The news had been terrible, when he'd gotten the letter. Tarron was getting to the age where the black letters were getting more common - a grandparent here, an old classmate there. But to receive the letter for one of his cousins, especially for one younger than himself, had been heartbreaking.

Herschel, for his part, had handled it as well as anyone could expect. The man seemed to be recovering, but the somber mood was difficult to overcome, even for Tarron. He hadn't known his cousin well - certainly not as well as he should have, in hindsight. But his father's grief was palpable, and it hung over even letter like a cloud.

Therefore this subject was to be entirely avoided at dinner - as well as they could, anyhow.

It was 7 o' clock on a Thursday night, the late month meaning it was dark outside already. Snow, some of the first of the year, was drifting gently against the windows, illuminated by the old street lamp in their front courtyard. The table had been elegantly set by Knix and the house was, as ever, quiet. It had always been quiet, but now it was the silence of too few people in a large house as opposed to people simply opting not to make much noise. Somewhere - likely from the study - a record played. He'd have to turn that off.

"Krix, please bring another tea set," he told the elf, upon inspecting the table. The patterns didn't match - a faux pas that Tarron was not about to commit, even in front of family. He'd invited his cousin to get this mind off the recent death, not to have the poor man insult by improper dinnerware. "The proper one is in the top cupboard."

He sniffed, putting down the teacup he'd been inspecting as the house elf hurried about her task. "And tell Mistress our guest should be here soon," he added.

If there were any more unpleasant circumstances under which to invite someone to dinner, they weren't immediately coming to Aisling's mind. She was just making one last inspection of the house, which seemed to be in immaculate shape. Though with how much people had been around these last few months, the main concern was dust. And books. And all of the books had been properly shelved.

Krix's appearance was something Aisling had been expecting for several minutes before it happened, and so she simply nodded when the House-Elf relayed Tarron's message, then headed to the dining room.  "Everything seems to be in order, dear. Is there anything else you would like me to check?" Her voice was extremely soft.

Walking through muggle london wearing his usual garb attracted more than a few strange looks from pedestrians. Typically he would not wear such boots, but with the snow falling they were the most practical. It would have been decidedly better were there a satisfying crunch beneath them, but as the sidewalks just outside of the entrance to Diagon Alley were well traveled- his boots instead produced a most disappointing sloshing sound as they moved through the slush.

The invitation from his nephew to dinner, though unexpected, had not caught him wholly off guard. He had received many sympathy notes, letters, and invitations after the death of his son. He had, for the most part, respectfully and politely declined the majority of them. Sitting around, being a spectacle of pity, was not something which Herschel Reid enjoyed. But he felt a small amount of kinship with his nephew. Both had been labelled traitors in the eyes of their family- and one did not reject the invitation of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, especially when that chief warlock happened to be family. Thus he had agreed to dinner.

Navigating muggle London was an exhausting and annoying task to Herschel. He had been doing it increasingly more this last month as arrangements had been made for his son and daughter-in-law. It had only served to further remind him of his pureblood roots, and to make him more aware than he'd like to be of the fact he was still a pureblood through and through- even if his political affiliations and beliefs had changed over the years. Herschel had, on more than one occasion, caught himself looking down on his late daughter-in-law's muggle relatives. A trait which he had thought to be long gone.

Herschel opened the gate to his cousin's home. The illusion of a modern London residence giving way to a stone estate. Ah, magic. How convenient it could be and how easily overlooked in the midst of muggles. He strolled up the walk to the front door of the estate. Herschel lifted the heavy knocker and let it slam twice, in quick succession, upon the front door. Moments later it opened, a house elf bowing in front of him- the tip of its nose brushing the floor. Herschel allowed the creature to take his coat, and then set about knocking the muck from his boots, using a couple of quick spells to clean up the mess.

Aisling appeared, and Tarron shot her a quick but not particularly sunny smile. "No, I believe all is well. Krix seems to have done her duty admirably," was his rather gruff reply, as he straightened out his coat. The last-minute checking of his appearance was habitual, and he drew his wand to remove some lint from the sleeve of his jacket. That was about as high praise as the elf ever got, but if she was pleased by it, she didn't show it; instead she squeaked and headed off to usher in Herschel, as they all heard the sound of the opening door.

Tarron nodded to Aisling and then followed the elf, maintaining a respectful distance from Herschel when he arrived at the doorway. While the two men were quite close in age, Herschel's place in the family tree demanded Tarron's respect - even if, with the man's recent step down from Hogwarts, Tarron outranked him in a societal sense.

He smiled briefly as Herschel knocked the mud off of his boots. "Uncle. It's good to see you," he said, bowing his head politely. "I do hope your trip through London was without incident?"

The fact that the house was, in fact, up to Tarron's standards of preparation provided Aisling just a little relief from her feelings of apprehension. While she could hide them well enough, dismissing them around the elder members of his family, even members who seemed to have little cause to dislike her, was something she had never quite mastered. A short memory was not among her virtues.

