Surprisingly, Arianne was feeling good. Surely she was tired, but she was actually in good spirits. The smell of the Mediterranean, the bright sun outside and the relatively warm weather for January had her smiling and laughing at everything. The start of the evening had been stiff and rather awkward, but Monsieur Storm had been a right gentleman and it didn't take long to get over the age-gap, the general strangeness of the situation, and the first laugh - over the students and their behavior, nonetheless - had them falling into a pleasant pace with Arianne supplying a bit of history over the places they'd visit and France in general and Monsieur Storm actually listening to her—which had been a most lovely development. All in all it had been a most successful outing, as Arianne refused to call it a date.

So now, at almost 7AM they were sitting in the Vieux Port, at a lovely little café with a perfect view towards the sun, that had just finished settling itself comfortably on the beautiful clear azure of the sky. Latte Macchiato in hand and a blanket thrown over her legs she turned to look at the stern professor and gave him a toothy smile. "Très beaux, is it not? I am from the North, the Normandy region, Rouen to be more exact. But my parents always holidayed on the Côte d'Azur. Marseille has always been my mother's favorite. My father is more keen on the Châteaux de la Loire, however. Which, Monsieur Storm, you should definitely visit. There are many curses still in place and rather dark creatures, which would definitely fascinate you" she said with a small arch of her brow.

"How do you like your French Press coffee? I find the device marvelous. It truly brings out the aroma" she said closing her eyes and inhaling the smell of fresh roasted coffee coming from the establishment behind them. "I've always had a terrible fascination with coffee. I had asked my father for a sip as young as seven, but my mother insisted on tea until I at least reached the lycée. Dreadful thing—tea. Never quite understood the fastidious habit of Englishmen—drinking it for every occasion and at every opportunity" she said with a chuckle. "However, when in England..." she said with a roll of her eyes "drink the tea, smile, and praise the finesse of the brewing."

What a night it had been. Ignan had been quite apprehensive about having won one of the St Mungo's dates for charity altogether, and when he had found out it was Arianne Desrosiers from the Beauxbaton's contingent, he'd felt as out of his depth in society as he had about his clothes under the scrutiny of Darian Morgan.

It was Sunday morning, and he hadn't stayed up all night do this sort of thing in years. He didn't sleep too much, habitually, often one of the earlier risers at Hogwarts, but in recent years an all-nighter had only been reserved for times of crisis. The night with Arianne had been entirely pleasant and rather enjoyable. He was glad he had agreed to come with her.

When else would he have seen Paris from the Eiffel Tower, or listened to Jazz and discussed all manner of fantastic wizarding culture in France - a country Arianne appeared to love with a frightening passion? To laugh with her, to see her laugh and not be quite so prim and proper for even a moment had reassured him she was human beneath all her strict etiquette. Although Ignan was brought up to have good manners, and abided by many of the protocols that Desrosiers taught her Beauxbatons students, he forgot or did not know some of the finer detail. Thankfully she didn't seem too keen to lecture him on it.

Now they both regarded the sunrise over coffee, a several hundred miles away from Hogwarts, and what felt like an entirely different world. He couldn't help but admire her features against the setting in the morning light, even after a long night she was graceful and her eyes bright. She would make a dazzling wife for a lucky wizard one day, one of those women he saw as a young man, but was far too rough and ready for - what with his time chasing dark wizards, and then later being too ready to seek the attentions of local girls in the pubs he and Georg passed through.

"How do you like your French Press coffee? I find the device marvellous. It truly brings out the aroma. I've always had a terrible fascination with coffee. I had asked my father for a sip as young as seven, but my mother insisted on tea until I at least reached the lycée. Dreadful thing—tea. Never quite understood the fastidious habit of Englishmen—drinking it for every occasion and at every opportunity. However, when in England... drink the tea, smile, and praise the finesse of the brewing."

