Annie Enright, for all of the effort she made to appear halfway normal in polite company, had a difficult time studying in the library with her peers. It wasn't just the Hogwarts library, either, though she did find the ambiance of the place a little bit bleak for her tastes, which didn't help temper her anxiety any. Regardless, she hadn't exactly been able to contain herself within Salem's library back home, either. On rare occasions just reading and re-writing notes was enough for her, but Annie's own particular study methods usually involved a lot of obsessive mumbling, physical gesturing, and frantic page turning, and when she wasn't the library's only inhabitant, she tended to disturb the other students. A practice room was better suited toward the type of hands on, five-senses, immersion-style studying she preferred to engage in, where she could ramble off facts until contented. Today, though she'd once again tried to use the library for its intended purpose as a mecca for desperately studying students, she just wasn't making progress. She was in the midst of midterms given by teachers she'd never had before, and almost just wasn't good enough. Perfect scores required perfect practice, and she couldn't practice in a place where she had to be quiet and contained. So, the brunette, looking flustered, had packed up her things, secured them in her school bag, and pushed her way back out into the hallway, her head bent over her stack of flash cards.

She mumbled to herself unintelligibly, the words coming softly but frantically, as though she were desperately trying to cast a complex jinx. Meanwhile, her hand was flying around at her side like it had a life of its own. She held it up at chest level and, while she chanted to herself, went through various wand motions, trying to integrate them into her working muscle memory. That was a major part of her study regime. In the past she had found herself getting nervous or overexcited and, feeling flustered, she'd completely forget what to do with her hands during a spell and end up embarrassing herself. She preferred to practice in front of a mirror whenever possible, but it was too close to exam time for that nonsense, anyway. There were no mirrors in the classrooms, so she couldn't rely on that. And thus, the girl mumbled and flailed, completely oblivious to her surroundings. Her school bag had slipped from her shoulder and down to her elbow, where it was weighing down the arm that held her flash cards, but she barely noticed.  She didn't notice that there was anyone else in the hallway with her, either. Annie was in her study bubble, and she didn't realize just how close that bubble was to getting popped.

She hated this castle, hated it! She kept getting lost, and half of the time had no idea where she was, and those stairs... those damned stairs would be the death of her. It was cold, it was damp, it was eerie and she missed the sun and warmth of France, but it had it's good points too. Point was, Arianne was now in the midst of getting lost again, she had descended from her quarters on the fifth floor with the intent of finding the Hogwarts counselor to propose teaching a course together, when those blasted stairs decided to change course right when she stepped on them. She thought she was on the fourth floor, but she really didn't know, everything looked the same here. Eventually, after some aimless walking she recognized the corridor that led to the library, she might as well pick up something to read if she was here.

The corridor was deserted apart from a short brunette, possibly from Salem by her uniform, that was mumbling to herself completely enraptured in whatever it was that she was doing. The blonde witch was far too frustrated too slip the opportunity of  taking it out on the young lady who was a complete disgrace to everything Arianne stood for. Mumbling to herself, her arm flailing around, her school bag dangling from her arm in all directions, she was a mess and when she had eventually reached Arianne, she completely ignored her presence. Arianne chuckled softly and threw her hair over her shoudler before turnign to look after the girl.

"Mademosielle!" she said in an ominous tone, yet without raising her voice at all. The girl flinched  and turned to her, Arianne felt a slight wave of satisfaction at that. "When you pass a professor you should stop and greet them regardless if you are a student in their classes, or do they not teach you that at Salem?" she said dramatically arching an eyebrow. "And is that a way a young lady should parade herself on the corridors of an educational institution? Mumbling to herself and flailing her arms around?" she continued as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Your cardigan will crease and your tie is crooked because of the weight applied on the shirt by that bag dangling from your arm. Fix yourself, this instant, before we continue the conversation, Miss!" she said quickly raising her voice a little.

Annie didn't often answer to 'mademoiselle.' Why should she? Nobody called her that, as a rule. The only reason she'd even looked up when the Barbie Doll of a Beauxbatons professor addressed her was because she'd mistakenly thought that she was alone in the corridor and the sudden voice had frightened the living daylights out of her. Her head had shot up, her hand still frozen in the air beside her, mid-gesture. She hadn't known whether to expect a ghost, a chatty portrait, or a person standing before her in the hall. Though she seemed solid, this pale and perfect professor could have been a ghost, as quietly as she'd appeared and as subtly as she'd addressed the harried girl. Annie's eyes were wide, her forehead crumpled in a million different creases. It took her a good second to snap out of her stupor and allow her hand to softly drift back down to her side, as though she were trying to pass off having had it there all along.

