The Great Hall
A round table surrounded by chairs and adorned with sparkling decorations
8:40, the music has stuck up and the youthful dancing has begun

"Yes please, get us one, too, yes?"

Hooch touched the shoulder of her companion, Heloise Baillrigg[1] as she left the table to find them something a little more festive to drink.  Heloise had given Xiomara a hard time that evening when they'd reandevoused in Hogsmeade.  'You look like a magpie.  Again.  Can you ever wear any color, Xiomara?  Honestly, black and white again?'  Hooch had replied that not everyone looked so good in chartreuse, and they'd got on their brooms to ride to the castle, robe hems snapping in the wind.

The students had all gathered up close to the band and many of the adults were clusterd together in little knots of discussion and merriment. 

"I hope she returns with something with a bit of a kick," she said to someone next to her.  "It's making for a long night."

But the old broomstick was enjoying herself.  The night had been splendid so far, the students on good behavior, and the food and fare all amazing, just like in '94.   A little different though - watching the first years run around in their small-sized robes and dresses was rather adorable.  She was so used to seeing them in uniform with grass-stained knees...

1.	Hooch's old friend from back in the day.  link

Althea took a deep breath, as she looked over to her date. He was hardly a date at all. "Thanks, Tom, for coming. I really owe you one."

"It's fine, Al." He replied, as he looked down to her. "You would have done the same for me." She smiled.

Althea couldn't find a date. She wasn't emotionally ready to have a date to anything. So, on short notice, she sent an owl to her old buddy, Thomas Pewter. Tom and Althea were friends for a while growing up, and they always had each other's back.

"But I gotta know. What did Natalie say about this?"

"She thinks I'm desperate. You know, really desperate."

"But you are desperate." She slapped him playfully in his arm.

"Hey, hey. It's not my fault I'm alone." He gave her a really? kind of look, and she rolled her eyes. "I'm just not ready for a relationship."

"Of course you're not."

The two friends wandered their way over towards Hooch unknowingly. "Look, go be a good date, and go get me something to drink?" Althea asked with a smile to Tom. He rolled his eyes, as he walked off to get something.


"I hope she returns with something with a bit of a kick,"..."It's making for a long night."

Althea looked over at Hooch. "Oh, I know, right? Kids are behaving though. I expected it to be a little more hectic to be honest."

"The night is young," Hooch replied with a twinkle in her brown-golden eyes.  There was still time for the students to bore of the twinkling snow falling cooly from the cieling, to tire of the many activities and distractions provided on this luminous night, and find their own way to entertain themselves.  Usually at another's expense.  But for now, Hooch was happy to just sit back and enjoy.

"I don't usually go for this sort of thing," the old witch said to the younger, quirky soul of Althea Santucci, "but I must admit this is well... rather divine."  That was an unusual comment to come from the witch who'd always been less than delicate and criticized for lacking feminine grace.  But at 93 years old, Hooch had long become comfortable in her own skin and was no longer bothered (or expected) to perform witch-hood in one way or another. 

"And thank Merlin it's not on the pitch!" she laughed a sharp sort of laugh.  It had come up earlier in the month as a possible venue and old Hooch had nearly died on the spot.  A ball? On her Quidditch pitch? She even still shuddered at the damage.  Glitter... everywhere!

"But I must admit this is well... rather divine."

Althea smiled. "They did extremely well with it." She gestured widely. "Amazing charms, and it's, well, so magical!" She looked up to the ceiling, watching the magical snowflakes spinning in the air. She tilted her head at Hooch. The old lady was just as amazing as she was when Althea was a student at Hogwarts. Truthfully, Althea never liked Quidditch, and avoided Hooch's classes in all ways possible, but now that she looked at the lady, she realized just how down to earth she was.

"And thank Merlin it's not on the pitch!"

Althea smiled and nodded politely. "Yeah, that wouldn't have been good." Truthfully, Althea had voted for it on the pitch. She thought it'd be quite nice on the pitch, streamers, and glitter, making the field shine. "Who did you bring to the dance?" She asked, trying to change the subject.