Ignan shared a genuine smile, which transformed his features, taking years off him. It was unlike him, but he had smiled quite a bit that night. It had taken him back to better days when he'd seen the world.

"Tea, ah yes." He raised his coffee cup in a slight toast, "I confess it is a preference of mine, although I do drink coffee. My mother was British, so I grew up with that tradition in the household, despite not growing up there. Its not for everyone, I understand, they don't do coffee very well either, the French, and the Italians have that down well, as you've rightly demonstrated here." He took a sip and savoured the strength and bitter taste.

"The whiskey isn't bad though, but I anticipate you're not much of a spirit drinker, being a young lady. Its an older man's drink." His eyes raised to the sunrise again and his shoulders sank contentedly.

Arianne let out a peal of laughter over the rim of her cup. If only he'd know. "You'd be surprised, Monsieur Storm" she said vaguely before preparing her half truth. "And I wouldn't call myself a young lady anymore" she continued with a bit of sadness in her eyes. "I was forced to learn to hold my drinks during my tutelage under Madame Rousseau. You cannot possibly organize a successful event or host one without being able to share a drink with the men at the reigns, mais non?" she said smiling politely. She leaned closer to the Professor and with faux-dramatism she let out poignant sigh. "You see, they all wanted to see me fail. The beautiful, young heiress, Arianne Desrosiers, making a spectacle of herself in the midst of all Parisian high society" she said making a big gesture with both of her hands. "Would've been quite the headline... And there's nothing France likes more than a juicy gossip about the misery of the rich and powerful" she leaned back into her chaise

"Besides, once the children are all grown up, the fine women of France with too much money and too much time on their hands, often indulge in a little night cap. At breakfast, noon and dinner" she raised an eyebrow chuckling softly. "But no, indeed, I've never had much of a taste for whiskey. Vodka, however... well that's a different thing. I could never say no to a White Russian, something of a guilty pleasure" she said smiling widely.

She let her head drop on the back of the chair and closed her eyes, relishing in the warmth of the sun on her face. "I've been feeling perpetually cold ever since I arrived in the UK. And living in a castle makes me think I am constantly in the midst of a Gothic novel" she mused with her eyes still closed, before she opened them slowly and her face took a pensive expression. "I don't think I'm adapting very well" she said softly before smiling politely and sipping another taste of coffee.

“... I wouldn't call myself a young lady anymore.” Ignan held his gaze to her at those words, confused how a woman so young could declare herself not to be. They had long lives, witches and wizards, and the terminology of 'youth' extended into the third, or even fourth decade for sure. Then again, it was subjective of the speaker, Ignan was in his mid sixties, he still had a way to go himself before he was truly old even if once in a while he felt weary. He'd been fitter, but that was not something he couldn't solve if he put his mind to it.

She leaned closer to him and let out a sigh a little drama to her expression, and he entertained it. He enjoyed talking to her. It was good to be with a beautiful woman, to feel so young for a night, to travel, to laugh and let conversation drift wherever it felt it wanted to.
“Fail?” Ignan scoffed, “Never, you are a most intelligent woman.” He gave her a genuine smile, meaning the description.

When she settled back and closed her eyes, Ignan found himself settling too, admiring the morning, and her beauty.
“Quite, it does lend itself to that feeling, does Hogwarts,” Ignan agreed at her description of the castle. “Pity the Spring days are still some way away, the grounds come alive then, but the castle is like a cave, it retains its cool temperature all year.” The Deputy Headmaster tilted his head at her worries of adaptation, wondering if the witch beside him was entertaining the thought of departing her post during this year.

“I think perhaps you are a little hard on yourself, Arianne,” He spoke her name softly, with respect and considerably more warmth than he had before they had shared their evening together. “Being locked in a castle with the Hogwarts students is a trial enough,” Ignan gestured palm uppermost with one hand, “but a castle full of them and delegates from three other schools, and Professor colleagues? Well, its a wonder none of us have gone a little cuckoo. That's before we start throwing students to their peril at the whim of an enchanted goblet.”

