Valentine's Day had arrived, and the world had not imploded. Aileen Reid had endured Oz's snide little owls this morning, had managed to raise a patient eyebrow at Abby turning the house over looking for the right shoes, and tonight, she'd even enjoyed her sudden plans. But the day was not over. Now Aileen was at Signature's bar, people-watching, the last person she'd expected sitting right next to her.

"Look at this place, Tapendra!" She leaned forward conspiratorially. After yet another drink, her voice wasn't as quiet as she thought it was.

"Couples everywhere. Are you sure this was wise?" Aileen narrowed her eyes at him, exaggerated even for her, like someone had cast Lumos right in her face. The effect was lessened, however, by her smirk. A smirk that twitched up, then downward, undecided as to what it wanted to be.

The blasted man just had to suggest drinks at Signature after a very nice, rather uneventful, completely platonic double date dinner with Effie and Declan. And she'd just had to agree. No harm in it! It had been a long time since they'd made fools of themselves, after all. There was no third party either, like there'd been before - just her and Tapendra, and they could both figure out their limits and avoid hangovers the next day.

Of course they could. Professors never made poor choices.

Tapendra wasn't sure what had driven him to suggest diverting to Signature. Perhaps it was the need to get something to drink after the dinner at Declan's, where he'd watched the poor man awkwardly struggle with the Transfiguration professor. The awkward had hung in the air like a haze, painful and choking, and frankly he needed a beer. If only out of sympathy for the man.

That had been a few drinks ago, at this point, and the embarrassment for Declan was long replaced by a warm sort of amusement. His smile was constant and ever so slightly enthusiastic.

At Aileen's narrowed eyes, he looked around. She was right; most of the people were seemed to be together, save a few sad tossers in the back of the room. He considered this. Somehow thinking was easier when he'd had a few.

"Nope!" He said, finally, and quite happily. "Not wise in the slightest." He smiled brightly, teeth flashing. "But no one's going to mistake us, you know -" He gestured to her red dress, with was surprisingly short for her, and then to his own attire, all black, silver and deep purple. "We clash like -" He paused, trying to think of a simile. "Like somethin' that clashes really badly," he said finally. "If we were here together, you'd have made me go change."

Of course, red was a terrible color for him. But purple was...he still didn't think that was a good color, either. Darian seemed to think so, but with Darian he could never tell if he was getting sent up. 

She glanced at Tapendra, amused by his good mood. And his assumption that no one could mistake them for a couple based on their clashing outfits.

"I don't know," she mused, glancing around. "Quite a few of the couples here look rather ill-suited for each other. At least I'm not glowering at you - well, not seriously, and you've only checked your pocket-watch once since we've walked in. I'd say we're faring well. If we were here together," she added as an afterthought.

Her thoughts were moving more sluggishly than she would have liked. It took her this long to zero in on his assumption that she'd make him go change.

"Do you really think I'm that matchy-matchy?" Aileen adopted Abby-Speak, frowning at him a bit over the rim of her glass.

"It'd have done me a favor if you were," said Tapendra, with a kind of sheepish grin. "Right now the only person to comment on this," he plucked at the purple, metallic threaded shirt he wore, "Is the bloody man who advised I wear it in the first place. And I can never tell when he's having me on. Oh, yes, wear purple! It'll go with your eyes." He widened his own for emphasis.

He drank from his own drink, and waved a hand. "But it's-It'd be great to have that second opinion, you know? An 'oh Merlin, is that purple? Are you listening to Darian bloody Morgan again?' sort of thing." One that wasn't Gigi; she tended to laugh even at getups other people liked.

In contrast to Aileen, Tapendra's thoughts seemed to be going faster. He wasn't drunk yet, in his own mind, just thinking really clearly and quickly. He felt energetic and slightly restless, a smile persistently tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you, by the way," he said, slightly more sedately. "For coming along to the dinner...thing." 'Thing' seemed the best way to describe it.

Aileen smiled. "Dinner thing indeed. No need to thank me. I wouldn't wish the curse of the third wheel on my worst enemy."

Ok, so she would. She was still glad he'd invited her, no matter how awkward it had been, and for once it hadn't been the Awkward hanging between them, but the Awkward between Declan and Effie.