The pretty woman proceeded to scold her, asking plenty of questions but not giving her half a second to so much as dream up an answer to them. She was struck slightly speechless, wanting to say something, but officially certain that anything she said to this paragon of propriety would be wrong and only contribute to her complaints. Her mouth was gaping open in the slightest, like she'd been planning to speak but had changed her mind after she started. She blinked.

“Sorry!” she gushed, her eyebrows darting downward apologetically, “I'm sorry! I, um... hi. I'm sorry. Let me just... okay,” she rambled anxiously, tapping her cards into a neat pile on her knee and dropping her bag to the floor. She knelt down to slip them into a pocket on the side of her bag and just as quickly scrambled back up to her feet, adjusting everything about her that had been criticized, and then a few things that hadn't been. She ran a hand over her braid, checked her skirt and, although she felt the strongest inclination to pull up her tights, refrained. Oh goodness, she really, really missed the practice rooms at Salem. Really.

“Am I um, is this okay, ma'am? I promise I didn't mean to insult you. I was just... I... I don't know. I was practicing. But I'll stop,” she insisted pleadingly, looking up at the foreign professor for some sign of approval. “Should I, um...?” she went on awkwardly, looking more and more unsure as each word emerged from her lips. “My room's downstairs. I... um... okay.”

"Don't mutter, girl. It is most unbecoming of a young lady!" she said in an exasperated voice. She was slightly amused at the girl's hopeless attempts at forming a sentence, but by the time she was finished fixing herself, Arianne had grown tired of her ineptitude. She took a few steps towards her, her dusty pink satin heels making loud noises on the stone floor and examined her from head to toe. She uncrossed her arms, and grabbed the knot of the tie with her perfectly manicured hands then tightened the tie more. She took a step back and smiled satisfied. "Yes, much better" she said softly. "And never call me ma'am, as a matter of fact, do not ever use that term, it makes you seem rather rustre -unrefined, rural" she waved it off in frustration. "If you wish to address me, you will do so by calling me Mademoiselle Desrosiers, but if that's too much, Professor will have to do" she added in a a calm voice, yet a disapproving smile plastered on her face.

Still at arm's length from the girl she squinted her eyes and gave her another look. She grabbed her chin with her hand and slowly moved her head to the sides, before quickly retrieving her hand. "You're a pretty little thing... Your manners and behavior are atrocious, your don't seem to be at all interested in your outer appearance, but you have been blessed with rather good genes" she said in her heavy French accent as she still analyzed her. She was no extraordinary beauty, but she had a pleasant face with big doe-eyes of a warm brown, lovely plump lips and a perfectly warm, golden hue of her skin. Her nose however, was rather obnoxiously taking up most of her face, however. Pity. She had pretty hair, from what the blond witch could tell and it was a shame she didn't let it fall down her back. She was rather petite, but in a delicate sort of way. She could never wear anything with a more revealing décolletage, but with the right clothes, she could be a perfect example of the innocent beauty.

"Hmm..." she said out loud, then took another step back and crossed her arms again. "What's your name, Miss?"

Annie almost, almost replied to the professor's correction about how to address her with an automatic 'yes, ma'am', but caught herself before she could prove just how incompetent she was. She wasn't trying to be rude, but where she was from, 'ma'am' was considered a perfectly polite form of address. She didn't speak french, and calling her teachers 'professor' still felt a little bit unnatural, despite having been doing it for several months. She nodded her agreement, afraid that anything that came out of her mouth was going to be taken as heinously impolite. Her whole body had stiffened up, much like a paper doll's, and she tried to breathe as little as possible as the dainty Beauxbaton's teacher encroached on her. If 'rural' was wrong then she didn't know that anything she said or did would impress the nitpicky professor. She had, after all, been raised in the literal middle of nowhere. One of her best friends was an alpaca. She was more comfortable in a barn than in a bedroom. The girl was, without a doubt, rural. She was also a pureblooded witch, however, and she liked to think she knew how to conduct herself (well, when she wasn't anxious as all getup and being appraised by a fairy princess). It was better, she decided, to try and be as inoffensive as possible, at least until she was dismissed.

