It was a quiet and still morning - but then, it so often was. With the children away at Hogwarts, the old estate Tarron shared with his family felt somewhat empty, its dark halls sitting hushed.

Not that his children had been particularly loud - he'd usually frowned at them til they calmed down anyway, when the girls had grown too excited for his liking. The few weeks before they'd started school, however, there had been no calming them down - they'd run about, giggled, laughed, and talked about the school incessantly. He had made no move to calm them down. Hogwarts was a magical place - a place where young witches and wizards found their place in the wider world. It was good to be excited, even if running about the halls like wild animals was a bit much.

This morning, on a rare day off, he sat at his desk sorting through his paperwork. Tarron's desk sat in front of the bay window in the study, the ancient oak structure covered in neatly stacked and labeled stacks of paper. At his elbow, a wooden sorting box for mail sat, labeled in his neat and elegant script. His pipe was lit, the smoke giving the room a warm haze.

The letter had arrived with the morning's paper, the envelope the plain white of the standard fare but the seal bearing the stamp of Hogwarts. The envelope now sat open before him, the letter it'd contained far more interesting than he'd expected.

"Mmm," he said, taking his pipe from his mouth. "Krix?"

The house elf appeared with a crack, her long and drooped ears perking up somewhat at his call. The elf was younger than most house elves, clad in a pillowcase. The pillowcase was quite a nice pillow case - it even had a lace hem - but a pillowcase all the same.

"Master?" She squeaked. Tarron snuffed out his pipe, smiling slightly - an expression almost completely lost under his beard.

"Fetch Mistress Aisling, will you? And some tea."

One benefit, or so it could be called, of having the girls away at Hogwarts was that it gave Aisling more time. Thus, rather than being out shopping in Diagnon alley for books (and pleas from the girls regarding candy, small fuzzy animals, and whatever else caught their eye), she  was curled up in an old armchair in the library, poring over a complex graph of numbers. She almost dropped the book when Krix popped in, but managed to catch herself enough to set it down on an already bursting end table next to the chair. A few quills quivered and rolled slightly at the new addition.

"Master Tarron wishes to see you in his study." Krix eyed the precarious pile of books, paper, quills and candy on the aforementioned end table, and reached out to properly stack a selection of articles on the merits of doves in respect to Divination.

Aisling smiled at the house elf, then stood up and brushed absently at the ruffles on the front of her blouse. "Thank you, Krix. I'll head right down. And I'll be back to my reading later, so please leave everything there. Unless you'd like some of the candy, as it seems I have purchased too much of it again."

Krix made an incoherent squeak and nodded, ears bobbing back and forth as she did so.

It wasn't far from the library to her husband's study, though Aisling would have had to admit that her definition of what was far within a home had shifted since they'd moved to their estate. She rapped on the dark wood molding that framed the door to the study, then stepped inside.

"Good morning, dear." She leaned casually against one of the walls, a faint smile poking at the corners of her mouth. One which fled once she noted the envelope laying on his desk, and the seal marked on it. There was just the hint of a raised eyebrow as she gestured at it. "Is it something about the girls?"

Tarron smiled briefly when Aisling arrived, his pipe now set in its rest. It still occasionally smoked in a vague way, but for all intents and purposes, it was fully snuffed out. He turned the formally written letter towards her on the desk, so that when she approached she could read it. It was considerably more elegant than the usual letters from the Hogwarts Faculty; this one had gold leaf and those curly little designs that he didn't quite understand the point of. It wasn't just formal - it was fancy.

"No, nothing about the girls, though I expect their letters on the subject will arrive soon enough," he said. Their daughters did write, though not quite as often as their mother would like, he suspected. He would be stunned if they didn't write about this, however.

"It appears the school has chosen to revive not only the Tournament, but the Yule Ball, as well," he said, sitting back in his high-backed leather chair with a creak, looking up at Aisling and trying to remember if she'd know what that was.

Aisling took a step toward him, turned her gaze toward the letter. After a moment she relaxed, and set a hand on Tarron's shoulder.  "Oh, yes. I should have expected that you would get an invite." The smile returned, a bit, and she stretched her other hand out almost to touch the letter. "And yes, I suppose they'll write. Are they too young to attend?"

Then she pulled her hand back, frowned. "It's on your birthday, though. Was there something else you wished to do then?"  There was already a pile of books hidden in the back of a kitchen cupboard waiting for that day, and she had already dedicated a few hours to researching the matter of the cake.

A few moments of silence, with her hands held still as she thought. "I would enjoy the ball, though. It's hardly a common occurrence, and perhaps we could see the girls there. Or at least their teachers." She clenched her left hand softly, and summoned a fragment of another smile. "It is your invitation, and your birthday, though. I'd see you enjoy it in whatever fashion you prefer."

Expected? Certainly, it was to be expected. Sometimes he wished that people would pleasantly surprise him and he could spent the holidays in front of the fire with a good book, but such was life. The holidays were to be spent drinking tea with wizard and muggle alike and making nice with the lot of them. Bloody dull, all of it.