After taking a sip of the coffee and savouring it, he chuckled,
“Perhaps you're right, a gothic novel of absurdity.” One hand slid the coffee back to a resting place while he leaned forward to adjust his shoulders against the chair. “But even those books need their beautiful heroines.”

The silver-haired wizard turned his head and raised an eyebrow, meaning Arianne to be exactly that, well, heroine perhaps only in social circles, he judged she might not be the sort to hold her own against a dragon, but appearances were deceptive.

“If not this then, what do you see yourself doing with your life? Returning to high society and convention to walk a social code of conduct in Paris? I can't help but believe your mind would be wasted, but then again, part of me feels it is already on teaching teenagers which set of cutlery to use.” 

"Flattery, monsieur, flattery!" she said laughing. "Intelligence is not necessarily a virtue in this society. Cunning, well, now that's something I would've liked to have. It's such a terrible cliche—the good society" she said the words with a disapproving twitch of her nose "is a jungle: the best equipped predators always keep the high positions. Cunning, Monsieur Storm is what we need these days" she smiled politely with only  a bit of sadness in her eyes.

"I'm sure it's a beautiful sight in summer" she quickly recovered. "Scotland is rather beautiful, but I much prefer to see it's beauty on a postcard, now that I've had the opportunity to witness it's rather... petulant weather" she chuckled. She took another sip of her coffee, smiling against the rim of the cup. Coffee was by far the greatest beverage in existence, sometimes Arianne thought about what would become of her if coffee beans just stopped growing altogether and she shuddered at the thought.

She nearly choked on her coffee, attempting to laugh at Professor Storm's comment. "Yes, is it not? C'est complètement incroyable!" she exclaimed laughing. "Sometimes I wonder if the founders of this Tournament haven't started started this entire ordeal merely as a rather absurdly complicated method of diminishing the student population" she almost snorted in her coffee. "It's rather gruesome, then again—panem et circenses. It's always been in the human nature to entertain themselves over matters of less than questionable virtue. I can't help but draw parallels with the gladiatorial games, and it is saddening to see how little we have evolved in some aspects. Nonetheless, it is what it is" she said letting a sigh escape her as she shrugged her shoulders.

"But you see, Monsieur Storm, Etiquette means so much more. And Social Graces too, despite my reluctance towards crowding so many subjects into one single class. It encompasses the entirety of social interaction in any society. Its inner most root is the ethical code of society, and what if not ethics does the young generation need these days?" she asked straightening her back, fire in her eyes, as always when talking about her passion. "I fear for my old age—what will come of us when the youngsters we now teach end up at the reigns of a country? I shudder at the thought" she said visibly disturbed and shaking her head disapprovingly.

She slumped in her chair with a long sigh and took the last sip of her now cold coffee. "But I find that I'm wasting my breath for naught as of lately. The kids no longer care about my subject—my class has become irrelevant in this age. Because, as you yourself said Monsieur" she smiled genuinely "so few want to see beyond learning the proper use of cutlery. And it does tend to put a damper on one's mood, when you find yourself talking to twenty-something human walls, that merely stand there, impermeable to my teachings" the corners of her lips slightly turned downwards, before she shook her head and smiled. "I no longer see myself teaching in the near future, and I am still conflicted as to what else I could do. One thing is certain, however, I do not think I'll be returning to France too soon. While not completely a life in pink, my stay in the UK has had its benefits. For one, I am no longer scrutinized the second I step outside the confines of my home" she said, practically grinning.

"My cousin followed me here when I left France and he's made quite a life for himself, despite being ten years my junior. He has more than once asked if I'd like to help him with his... venture" she said smiling to herself. Venture indeed. "So, I always have that offer on the table. I think I'd like to go back into event planning. It's what I did during my training years in Paris. It's certainly not a very noble profession, but it is lucrative and it would leave me with enough time to still practice teaching on the side and, maybe, even write" she mused. "After all, that's what we retired professors do, mais non? We write—attempt to teach without the headache of actually interacting with your students."