If possible, Annie grew even stiffer once the woman was touching her. If she was too rural to speak, maybe she'd be acceptable as a mannequin? Merlin, all she wanted to do was walk away from this encounter without beginning to sob hysterically. This detail-oriented woman was making it difficult for the girl, who prided herself on being quite meticulous, to feel like she was worth anything, and it was a lot more stress than she wanted to handle during midterms week. While Mademoiselle Desrosiers took to rotating her head in various directions, Annie went over the pronunciation of the professor's name in her head over and over, hoping not to botch her greeting next time. When she began to speak, Annie swallowed hard, not entirely sure whether or not the woman was mocking her. She knew she wasn't pretty, and she tended to think that her overall grooming was quite neat (with the exception of her bag slipping, of course, but that had been an accident!). Everything she was saying seemed to contradict everything Annie knew about herself... with the exception of the insults to her behavior, which just came off as hurtful. She'd only known Annie for thirty seconds and she already hated her? It seemed like a very hasty assessment. If she ever wound up in one of Desrosiers's classes she'd probably fail before she took the first test.

What's your name, Miss?”

Annie paused. Coming from this woman, 'what's your name?' seemed like the type of question she could somehow get wrong. Based on Annie's own hasty assessment of this woman, she knew she was likely looking for a wrong answer. There had to be a best way to answer her and, for the sake of her dignity, Annie wanted to get it right. Of course, she came off like she was simple for the few short seconds she stood there considering it, but ultimately replied with a very softly spoken “My name is... Anne Prewett Enright, Mademoiselle Desrosiers.” There. A complete sentence, and she'd prevented herself from adding an unnecessary 'um' right in the middle, as desperately as she'd wanted to. Plus, she'd addressed her how she'd asked, which mean she was learning.... right? She'd been a little quiet, but it felt like the louder she spoke, the more wrong her potentially wrong answer might be. Annie glanced up at her hopefully, her eyes wide and pleading, seeming to beg 'just let me get this one thing right'.

She smiled approvingly as she heard her name roll of the girl's tongue, the accent a bit botched, but then again Americans never quite got French right. It was accurate enough, however and Arianne was please. She also didn't mumble. Miss Enright was learning quickly. "Enright, Enright... You're family is of very good standing, old and with a pure wizarding line and also famous breeders of winged horses, correctement?" those long , long years of learning history of magic and magical families, were not wasted in this case. "I'm rather surprised and very disappointed, Mademosielle Enright. With your heritage, I would've expected much more from you" she furrowed her brows and grimaced subtly. "Does your family approve of your... behavior?" she put it as mildly as possible. She decided she didn't really want an answer to that question.

"Certainly not, I hope" she said disapprovingly. "Next semester I will start a Social Graces seminar, it will not interfere with other classes and tournament training. I expect to see you in my classes, oui?" her voice implied this was not a question, but rather a demand or an order. "What were you studying so hard that you ended up completely oblivious to your surroundings?"she asked, now in a pleasant tone. She couldn't scare all her possible students. She had the girl's best interest at heart, her methods were rather harsh at times, but she though herself a good educator. Alternating the good with the bad kept the students on their toes without being terrified of her all the time.

She'd heard of her before? Well, it seemed she'd heard of her family, anyway, though Annie wasn't sure if that was a comfort or not. She nodded a few times in response, but tacked on another softly spoken “Yes, Mademoiselle Desrosiers,” at the end, just to prove she'd picked up on what she'd been chided for. She'd never thought of her family as famous before, and she still wasn't certain it was true – though the fact that a random school teacher from France had heard of her family's business suggested otherwise. She knew Hippogriff's Crossing was well known in New England, but it was actually slightly unsettling that someone so far removed from the forests of Northern Maine was familiar with what went on there – unless, of course, Miss Desrosiers dealt in horses. Could that be the case? As curious as she was, Annie found herself too afraid of the beautiful professor to ask.

'Does your family approve of your... behavior? “

Annie would have answered her, but there were two reasons why she couldn't. The first reason was that the woman just kept right on talking, giving her no time to answer even if she wanted to. The second reason was that she wasn't entirely sure what behavior Mademoiselle Desrosiers was referring to. Was she asking if her family approved of studying? Of getting distracted? Of walking in hallways? What? She really didn't think she'd done anything that unforgivably horrible, but clearly she'd offended this fair haired professor in some inexcusable way. Was her tie really that crooked? Merlin. She hated this surprise ambush of judgment. It was making her stomach hurt, and she wasn't certain how much longer she could stand here listening to someone she didn't know telling her that she was horrible and unworthy and disgraceful before she burst into tears. Was she really so, so bad at talking that she needed to take a class on it? She bit down hard on her lower lip, worrying at it in her attempt to keep it from quivering.

”What were you studying so hard that you ended up completely oblivious to your surroundings?”