"Apparently not," he said, frowning. "It would appear they have chosen to allow the younger years to attend." He sniffed, unsure how to feel about that. He would have to write to the girls and make it absolutely clear that should they come to the ball with a date, their date's life was forfeit.

He smiled slightly at her words, and then sighed. "It is a historic tradition, gaily revived in the spirit of cooperation and rekindling ties," he said, deadpan and gruff. "I'd be a fool not to attend, quite frankly. I'd wager half the Ministry will be invited."

His beard moved; a hint of the smirk that was now forming underneath it. "And quite honesty, the date means little. I'd prefer it to any other party, anyhow." An opportunity to spent the 19th in a crowd that wasn't going smile and congratulate him on being one year closer to death? That he could most certainly handle. He looked back down at the letter and frowned.

"And you will most likely need new dress robes as well. The Yule Ball is a bit higher caliber than the usual party, if it's the same sort they've held before. The point of its dress code is, it seems, to encourage participants attempt out dress everyone else."

The fact that her daughters would be attending the ball made Aisling's lips part in what was, for her, a relatively wide smile. This was soon followed by a soft chuckle at her husband's protests, and she crossed her arms and made a pretense of looking down seriously at him. "You will, however, still be getting cake, and presents. I've found myself short on other excuses to buy books, so you will have to at least tolerate them."

She uncrossed her arms, and the smile turned a shade more mischievous.  "Dress robes? I was thinking of something a bit less archaic. Though, given the occasion, I'm certain I could arrange to wear whatever you would most like to see me in." The slightest raise of an eyebrow. "I could go out tomorrow and collect a few examples for you to chose from, if you wish."

Finally, she pulled out a wooden chair from the side of the room and sat down in it, leaned back perhaps a bit more than she should. "And while I have no wish to appear disreputable, I don't wish to spend a year's salary on one outfit either."

"Alas. Cake," he said, with absolutely no malice and more than a little humor. Oh, well - at least books were reasonable. Maybe he'd have time to read through them all before the next birthday rolled around, but given how many letters from Elders arrived each day, it would be slow going.

He turned in his chair to look at her, somewhat doubtfully but catching her humor quickly enough. He grunted. "The day I order you to wear a particular item of clothing is the day you have full permission to hex me," he said, stroking his beard. He was silent for a moment, and then he smiled slightly. "That said, I shall leave your garb up to you. I doubt you can find anything to wear that I would particularly dislike seeing you in."

He looked back down to the letter, picking it up and carefully folding it back into its envelope. "I should see Cousin Darian, then. His...tastes should work well for all of our purposes." He wasn't particularly keen on his red-headed nephew, finding the boy (Darian might be nearly 30, but he would always be 'boy' to Tarron) flighty and improper. That said, though, he could offer no complaint about the man's skill in design or with a needle, though he preferred clothes much more old fashioned than those Darian produced. "Perhaps we can get a family discount."

Her chair creaked slightly as Aisling leaned back a little further, her expression settling towards pleased relaxation. "I have been doing a bit of study on the matter of cakes, and it would be a shame to leave such research unapplied."

"And I will speak to Darian, though I fear he may already be rather occupied with holiday clothing." Her light tone gained a touch of irritation, and she spared a glance for her feet. "And I'll need shoes as well.  I suppose that I should consider House colors, given the occasion." Her voice shifted back again, unable to hold to annoyance for too long. To have Tarron home, and to have him not be preoccupied with matters of cauldron thickness did provide a certain reassurance.

She was eyeing her feet again, in slightly pained anticipation of fancy heels, when Krix reappeared. The house elf was expertly balancing a tray holding a pot of tea, cups, and a small plate with a few flaky pastries. Krix twitched one of her ears up.

Aisling reached for one of the pastries. "Thank you. It seems I almost forgot breakfast."

Oh, Merlin. Research? Well, he wouldn't have to worry about having someone jump out of the cake, at least. He could trust Aisling to be tasteful, thankfully - she was bright and quick-witted. And, thank Merlin, knew when to not pull her little jokes on him. He sighed, though it wasn't particularly put-upon.

"Hmph. He can make time, I'm sure," Tarron said, and fully expected his nephew to do so. This was family; Darian would find his uncle seriously displeased if Darian turned his aunt away in favor of his standard customers (in other words, muggle-copying riff-raff). Tarron doubted Darian worried too much what he thought, but all the same.

"House colors are hardly mandatory, dear," he said, moving the paperwork on his desk out of the way of the tea tray. "Though if you wish to wear blue and bronze, I shan't argue." He certainly didn't plan to wear much green, that was for sure. Maybe a tie, if anything - he hardly saw the point, in his case. He hardly saw eye-to-eye with his old housemates, these days. It helped most of his old housemates were in Azkaban, of course.

"You ought not to do that," he chided, sipping his tea. "The children being gone is no reason to drop our schedule."

Aisling peered down at her own cup of tea, then set her hands against it to warm them. "I suppose I may ask Darian about colors, though at least a few accents may be fitting. It seems one way to preemptively answer a likely question." The tea swirled a little, and she forced herself to not look too closely at the designs in the cup. They had, for a second, reminded her of old lessons. She had always disliked at reading tea leaves, in any case. Waste of good tea.