"I fear for my old age—what will come of us when the youngsters we now teach end up at the reigns of a country? I shudder at the thought"

Ignan chuckled softly.
"Its not so bad, if I'm honest."

"I no longer see myself teaching in the near future ... My cousin followed me here when I left France and he's made quite a life for himself, despite being ten years my junior. He has more than once asked if I'd like to help him with his... venture ... it is lucrative and it would leave me with enough time to still practice teaching on the side and, maybe, even write, after all, that's what we retired professors do, mais non? We write—attempt to teach without the headache of actually interacting with your students."

Ignan listened to her discuss her cousin and his venture, which she didn't elaborate too heartedly over. Cousins had ventures, that was quite correct, and often older cousins were pulled into these ventures by curiosity or coercion.
"Do we?" Ignan asked, "I'm not retired yet, and a few on the staff have already put pen to paper to write, at least at Hogwarts they have." The silver haired wizard thought of Tapendra with his books, and before Arianne's visit, Georg who had written too, not so much text books as recounts.

"I've no great interest in writing books about my subject, its practical, and a book isn't so much help as a keen eye and direction of poise and wandwork," He glanced back to his younger companion, "I suppose rather like your own subject, only instead of the social classes and the professional ladder to negotiate, we negotiate physical foes."

His shoulders gave the slightest of shrugs.
"It would be a shame for your students to miss out on your expertise all the same, Arianne, and your thoughtful guidance, but I agree that if I were to conjure up a vision of the woman who might teach such a class, you're less than half her age at least. If its not what you want to do, don't waste your time - go."

Ignan gave her a somewhat supportive hint of a smile.
"There's plenty of time to settle down to such a role in your experienced middle or older age. I can assure you from personal experience." He laced his fingers and stretched his arms out before him, the fatigue from a full night was beginning to creep up on him.

"What did you see yourself doing as a child, before you went to school?" He asked her, rolling his shoulders and settling back, stifling a yawn as well as he could.

"Monsieur Storm, while my subject may have its fair share of battles, I would never dare compare it with Defense" she smiled coyly. "However, when you put it like that I suppose they may have some things in common... I don't know about its practicality, to be honest. If there were any good textbooks written about it, the students might as well teach themselves and apply the learning in everyday use. Seeing, however, as most of the authorities on Ethics and Etiquette date back to Antiquity and the 18th century through early 20th, respectively, I daresay that would be a rather poor decision" she sighed, tapping her nails to the ceramic of her cup.

"It would also have left me without a job" she laughed raising her eyebrows. "But, that's where we, scholars of the social behavior, come in to attempt and translate hundreds—thousands of years old teachings to a generation that barely knows who Aristotle was. And I wouldn't even dare linger on how many know of his Nicomachean Ethics or the fact that it was, in essence, the core of medieval philosophy in Europe" she mused with displeasure in her eyes.

"In all honesty, professor Storm, I think the only reason I was able to even hold my students attention, is the fact that I am not that woman" she laughed loudly, eyes crinkling at the corners before taking a hand to her mouth to politely mask her laughter. "What teenager would want to listen to the proper etiquette of courting when it comes from the mouth of someone that probably has no idea what the five date rules is?" she asked, still laughing, yet managed to raise one disbelieving eyebrow.

Her laugh disappeared gradually, until she was left with a small, bitter smile. "I've always seen myself doing this. I've always thought this is what I wanted to do... During my childhood I struggled to keep both my mother and my father satisfied, with no other dreams or plans. My mother always wanted me right where I am now, despite my father wanting to see me a more accomplished witch, but not necessarily an accomplished woman. And when I finally decided to follow in my mother's footsteps, I fought hard to get my father's acceptance" she said in a small voice, looking at the come-and-go of the waves in the distance.

