It was, depending on your perspective, late at night, or far too early in the morning. The Yule Ball had not been over until a little past midnight, and then there had been the process of returning home, and in Aisling's case, changing into a different dress. There were very few occasions where she could wear something so revealing.

And she rather intended to take advantage of this one. The cake had been made earlier that day, and it had only taken a moment to add the cream and berries. Two plates floated next to her as she made her way into the dining room. Sitting down for a moment seemed quite pleasant.

"Don't worry, I promise I will not be singing." The plates landed gently on the table, and she smiled softly. "But I must insist on the cake. Some occasions should not go unmarked." Quiet, close celebrations were something she would always take more of. The cake didn't hurt either.

The ball had been, frankly, exhausting. A mess of students, professors, and any dignitary one wished to find, the entire celebration had left him tired and a bit stiff. He was hardly old, by Wizarding standards, but his knees saw fit to remind him of the 5 in front of his age now and then. The beginnings of arthritis, no doubt. He would have to find the correct potions to stave off that issue before it began.

He was tired, in short, and Aisling’s insistence on a private celebration was met with his usual response – a tired but rather hopeless attempt to grumble his way out of it and then a sort of welcome resignation. He was not the sort to enjoy being fussed over, which was what he defined birthdays as.

Still, the cake would be welcome – as was Aisling’s choice of attire. Only in the home, of course; had she worn such a thing out of doors he would never have shown his face again. He sat at the table, still in his grand robes, posture his usual stiff and refined one. He watched as she brought in the cake, smiling ever so slightly at the fact she wouldn’t be singing.

“I cannot thank you enough,” he grunted, looking at the cake. “And I thank you for the cake, as well.” If he was joking, his tone did not betray it. Only his subtle gaze up her exposed leg gave away the fact he liked the dress – something he was unlikely to admit out loud.

"I think that we could both use some quiet." The Yule Ball was not the loudest event, but that many people, that many voices, it could not be called silent. Particularly not with the younger students in attendance. Music, conversation, and the occasional spot of tedious diplomacy.

"How much would you like?" She tapped a finger against the handle of the knife. It wasn't the largest cake, even with the fluff of cream and fruit, but there was more than enough for the both of them and leftovers besides. Though such wouldn't last long over the break.

She stretched her leg, letting a bit more skin sneak out from behind the fabric. Unlike many of her clothes, this dress was not constricting. She could walk without limiting her steps to small, proper lengths.

More importantly, from the way Tarron was eyeing it, he seemed to approve. Good. She pulled her leg back, and accompanied the movement with a teasing look.

“Mmm.” No doubt. After the light and pomp and noise and the general energy of the Yule Ball, the quiet of their home was indeed most welcome. The distant tick tock tick of the grandfather clock in the hall punctuated the general quiet of the home, and while to most this silence might be somewhat offputting, Tarron always found it refreshing and welcoming. It helped, of course, that his day-to-day job involved rather a lot of people trying to be heard all at once.

“Just a small slice,” he said, leaning back in his chair slightly. After the massive dinner and dancing of the ball, he was tired, and anything more than a small slice seemed rather too much. Especially for things as sugary as cake.

He saw the movement of her leg from the corner of his eye and, again, a slight smile twitched the corners of his mouth. She was certainly far more awake than he was, it seemed. A pity he was so tired…

“How did you find the staff of Hogwarts, then?” He asked, as she saw to the cake. “You did take the time to seek many of them out, I saw…”

Two small pieces were soon cut from the cake, which now rested on the table as well. Aisling bent down to give Tarron a quick kiss on the cheek as she set the slice on his plate, then took her own seat.

"Those I spoke to seemed friendly enough, though some gave the impression of being uncomfortable at such events. They were all quite complimentary towards our daughters, of course." She would have expected nothing less, after all. Their children did take after their father quite a bit.

The dining room felt a bit chilling at this hour, a sense not aided by just how much skin her choice of dress exposed. She stretched just a little, and the movement sent a few strands shifting loose and then falling down to brush against her neck. "Did you manage any fascinating conversations while I was preoccupied? I rather missed your company."

He did smile more obviously at the kiss, before eying the cake carefully as she spoke. It seemed light enough, unlike the frosting-smeared concoctions served at the Yule Ball. He’d tried much of the food available at the Ball itself and found himself vastly preferring the sandwiches to any of the other sweets. Particularly because, in Wizarding fashion, many of the sweets sparkled - and in one case, sang.