When she replied this time her voice was still hushed, but it was abundantly obvious that the girl was doing all she could to hold back tears. “I was studying my note cards,” she sniffled but, a moment later a panicked look came over her face and she tacked on a half-mumbled, “Mademoiselle Desrosiers,” just in case. When she'd told her to address her that way had she meant all the time? She supposed she'd find out during the seminar she was now required to take for being such a horrible person. “I have cards for every subject, and then before exams week I, um, I shuffle them – well, not really shuffle them, but I sort them into decks, one for what I know and one for what I'm still working on, and then I, um, put the cards I know away and shuffle the ones I don't and work on those,” she rambled anxiously, as though she feared execution if she provided the wrong response. She sighed with relief when she got through the response, but half a second later she blanched white and chomped down on her lip so hard you'd think she was hoping to draw blood. “Mademoiselle Desrosiers,” she tacked on hastily, one pathetic tear striking out on its own and sliding down her cheek. 

She listened to her rambling about the flashcards with a sort of interest and a little admiration, she herself had had various inventive methods for study. Even flashcards at time, tho she prefer more magical methods. When the girl was finally done talking, she could see the pure horror on her face and then a tear making it's way down her cheek. Arianne was instantly annoyed, she hated crying girls more than anything, but she also felt a pang of guilt, that she quickly brushed off. She extracted her monogrammed lace handkerchief from her pocket and passed it to the girl, forcing it in her hand.

"Oh, don't be silly, girl!" she said exasperated. "I may be harsh, but surely I am not that terrifying, am I?" she added in a softer voice. "And I can understand just fine it is me you are addressing, without having to wrestle your tongue into saying my name at the end of each sentence, Miss Enright..." she added with a frown.

She waved her hand at the handkerchief, with an annoyed expression, urging her to fix her face. "Come now, wipe your tears. Pretty girls should not be crying in public. Your face will get red and blotched. What if a handsome young man would pass by and see you in this state, hmm?" she said in a teasing voice ending with a reassuring smile.

She sighed deeply as the girl cleaned herself up, and shrugged her shoulders to relieve the tension forming at the nape of her neck. This was disastrous. She surely never expected the girl too be so sensitive. "You have to understand Europe is not the United States. Europe is the cradle of civilization, what might have been perceived as proper behavior in the States is infinitely less adequate here. In Europe, those of noble wizarding descent are vicious. The smallest of creases on your clothing can cause them to shun you completely and humiliate you for the rest of your life. There are few that are as drastic as that, but those that matter, those that can turn your life to good or bad, will expect you to be a perfect lady, and by perfect, I truly mean without a single fault" she said with a worried look in her eyes. She had been there... having to over think every small gesture before acting, so she she would never seem out of place.

"The upper class of the wizarding world is a savage jungle: it's kill or be killed. And there is so much expected of women in this society. You have to be perfect, gracious, accomplished, beautiful, educated and so many more in order to be accepted as a power. You have to be smart, show them what they want to see, tell them what they want to hear, all the while without losing yourself. Tears have no place in a woman's life. Mumbling has no place in a woman's life. And while we're at it, keep in mind that Hogwarts is as vicious as the society it breeds. Always keep an eye behind and never leave yourself vulnerable to any sort of attack. Be it physical or emotional. You should know teenagers, you're one of them. You know some will hurt you for sport" she took a deep breath trying to make-up for the air lost while she was speaking. She felt pity towards the poor girl. If she didn't change -and fast- she'd never make it in this world.

Pretty handkerchiefs were kind of strange, Annie thought morosely as she glanced down at the dainty little square of lacy cloth in her hands. It could be the loveliest thing in the world, but its function was chiefly to collect snot. To use it was to go against the object's nature, and it wasn't until she was urged to that Annie could even bring herself to soil the pretty thing by using it to dab at her tears. She wasn't crying, really – it was one tear that had escaped out of nerves, which was nothing compared to the waterworks that the sensitive witch was capable of – but her eyes were visibly red-rimmed. That sort of aesthetic disruption couldn't have been fixed by the loveliest handkerchief in the world. 

It was what the professor said about boys judging her for crying that Annie found genuinely arresting, and she seemed to dab at her skin with more haste and precision as a result. Is that why none of the boys ever seemed to like her? She'd always thought it was because there were too many pretty girls to choose from. She didn't really think crying would make a difference to their impressions of her, given that none ever looked in her direction to begin with. She was certain they all already thought her second-rate. She nodded her agreement that, no, she didn't want any boys to see her like this. Even as the lovely woman lectured her about Europe, Annie continued thinking about the boys she'd fallen in like with since arriving at this school for the tournament. Those tame stallions from Beauxbatons kept coming to mind. Yes, the French boys were definitely her favorite. There was just something about them that made them stand out as premium. Maybe Mademoiselle Desrosiers had a point? Though a second ago she had wished this woman would let her be, she was now intrigued by her – maybe a little hungry for what she had to offer a girl like Annie, who was as clueless as she was desperate.