"And I can hardly argue about the importance of breakfast, especially given how thoroughly you have been trouncing me in chess these last few times." A small sip of tea, and she set the cup back down on the tray. Then a few bites of her pastry, and she wiped bits of icing from her fingers with a napkin. "I begin to think that I've experimented too much with my strategies, yet again."

Though, that last was usually a pleasant sign, as it meant that whatever disputes they solved with that method held, at least to her, little weight. "A game later, perhaps? If you do not have too many letters to answer."

"So long as he doesn't attempt to clothe you in pink or purple." Tarron had no issue with purple, but Darian had such a way of taking purple and making it loud and obnoxious. He felt purple should be a regal, stately color, and truth be told he had seen Darian clothe it that way, too. But one flashy vest was enough to stain his opinion forever.

"You aren't keen to make them guess? A pity. It would make for a new subject for small talk." He asked, with a slight smirk. He certainly would let them wonder. He didn't have much loyalty left for his old house as it was, and had little trouble displaying that in subtle ways. Besides, he looked a tit in green.

"Of course," he said, sipping from his tea again as he looked at the piles of paper. He always wished to have time for chess, when his endless river of letters allowed it (or when he got to those he was deliberately not answering, anyhow).  As if on cue, another owl arrived, beating its wings at the study's window. Tarron let out an actually pup-upon sigh, rising to open one of the windows. The owl perched on his hand and he took the letter it had, frowning at the address before letting the bird go.

"I will always have too many letters to answer, it seems," said Tarron, who didn't even write that much - his letters tended to be rather brief and formal. "Even if it's drivel from the Improper Use of Magic office."

Her tea had finally cooled properly, and so Aisling sipped at it, while eyeing another of the pastries. The idea of herself in pink was rather unpleasant. She was pale enough already, and had no desire to look like the ancient doll of some child. "'I'm certain some acceptable colors can be found. Or perhaps something neutral with blue and bronze merely as accents."

She finally reached for another of the pastries, careful to not get crumbs on anything. Even if spilling it on the drivel did have a certain appeal. "And I hope to find more interesting subjects for small talk. Perhaps I can determine the specialties of the other guests beforehand, so as to be able to converse intelligently on such matters." There was only the smallest edge of cynicism to her voice, even with the additional letters.

"I think that I will bring some books down here, then, while you answer a few of those. The house is dreadfully quiet these days." She drew her wand, carefully adjusted her grip, then frowned. "Oh, Merlin; I forgot what I was reading. I'll go retrieve it. Would hate to accidentally summon half the books in the house and kill us both."

"Mmm," was his response to that, the grunt coming between sips of his tea. The letter he held in his hand promised to be more silly and pointless whining about cauldron thicknesses or owl regulations or, gods forbid, more of those faulty magic tea sets. No matter what it was, Tarron was sure it'd be a waste of his time.  He set it down as he took his seat again, drawing his wand and slicing the letter open neatly. Why didn't people direct things to the clerks, as they were supposed to?

"Hrmph. If the staff roster's the same as it was when the girls started, you may be able to converse more intelligently than some of the staff," he said, as he scanned the letter. Oh dear - as he'd feared. Magical muggle tea sets that boiled the tea for you and then, in 10% of cases, exploded. At least none of them had gotten loose into the non-magical world this time. "Hogwarts seems to have gone on a spree of hiring a rather eclectic cast."

The way he said eclectic, he was clearly meaning loonies. "Cousin Landis may be your best bet for intelligent conversation, but he has never been one for talking."

It wasn't until after Tarron had finished his critique, or at least his critique for the moment, that Aisling stood and stretched out slightly. "I think that I will have to conduct some research on these eclectic teachers before coming to too many conclusions about their intellectual rigor. And one evening of dull conversation seems a small price to pay for more knowledge of those who are instructing our daughters."

She looked towards the doorway, then back. "And I expect that you'll have enough tedious discussions to manage there without factoring in such matters." A quick kiss blown in his direction, and she headed out with a few more words trailing her. "I'll just go find that book and be right back."

~

It only took a few minutes before she was back with, well, it was actually three books. And a small bag of strawberry jellybeans.

The current Caretaker was a bleedin' lion, Tarron thought. There wasn't much research involved there, though there was a lot of questionable judgement. Efficiency did not seem to be a keyword for Hogwarts hires nowadays - such a pity. He was interested to meet some of the staff himself, of course, but he felt little need to research them. If they couldn't justify themselves to his face, he failed to see how research would assist with that.

"Mmm. Too true." No doubt some of the Wizengamot members would corner him if given the chance. They loved to do that when ever they found the opportunity, even if it was in letters rather than in person.

He shot her a brief smile as she left the room, turning to his letters. He had fresh parchment out before him when she returned, a letter half-written in his quick and elegant hand. ...while it is most distressing to hear of the continued spread of these faulty tea sets, he wrote, pausing only when he heard her come in and looking up briefly.

"Found something worth the look, then?" He asked, drumming a finger on the desk as he re-inked his quill.