Hooch did catch a note of politeness in Althea's response about the pitch.  Extra politeness was sometimes indicative of a bit of unpleasentness underneath, but Hooch wasn't bothered.  She spoke her mind and didn't give a flap if others did as well.  The staff had been split at the meeting last month, but there was nothing to devisive as party-planning was there? 

At mention of their dates, Hooch sat up a little to look round for Heloise.  "She was just here... probably got lost amongst the forest surrounding the punch..." 

"You'll meet her when I find her," Hooch said, turning back to Althea.  "She's a very old friend of mine, Heloise Bailrigg.  Ah, that's her over there in the lime green."  Hooch pointed at a short old woman in conversation with some people from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, a dark-skinned witch with fluffy grey hair falling to her shoulders all in a beautiful frenzy.

"We were quite close when we were young, she and I, flew brooms in World War II together."  What Hooch wasn't saying, and probably never would, was that she and Heloise had been romantic for many years.  Their lives changed and their paths split, but they stuck together when time allowed, solid companions even across a distance. 

"I would say she did me a favor to attend, but she'd have done anything to come. What about you? Who's yours?"

"She was just here... probably got lost amongst the forest surrounding the punch..."

Althea smiled. It was a perfect way to describe the punch bowl at the moment. She didn't have the slightest idea on how Tom was going to get the punch. Growing up, he hated crowds, and got easily claustrophobic. But to be fair, most of the kids he was surrounded by were 16 year olds. He'd probably be fine. He could handle himself.

As Hooch described her date, Althea started to scan the crowds, looking for the person she was talking about. Hooch pointed, and Althea nodded in agreement. She had seen the lady. "That's nice. You look very nice to night as well, Professor." She put a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to adjust to being a professor, and not a student. It's really weird."

"I would say she did me a favor to attend, but she'd have done anything to come. What about you? Who's yours?"

She started to relook over the crowd, her eyes wanting to find Tom, but he walked up behind her. "Right here." He extended a hand. "Hi there, I'm Tom Pewter. Graduating class of 1995." In one hand he held only one glass of punch. "Sorry Al, it was all I could grab. You can have it though." Althea took it from his hands.

"You see, Al here is kind of desperate. She needed a date, so she shot me an owl asking me if I'd play her boyfriend." Tom explained. Althea flushed red.

"That's not what happened. I'm not desperate, and I didn't ask you to play my boyfriend." She laughed nervously, and looked to Hooch, knowing that her secret was probably out. Tom gave a knowing nod.

Hooch smiled tolerantly as she was complimented knowing better than to bat the pleasentries away.  Althea was kind to say so and that was what mattered; not that Hooch didn't care for fancy dresses and had put up a fuss. 

But ah - here came Mr. Date.  Hooch recognized him just a little in that way most faces rang a bell for the Flying teacher.  Each year she met fifty small children and then they promptly went onto other things.  Ah yes, Tommy Pewter.  Good lad.  Hooch shook his hand and nodded, not bothering to rise.  She was quite comfortable where she was and she knew that if she stood someone might get bold and ask for a dance. 

Althea was adorably young as she interacted with Tom Pewter, the both of them blushing and carrying on. 

"You know what's funny," Hooch said loudly after a long pause, "You're finding it difficult to see yourself as a professor rather than a student but the students -" she nodded over to the larger group near the band, "accept it implicitly.  Because no matter how twenty-something you feel, to them we're all old." 

She smiled and wrinkled her nose.  "But then, how must McGonagall feel - hiring a former student? Fake it til you make it, they say! Works wonders with a Cheering Charm, you know."

"Cheering charm? Now there might be an idea."

Ignan Storm found a seat with the others, glad to hide for a moment at least. He always felt like a spare part at these occasions, though he didn't shy from the dancing if he was required to partake. This evening, almost certainly to partake.