When the noise at the door announced Herschel's arrival, she followed Tarron there, and stayed a little behind her husband as he greeted the new arrival. She gave a deeper bow of the head than he had, along with a demure smile, but remained silent for the moment.

"Tarron," he greeted, with a polite nod of his own. Once his boots were clean, and the mess they had made wiped away by magic, he straightened and offered a light smile to his nephew and his wife. "Apart from a few odd stares. I often forget to appear a bit more muggle. I had someone ask me if I was in a play... I simple agreed and pressed on."

"It is good to see you both. I am appreciative of the dinner invitation." Living as a bachelor since his wife had passed had left Herschel eating most of his dinners alone... and eating out more than he ought to. "You look lovely this evening, Aisling."

He sniffed the air, and his smile broadened. "It smells delicious." Hopefully a night of company would do him some good. He was starting to heal- as best as he could- from the loss of his son. Being away from Hogwarts was making it easier. Though he did have far too much idle time on his hands without a project of his own.

Herschel seemed in better spirits than Tarron had feared he would be - which was good, thankfully. He'd been afraid this dinner would quickly turn to long, awkward pauses and a feeling of dark mourning, but Herschel seemed as eager to have a pleasant time as his nephew was. He offered his uncle the briefest of smiles, and stepped aside to motion him in to the dining room.

It was very well laid-out, though smaller than some of the grander dining halls owned by more prominent pureblood families. The table was covered in elegant (now fully matching) dinnerware, and as they arrived Krix finished laying out the first course.

He pulled out a chair for Aisling, patting her shoulder briefly before taking his seat at the head of the table. "The Muggles around here are slightly better about wizarding sights than the rest, it seems," he observed, as Krix began to serve the food. "Aisling chose to spread the rumor that we are part of..." He paused just a moment, glancing at Aisling, "A historical enthusiast group, was it? It seems to have stopped the prying questions from the neighbors."

"It's good to see you as well. And thank you."  Aisling relaxed a fraction, and allowed herself a bit of mental amusement as she followed the others into the dining hall. The image of Muggles eyeing Herschel in a confused fashion had a certain reassurance, largely derived from the fact that his clothing, while formal, wasn't unusual enough to be actually problematic.

Once they'd been seated she nodded at Tarron's question, then shot a pleased look at Krix. "Well, all I truly told them was that you had a particular fondness for historical fashions. They created the rest of the construct themselves on assumptions and guesswork. And have never given me cause to gainsay it." Perhaps it would be a nice dinner, after all. It seemed as if they could all use such. "But yes, they did cease the questions once they were able to write us off as harmlessly eccentric."

Herschel followed Tarron into the dining room, waiting on Aisling to be seated before taking his own seat. "What a clever way to confound the muggles," he commented. Historical enthusiasts! So very, very clever. "And convenient. I did not have the appropriate garb to disguise myself in muggle London." And Herschel wouldn't know how to go about finding it... Nor did he really care to.

"It amuses me how easy it is to describe our kind as eccentric... Both within and outside of our own society." Purebloods were especially prone to eccentricity, it seemed. As far as he knew, Herschel had never been described as such himself. Something he prided himself on. Herschel liked people knowing that he was in full of his mental faculties.

"How are things at the ministry?" he asked, directing the question at both of his guests. "Well, I hope. I admit since I was at Hogwarts I lost touch with the mainstream news and society. It is amazing the goings on within the halls..." he trailed off in melancholy for a moment. Having to leave Hogwarts had been hard. It had been a culmination of his career, and so very short lived. Just a few months. He had hoped to do a better job than that.

Tarron grunted and frowned at Aisling's correction, his usual response when he agreed but didn't have much to say. He wasn't too fond of being labeled eccentric, but his neighbors had long since stopped staring. It had to be the dignity, naturally. It commanded others' respect, no matter what he wore.

"Muggles have a remarkable ability to ignore the remarkable," he said. It was one of his favorite things about them - it certainly kept down the paperwork. He smiled slightly. "We had a man up in front of us the other week who had chosen to wear a ballet tutu and galoshes on..what is it they call it? The Tube, I believe. It's their underground train. He'd been detained by the muggle police for it," he said, choosing not to add that that had in fact been all the man had had on. "So long as you do not do that, Uncle, you will get no complaints from me."

He ate for a few moments, washing the meat down with wine before he answered Herschel, as was the polite thing to do.

"The Ministry is a hive of petty complaints and constant bickering," he said, which in his opinion was how a government was supposed to be run. "If it's not one thing, it's another, as they say."

Aisling nibbled at her meal as she listened to the others. Krix had outdone herself yet again. And concentrating on the food was a much better choice than considering the case Tarron had mentioned. There were few mental images that seemed more unpleasant than it, and none of them were appropriate for dinner.