She turned to look at the older man and gave him a bright, but sad smile. "That's the worst part of it, really. It was a long, hard road and now that I have finally reached the top, with my family on my side and the respect of my peers and students... I seem to not want it anymore. It feels like giving up—and I know I will probably disappoint a lot of people whose opinion I hold dearly and in high esteem. She turned back to look at the beach and took a deep breath. "This was supposed to be—la vie en rose" she said making a big gesture with both of her hands and shrugging with a grin on her face. "Ah, well then. I'll just have to turn over a new leaf and look back thinking Non, je ne regrette rien" she continued laughing softly.

"What of you, Monsieur? Did you always see yourself where you are now?" she asked before raising her arm in the air and waving it around for a second, without even looking over the edge of her chaise. She knew the waiter would be watching, desperate to please the good friend of his employer.

"No, not really." Ignan admitted to her question. "I didn't rule it out as a profession, certainly, my late father also taught, but at Durmstrang, which is where I first became a tutor." He explained, not sure if Arianne had gleaned any of this from chatter the past few months. His time at Durmstrang had become more of a discussion topic of student rumour given the Durmstrang delegates were some of whom he taught, and the Professors had once been his colleagues.

"I didn't expect to be the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts during a Tetra-wizard Tournament, that is for certain. I don't resent it. However much people believe, and I help them to maintain the impression, that I hate things, there's a certain amount of satisfaction to know you're ensuring the next generation aren't a failure to society." After the long night, the drink and the company he felt able to speak more freely on how he felt about teaching.

"No, I saw myself living out my days somewhere I felt comfortable to settle down a while, perhaps with a good woman by my side. Then when we got bored, we'd up stick and go elsewhere until we were too old to move." Once there had been a time he'd imagined the end of his life would be at another's wand, in service, or in a scrap where he'd finally be overpowered by an adversary or worse, but now with his relatively safe post at the school it seemed far more likely he'd end things peacefully. The only exception might be if Azorma broke free. He'd have to make a sudden decision to flee if she did, and he would never be able to come back. Some nights he dreamt he had - and then woke to realise he was still there.

"Don't grow old," Ignan insisted of Arianne, turning to look at her properly, sincerely. His voice was soft and conveyed genuine sentiment, "live your life. You only realise the times you wasted as you get older and cynical. I'm glad for the time I didn't waste, certainly, but given the chance I'd seize it even harder." He blinked slowly. "Thank you for a most enjoyable night, for letting me feel as if I were young again."

Arianne nodded in acknowledgement, sure he'd heard of the Professor and his adventures and his lives, if not at Hogwarts necessarily, the circles she ran into had a dreadful penchant for gossip. "Indeed, the satisfaction of knowing that at least a handful of the minds you helped shape, managed to make something of themselves is truly without equal" she said softly, stifling a yawn. She was definitely getting older...

She listened to the man talk about his dreams and she couldn't help but imagine him so out of picture in such a cozy little scenario. She laughed brightly. But perhaps, he'd not always been like this. Life tended to throw things at you until it broke you and built you anew - a person you'd never thought yourself to become. "That sounds lovely, but dare I say, a little too mundane for the person you are now, Professor" she said with a small smile, a hint of sadness in her eyes and she quickly turn to look elsewhere not wanting the man to think her. Life had not been kind to Monsieur Storm and anyone with half a mind could see it.

She turned to look at him, noticing the change in his tone and she listened intently to his warning, she supposed she could call it such. She couldn't really say anything to that, so she settled for smiling and nodding once. She knew that now. More and more she felt that the best course for her would be to leave the academical life and go out into the world and... seize the day. "It was my pleasure entirely, Monsieur Storm" she beamed and raised to her feet as she noticed the server approaching. She stretched slightly and breathed deeply before turning to deal with the check.

"Well then, Professor, shall we return to dreary, old Hogwarts?" she asked teasingly, extracting the authorized portkey from her handbag.