"Ladies." He greeted politely, and then spotting Santucci's companion, he gave an acknowledging nod, sympathising with the man mutely over the fact he'd been dragged out, whoever he was.

Surveying the hormone-rich dancers on the floor, he sighed and sat back, a firewhiskey in his hand,
"Merlin, makes you sad they didn't all get Dragon Pox after all." The was a very thin edge of sarcasm to his voice.

Nightingale, in his time at Hogwarts hadn't been a very good student when it came to Hooch's class. He's suffered through it with his eyes closed mostly and clinging to his broom like a tree branch. It was a conundrum considering his name, and his devoted passion for the forests where he spent most of his time at the top of a tree as a child. However, when it came to flying? This little bird did better on the ground, but still he loved this woman dearly. Even now, with his classroom so high up he could watch the flying courses going on below. 

"You wouldn't need a Cheering Charm." He smiled as he started to take a seat, but realized Ignan was there as well and instantly slowed. Fire whiskey? Made his stomach turn, but the little plate of cream puffs he devoured earlier hadn't started to upset him until he got a really good look at Professor Storm. For the moment he gave them all a little smile in greeting before his attention turned to the dance floor, and his excuse--happy to just sit down a moment.

Ignan could use the Cheering Charm, but he kept that little bit to himself.

Ferreole LeBeau felt tired. It had been a terribly long time since he had felt tired, fueled along by the inestimable energy of the students he taught.  But lately—since arriving, really—he leaned more heavily on his cane than he had mere months ago, took longer to cross a room when he used to fly like his peg leg was indeed enchanted. He swooped considerably less often, boomed somewhat more softly, and the limp that had always been present had slowly become more and more pronounced. It was subtle, gradual, but Ferreole was aware of it. He was slowing down. He'd rather hoped it would wait until the year was through—or at least until this preposterous nonsense about Dragon Pox had blown over, did he not have an Order of Merlin for pox prevention potions? Had he not earned his very position by eradicating illness from his school? It was a bone-deep personal insult. But he knew well that was in the past, and Salem had been bound to face something of suspicions simply for being new. His greatest regret was that the ones bearing the burden were his students. No matter how much paperwork he produced, the fantastical rumor would be more interesting.

But it tired him.

Even his outfit was more muted than usual, though he had wrapped his wooden leg in an astonishingly twinkly bit of tinsel, and—in a nod to the pirate the Hogwarts first years seemed convinced that he was—perched on his shoulder was a tweeting turtledove, who periodically rustled its feathers and sent a gentle dusting of colored snowflakes drifting down the man's silvery robes.

"A pox on dat pox!" He grumbled, catching the tail end of Ignan's comment, but his eyes twinkled even as knobbly hands navigated the wood of his cane to ease himself into a seat next to the pale-haired young charms professor. "Anyway, dey jes be makin' moon eyes at each o'ter in hospital robes 'stead o' fancy fripperies."

The sour mood being this close to Ignan instantly shifted the moment he heard LeBeau's voice, and everything about the moon colored Professor perked up.

"A comical image, of more the hospital robes than the moon eyes, Sir. As I'm sure even Professor Storm had a time when such things did happen." Opening his hand he would help Ferreole if the time came, but it seemed the man managed well enough on his own. "Can I get you anything?" He asked quietly admiring the man a moment, and smiling as he did.

Nightingale was fascinated by the Salem Headmaster, from the classic way he always seemed to dress, and into the very deep rich accent that made even his scoldings sound pleasant. There was no doubt he was a fierce creature when the time came, but for now all Gale could really do was think of him in fondness.

---

Gale's Attire

The night had been going well, very well in fact, with only the most minor of disturbances. The attendees seemed to be having a superb time and the smiles were abundant. Though Minerva found a distaste for some of the dress choices and the dance choices, she couldn’t help but feel her heart swell with pride at the behavior exhibited. Though the night was indeed, still young, she was proud that she’d not had to deal with any extraneous ruckus.