“Of course,” he agreed, taking a bite. It was quite good, a fact he showed only via the lack of hesitation he had in taking another. “I am afraid I did not have any particularly interesting conversations, no. A few of the invited Elders saw fit to corner me whenever they saw fit. I was able to talk to all those I had planned to, however.”

He put his fork down, habitually, as he thought for a moment. “I did speak to Landis,” he said. Tarron was very fond of his not-quite-cousin, making little to no secret of his favoritism of the dour blonde over his actual nephew, Darian – whom he found entirely too much of a dandy.

“He is, unfortunately, resolute to stay at Hogwarts.” He’d made no real secret of his meaning to pry at Landis about getting a more respectable job. “However, it would appear to not be for professional reasons. He appears to be courting one of his co workers.” Unprofessional, yes, but the young lady was beautiful, sharp-minded and pureblood – a perfect match for Landis, as far as Tarron was concerned.

Tarron was by no means the most expressive of sorts, but Aisling rather preferred things that way. Grand gestures were no substitutes for the smaller ones. And it was good to see him smile.

Her own piece of cake, well, the concoction had turned out far better than she had expected. The bits of fruit were a pleasant counterpoint to the light simplicity of the cake itself. Not that she had any intention of cooking often-she had far too much to do as matters already stood.

“However, it would appear to not be for professional reasons. He appears to be courting one of his co workers.”

"He is hardly the first to be rather stubborn when it comes to such matters." Aisling had particular smile brought on by memories of how their own relationship had progressed, one which she didn't hide now. "Did you have the chance to meet her, then?" Just because she didn't share Tarron's particular interest in Landis did not mean that she wasn't curious. She pushed a blueberry back atop what was left of her cake with her fork.

Again, Tarron’s mouth twitched around the metal of his fork, the smile brief and fond and the look he gave her saying more than his words might have. Indeed, Landis was hardly the first of his family to find romance in his workplace – and likely not the last.

“I did not, unfortunately, but I have seen her work and how Landis speaks of her, and am quite looking forward to the chance to,” he said.

He was aware, of course, how his standards in socially eligible mates differed from those of his wife. As he took another small bite of cake, he considered his next words, and wiped away a small bit of whipped cream from his mustache before he continued.

“Though I am aware our concerns in matches differ, what I know of her satisfies both sets of standards,” he said, nodding. “She is of impeccable blood line – of the Vailliancourts, no less – and of considerable professional success. They seem a good match for each other, if she does indeed put up with him.”

With Landis, this was not something to be taken for granted.

“I assume you had good conversations yourself, then?”

"She sounds a perfectly lovely woman, and I am glad to hear that Landis has found someone." Aisling's smile was a bit more open than her husband's.

Whatever he might state as his standards, the simple reality was that she was still sitting there across from him. Something she valued more than any words-and it was hardly a point that needed to be harped on. Her expression did grow softer, though, and she put down her fork to just watch Tarron for a moment. She couldn't help a twinge of wishing that she'd spent more of the Yule Ball by his side.

"The conversations were pleasant enough. Hardly too deep, but that is rather to be expected. I fear that my feet might be a bit sore in the morning, though. Perhaps I should dance more often." A thought which she offered with a slightly more inviting look. "Quite glad that I chose not to wear heels."

“A wise choice, and one many of the students did not make. Some of the best lessons in life are learned the hard way, I suppose.” Certainly the amount of wincing young faces had grown as the night went on – and the amount of girls who appeared suddenly shorter had grown, too.

His cake was almost gone – the slice had not been very large, and even with the small forkfuls he took it was vanishing with relative speed. He sat back in the chair for a moment, looking at Aisling a moment before he spoke, hoping to gauge her reaction to these supposedly pleasant conversations. He didn’t gather much.

“Anything of interest, then?” He asked, with a slightly teasing air. “Or were the lot of them so dull you cannot bring yourself to remember any details?”

That was rather every party for him, these days – a whirlwind of dull and often annoying people, too eager to shake his hand or interest him in their political opinions. That was so rarely Aisling’s experience – one of the many reasons he liked to use her like a set of alternate eyes.