The wine was also much better to think about then a confused wizard in a tutu. She waited until Tarron had finished speaking, then shot him a bit of a sympathetic smile. "The Ministry hasn't changed much. I was rather busy after Halloween. But my part in those incidents is over now, and I do hope there won't be anything too large over the Christmas break."

She then sipped at her wine, silently considering the best possible responses were such an issue to arise. None of them seemed optimal. "Drunken antics tend to be the most common culprit. So if those are all that I have to deal with then, I will be grateful."

"It amazes me how the muggles get along, being so oblivious," he commented. "Of course, they do have their struggles. So clever, they are, learning how to get along without magic. Machinery and what not. Pity, though, how long it takes them to do things." Herschel shook his head a little. Poor muggles.

He focused on his dinner as Tarron commented that the ministry was nothing but complaints and bickering. That did not surprise him. And then his wife mentioned the muggle baiting that went on during Halloween. "Ah, yes. I hear about that. I have never understood how the ministry let Wiedman off the hook over a quidditch contract. A war criminal is a war criminal. Entertaining the masses by being vicious is hardly an excuse to keep a man from Azkaban."

"I don't suppose that I envy either of you. Dealing with the politics of Hogwarts is very limited. Even as a governor. You deal with parental concerns. Write the same polite response the vast majority of the time. It's about pacification more than anything." He sipped his wine, hiding a sigh of nostalgia behind the action. Hogwarts. He already missed the place.

"What you do is especially admirable," he said to Aisling. "I haven't the patience for muggles. Muggleborn students cease to be quite so frustrating once they have surpassed their first year and understand enough of the magical world to fit in. But a real muggle? You must have the patience of Helga Hufflepuff."

Tarron's expression was politely neutral and dignified as Herschel spoke. The man's words and sentiments in regard to muggles were ones that, years ago, he had agreed with with enthusiasm - while he'd never quite been a muggle hater, he'd certainly not liked them. But years of being married to Aisling had tempered him considerably - and his experience with muggles now that he'd lived near them had helped, too.

"Quite," he said, politely, smiling slightly. Thankfully, Herschel turned his words to politics, and Tarron sat back slightly, eating as Herschel spoke. When the man finished, Tarron sipped some wine as he considered his response.

"Mmm, no, I quite agree. Quidditch star or not, deaths are deaths - though I suppose his age at the time of the conflict had some influence on his sentence. A pity, really, that he has not changed his ways in his adult life." He sniffed. Death Eaters and their ilk were simply distasteful - beliefs were one thing, but they were supposed to be civilized, not barbarians.

Krix refilled his wine glass, which he acknowledge with a slight nod.

"Ministry politics are not that much different, then. So many people want things they cannot have; finding the best way to say no can occupy the majority of my day. I imagine the incidents and Tournament make life a bit more interesting, though?"

Aisling had heard many similar comments to Herschel's over the years. The fact that they tended to be benign, or at least intended as such, could never quite remove the sting. None of which made it into  a point which she wished to press, especially on such an evening. So, she simply responded with a soft "Thank you," and a quick smile to the intended compliment, and settled back with her drink to listen to the slightly more removed topic of politics.

"Indeed. Though I have seen people change over time, his altered sentence has not achieved such. Hopefully his past actions will be taken into account with this crime. I hardly desire to clean up another incident." Especially since it seemed that the Muggle police were gaining the most interesting equipment, and if it worked against muggle-baiters, then they would have a quite problematic flavor of catastrophe on their hands.

But that was hardly a subject to think too deeply on for such an evening.  So she fell quiet and turned an attentive gaze towards Herschel. To listen and sip at her wine seemed a fitting course for the moment.

"The tournament politics were lost on me, I am afraid. Though I certainly did desire for Hogwarts to prevail, I had no desire to see that happen through dishonest means. We shall see how things continue... Though I have an inkling that McGonagall likely agrees with that course of action. I admit my interactions with fellow headmasters and the headmistress of Beauxbatons were brief and not very often. Mostly it just seemed as though Hogwarts was much larger than it once had been. It had yet to become... overly competitive when I left my post." He frowned again, and busied himself with his wine in response.

"I find it silly that grown witches and wizards are having temper tantrums at being told no. It is a part of being an adult, and running your course in politics. They should focus more on compromise, and getting a fraction of what they desire, rather than making outrageous demands only to find themselves entirely disappointed in the end. Then again, I suppose I never had much of a mind for politics. I am a bit too easy going and soft spoken for that arena, I daresay."

"I learned enough of the game taking my post as headmaster. It is difficult not to be overly controversial. Especially in matters which are most important at the present moment. Luckily I had the cooperation of the ministry when settling on things like the fate of Hogwarts' werewolf students and the influence of Minister Zephyr when it came to finalizing tournament arrangements." Herschel was very fond of Peresepolis. He found her company pleasant and her conversation engaging. She spoke with a truly silver tongue. He enjoyed listening to the hemming and hawing of that sort of person.