“Are you... going to teach all of this in your class?” Annie asked, a more hopeful note in her voice now, as opposed to a sad one. She still wasn't convinced she could, as Mademoiselle Desrosiers had put it, behave without a single fault, but you couldn't even approach perfect until you knew what you were doing wrong. “I'd really like to get a boy to like me, but I'm busy a lot with classes, so I think maybe if learning how to do that was a class I might... have more time,” she offered somewhat bashfully, glancing at the darling little snot rag rather than at her potential social graces tutor.

"I'm going to teach all of you girls how to become proper young ladies, I am going to try and polish you into veritable pearls and diamonds" she said smiling.  "And the young men too, although having them become proper gentlemen will be much more of a headache" she teased, giving a lovely full-toothed smile. "You're at the age when such things become important, and you seem like the sort of girl that up until now has loved her books more than her boys, am I right?" she had been the same, but she bloomed much earlier.

"In the high society, the pureblood world, if you'd wish, the prospect of a good matrimony is the one thing that could make the difference between being the princess or the pauper. Now, I know you're too young to even contemplate the possibility of matrimony, but aren't all flings and flirts all to lead you to that one young man that could balance you, as well as perfectly complement you?" she asked rhetorically. "Social Graces is supposed to Beauxbatons's way of cramming together lessons on etiquette, dancing, conversation, languages, literature and all les beaux-arts. You'll be learning how to use yourself to express your wishes and intentions... How to bloom into the sort of young lady that people will stop to watch when she enters a room, but most importantly, that people will stop to listen when she speaks. Does that answer your question?" she asked and gave her a small playful wink.

"I take a practical approach to my lessons, so at least once at two weeks I will take you out of this dreadful castle and put you into the environments you need to learn as well as apply everything I will be teaching you in class. Plays, concertos, soirees, vernissages, even balls and other such gatherings and occasions. So there will be plenty of opportunities to... socialize" she smiled again. "Now, then I wouldn't want to keep you from your studies. Remember what I've told you, and I expect to see you in class next semester, oui? If you have any questions or are in need of advice, you can owl me or pass me a message through one of my charges, hmm?" she smiled sweetly. "Now, off you go, mademoiselle. And no more mumbling, yes?"

Annie nodded her agreement with Mademoiselle Desrosiers's 'books before boys' assessment, but not necessarily because it was the truth. For one thing, she'd nodded because she feared the ire of the nit picky French professor and didn't want to be caught dead disagreeing with her. For another, she'd nodded because it seemed far more pathetic to admit that she would have put boys before books in an instant if she could get a single boy to look in her direction.  Annie crushed on boys regularly, and she resented her dependence on her books much of the time. Sometimes her studies felt like a ball and chain – but a ball and chain she could abandon on the road side if only she could be popular for her own sake. Without her grades, what would she have? A big nose. That was literally all she'd be. So, for the sake of her crumbling self esteem, she decided to agree.

The social graces seminar the professor described could have been her ticket out, however. It sounded almost promising. She wasn't very confident in her success at dancing. In addition to being stiff and awkward Annie also had a long record at failing at musical pursuits. She liked to push the evidence of that under the rug whenever possible, though her mother was often fond of reminding her just what a failure she'd been during her youth. Literature, too, was a bit hit or miss – Annie's non-magical elective had always been math. If she hadn't been part of the tournament delegation then she'd be taking pre-calc. It was easier to get a right answer in math. There was too much variation in literature – too much risk. Everything else sounded promising, though. By the end of the professor's explanation, Annie was actually smiling. They didn't teach classes on how to be pretty and cool at Salem. If this went well then she was going to look into transferring. It seemed likely she'd develop more of a social life during this seminar than she had during five and a half years of American boarding school.

”Now, off you go, mademoiselle. And no more mumbling, yes?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle Desrosiers,” Annie replied, speaking as clearly as she could and then, before the professor could admonish her again, she skittered the rest of the way back to her living quarters, desperate to get her flash cards back out and muss up her tie in the privacy of her own dorm.

She watched the girl hurry along the corridor and couldn't help but let a small amused sigh escape her lips. She would be a lot of work, but at least she managed to get through her. At the back of her mind she even considered, perhaps, taking the girl under her arm, once she was a bit more refined, but there was much to do until then. She really despised teaching most of the time, but it was small things like these that kept her satisfied with her job.

She waited until the girl was out of her sight, and slowly shrugged her shoulders, finally able to relax her body. "I think some poetry tonight" she thought to herself as she made her way to the library.