"Some, but not all." Aisling sent an inquiring look at his near-empty plate, one which offered the unspoken question of 'More cake?'. "And I do remember some details. It was not utterly dull." There had been moments of such, certainly, but they had not overwhelmed the event.

It did help that stepping away from Tarron tended to sharply reduce the hangers-on one might have to deal with. Even if that meant leaving him to his own, quite capable devices. "My conversation with Professor Reid and Professor Trishna was particularly enjoyable. They seem to get on quite well together." The implications of this were something Tarron could no doubt explore without her interference-though Aisling always did find a bit of amusement in him fussing about the relationships of his relatives.

"I did speak with the Deputy Headmaster as well. He was quite complimentary about the girls' behavior." Not words she wished to put too much weight in, but still pleasant to hear nonetheless.

Tarron caught her look, and shook his head slightly. Tasty as the cake was, moderation came easily to him, and with the late hour and his own exhaustion, more food and sugar held little appeal.  Topped with fresh fruit though it might be.

He did fix her with a look of some confusion and surprise when she finally explained some of her experiences, his eyebrows rising very slightly. “Trishna?” He said, frowning. He knew the name, in a vague sort of way, but was hardly familiar with the man beyond being Sophia’s Head of House. And, well –

“That Astronomy professor so enamored of muggles he teaches their curriculum?” He asked, doubtfully, trying to find a way in which Aileen getting on with such a person made sense. He stared at Aisling for a moment before he grunted, rather gruffly.

“Do tell me this is simply as colleagues, and not a source of more howlers from dear Cullodena,” he said, eating another bite of cake. As if he needed more reasons for the bloody woman to write him again! “What did you think of the both of them?”

This was not quite the conversation which Aisling had hoped for. She had rather desired to keep anything awkward until the morning after, when she had slept and was wearing rather less revealing clothing. Any discussion which involved Cullodena tended to turn rather unpleasant, after all. And her shoulders were feeling cold.

"I fear there may be more howlers, unless your cousin makes a habit of joking about trends in Muggle humor with her colleagues in general." Her shoulders slumped just a little. "They were quite good company, though. I rather received the impression that they wished to dance together, so I excused myself a bit earlier than I would have otherwise." She finished the last bite of her own cake, savoring it rather more than this turn the conversation had taken. "Despite his rather unorthodox approach, Professor Trishna seems to be interested in imparting a solid education on the subject above all."

His writings had not hurt that impression, by any means.

She stood, and made her way over to Tarron's chair, where she rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. "And I have no cause to doubt Aileen's performance. The girls were thrilled when she assisted with one of their astronomy lessons." Her voice faded slightly, and she sounded, for the first time that night, honestly tired. "Do promise me you won't think too much on your Aunt's opinions tonight. We could both use a more pleasant evening than that."

Trends in muggle humor? Tarron looked at Aisling with a blank but still rather surprised look, his expression clearly one of confusion. Aileen discussing that would have to be in a negative light – have to be. And yet Trishna didn’t seem the sort to discuss anything muggle in a negative light, from what he knew of the man…which, admittedly, was very little.

Not that her next sentence helped. He scowled, shaking his head. Putting his fork down, his gaze fixed on the wall opposite as he thought fast – mostly of how one disposed of howlers. Letters from Cullodena were flicked into the fire easily enough, but howlers tended to explode or otherwise do nasty things.

Though in this circumstance, he’d be more inclined to read the letters. This was an unusual development, as far as he was aware.

He turned his head a looked up at her as she came over to him, placing a hand on hers with another quick smile. “I cannot fault you for that,” he said, though he was clearly still somewhat disturbed by her vague description. “And you are correct. May I assume you had other plans?”

"They seemed to be enjoying themselves, at the least." It was not, perhaps, much comfort to Tarron. And yet there was a certain joy to the image of his cousin at ease, joking about cats and cheeseburgers.

Or at the least, until Cullodena heard of it. Which was a thought for another night. Another year, if at all possible.

Aisling smiled to feel the warmth of Tarron's hand against hers, and dipped her head to place another quick kiss on his cheek. "I do hate to be too predictable, but we will have little time to ourselves until our daughters are back to school once again." Her fingers spread apart over his shoulder, then closed again. "Assuming that you are not too tired, of course."