The headmistress had been on the floor, twirling the night away since the ending of the Champion’s Dance, and she was loathe to admit that it was time for a break. She excused herself from upon Herschel Reid’s arm and made her way over to the quickly gathering group of her colleagues, pausing only long enough to refill her goblet with a splash of punch. The punchbowl was overrun with students from all houses, schools, and years and they all seemed to part rather easily for the head of Hogwarts. She offered them a small smile and waved away the eager second year, attempting to hold the ladle for her.

Minerva’s dress robes billowed around her as she approached the table. Her eyes twinkled at the sight of Gale and Althea, two students she had taught while at school, now under her employ. The smile only grew as her eyes landed on Xiomara and Ignan. She didn’t know the accoutrements of the professors, but could assume who went with whom. A girlish giggle escaped her lips as she noticed the tinsel around LeBeau’s wooden peg, only a wizard as confident as he could manage to pull something like that off.

A light sheen of sweat adorned her brow, but in all Minerva’s excitement it went unnoticed. “I daresay a set of hospital robes might cover a bit more than some of the more modern attire displayed tonight,” She said, catching the tail end of the conversation.

"Merlin, makes you sad they didn't all get Dragon Pox after all."

Hooch almost snorted a laugh at Storm.  If the pox hadn't got them all, the screening process itself nearly did. It had been quite the moment, hadn't it?  Storm's dark humor (was he even joking) was a welcome macabre amid all the peppermint.  She turned over her shoulder.  Oh, Merlin, where had Heliose got off to?  The social butterfly ever, that old witch. 

As lovely as it was to interact with a young witch like Althea, Hooch was a touch put off at the addition of the very strange Charms professor.  The one who'd caused a ruckus in the meeting who.. looked and dressed like a unicorn.  Bizarre fellow...

But ah - Hooch took notice as the Headmaster of Salem joined their table.  When Hooch had first laid eyes on him, she'd immediately liked him.  Strange, thumping, old man he was.  She had her robust approval, but she wasn't the sort to swoon.

"Join us, Headmaster," was all she encouraged.  A witch of few words. 

And the gathering was getting better and better - perhaps this was what Heliose had been talking about.  A Ball being a wonderful opportunity to just to be with friends and make merry.  Minerva McGonagall had joined them, the Headmistress herself, a witch Xiomara had always much admired.  And she was making merry in the way they all seemed to be favoring at the moment: bitter complaining about young people these days.

"They've all taken off their shoes.  A fuss to get them on and they shed them first chance they get."

Around under the tables and near the trees, many of the young witches had created little shoe salads, piles of sparkling strappy high-heeled shoes, now abandoned so they could do whatever that jumping around in a group was called.

Ignan mumbled in agreement about the attire being too little tonight and too revealing. It was good to sit amongst colleagues for a minute and not have to wander round or be polite to others. There were plenty to speak to, but he was weary of trying.

"A few more hours and it'll all be over. They'll be packed off on the train and we'll be free of them for a couple of weeks." His features looked blissful for a moment as he considered it. "Longest few hours of our lives, undoubtedly."

He frowned,
"Yes, why do you women do that?" He gestured to the shoes with bewilderment.

"They simply haven't built up a tolerance to unmitigated pain in favor of scandalously shaped legs, Professor," the glittering Author's voice was smoothly bemused as she slithered her way into the conversation. It was strange that she didn't feel more strange being back in the Great Hall. Hogwarts was still home, even after so many years of being away. Slipping into an empty chair she offered a salute to the table with a glass of Champagne. "Be glad they're in their stocking feet. Far less likely to break an ankle and botch up the third task. Playing a man down never goes well for anyone," her lips twitched with a smile as she let her eyes wander around the table. It had taken her all of five minutes to lose Maiko, but it had been a fun five minutes of ooohing and aaahing over one another's gowns before they'd been separated. SO now she was making conversation with almost complete and total strangers, "I would think you'd be absolutely giddy with glee, Professor, at the prospect of being rid of them in just a few hours".