since I have never been to one of these Spellberg start of term balls before, you will have to show me around. I would be absolutely lost without a tour guide.”

“Then your tour guide I shall be,” Eliza smiled as George linked his arm through hers.

“First thing’s first, do you know what the Hilton is? That bartender refused to give me any details.”

The two compared notes on the professors at their respective schools who were best to be avoided if one wished to miss out on boring conversation, the size of the room, and the number of couples.

George was charming. He had a way of looking into Eliza’s eyes that made her feel like she was the only witch in the entire room, and maybe the entire world. He was witty and funny and handsome, and Eliza wondered how she would have ever enjoyed herself that night if he hadn’t have been there.

From the corner of Eliza’s eye, she noticed that William Wandstein had decided that this party wasn’t too beneath him to join in on the festivities. He was, of course, wearing a black tuxedo and not a single hair on his head was out of place. He was also sporting his usual frown, which Eliza had become accustomed to over the past few weeks.

She couldn’t help but notice that when he saw her with George, a wave of panic had seemed to wash over his face. His face went from merely annoyed to downcast and angry. When she looked to George to try to understand the reason, she saw their eyes lock for a split second. There was a redness in his ears but also a determination to not let his face slip in any way whatsoever.

“Do you know him?” Eliza couldn’t help but wonder aloud.

“Who?” George responded, very obviously lying. It was clear to whom she had been referring.

“William Wandstein. He’s a visiting professor this semester, along with Charles Charmfinkle.”

“Of all of the places to run into him, this is one that I would never have expected.”

“So you do know him. I’m guessing you aren’t friends?”

“Making friends, he has no trouble with. It’s keeping them that is more of a challenge for the Right Honourable Wandstein,” George said in a mocking tone. It was the first time in the entire evening that his voice had sounded anything other than genial.

“That’s kind of an odd non-answer to my question,” Eliza thought to herself.