She'd caught his sheepish smile earlier, and raised her eyebrows. Aha! One mystery solved. The mystery of his wardrobe.

"Is that where you get all your nice clothes? Darian Morgan? I've wondered. You have... moments."

A vague comment that likely only made sense to her, but he did have days when he looked especially decent.

"Though I'm not quite sure it matches your eyes," she peered at him, resting her chin in her hand as she took his comments seriously. "You'd have to wear a bright blue, not indigo. But this does look nice."

She smirked at him, setting her hands on the bar and crossing her legs. "There's your second opinion. Of course, I've seen you in feathers."

Feathers and wings. Along with the rest of Hogwarts. Somewhere in the back of her mind she couldn't resist teasing him before she veered into too-complimentary territory.

"Yes," Tapendra said, without much hesitation. The alcohol made it so easy to chat; the words came without their usual hesitance. "Been buying things from him. He took an...interest in me." For once, this seemed a normal thing to admit, and he didn't flinch in the slightest. "Gets very interested in finding colors that work on me, I guess. And sometimes he just sends me things in the post."

That seemed odd, at times. Usually it was something harmless, though. A tie, a handkerchief, a waistcoat. Tapendra sighed, remembering something.

"Have to go in for a fitting again, apparently," he added, with a vague wave of his hand. "Don't let me forget. He was being picky about the fit of that thing he made for the Yule Ball." Darian plucking at the sleeves and muttering about them laying wrong had mystified Tapendra. They'd felt fine to him.

Her reference to feathers made him snort, his smile smirk-like. "Just be glad you didn't draw that straw, alright? You might have wound up as...something." The hag had, apparently, always wanted a pony. Why she'd chosen to transform him and not Landis was a bit of mystery to him. "It was rather fun to be able to fly, though. If there was a way to voluntarily go back and forth, I might do it."

“Strange man,” she accused, still smirking. Perhaps he’d forgotten that Pony-Tapendra had fallen off the globe in a heap of hilarity when Aileen had checked up on him in his Tower. Though if she were in his shoes, she’d probably want to remember it as flying instead of flailing, too.

“You must be Darian’s new pet project,” she raised her eyebrows.

"If you’re not careful, you'll be festooned in feathers again. Except they’ll be on your dramatic, sweeping cloak as you flip your hair over your shoulder and stand in the wind. For effect, of course.”

To demonstrate, Aileen brushed a lock of hair away from her face, straightened her shoulders, and rested her hands on her hips, a teasing glint in her eye. But a hint of caution laced her words. Darian was a busy man, and she hadn't heard of any other customers called in for random fittings or sent gifts in the post. And Tapendra could be so oblivious - this might be the only time when that was a positive thing.

Tapendra smiled still, but his expression changed slightly, smile fading a moment, his gaze dropping to the bar top. Pet project, was he? That was one way to put it. He knew in his heart that Darian's gifts were...well, not the usual among wizarding society. It was easier to make himself think they were strange little habits of the man's. Certainly he had evidence to that effect, with Dolly getting the same sort of gifts - women's accessories in her case, naturally. But the relationship between Dolly and Darian was a mite ambiguous, wasn't it...

"Something like that." He sipped from his glass again, gesture automatic. Sip. Place glass on bar, watch ice move.
"Can you imagine me with long hair?" He asked, skeptically, as she painted an image in words. Gods, had she seen that silly article? Darian and his breeze spells - thankfully, he hadn't tried have Tapendra grow his hair out. "I haven't had long hair since 1995," he added, thoughtfully. How different the world had been, back then. Especially in '95...

"Morgan's an interesting sort," he said finally, mind bouncing back and forth between two topics he didn't really want to ponder much. "He's a bit eccentric, at times. You know - artists. He's like bloody Merlin with his tailoring, though. Never had clothes that fit me, before this. Now I understand why you always..."

He waved a hand at her vaguely, gesturing to her ensemble. "Why you always look so good."

“No, I really can’t,” Aileen replied, sounding amused.

She would have teased him mercilessly if he'd sported long hair in school. Especially as a seventh year, with her blonde hair in that careful nineties' side part. Only one of them could pull that off.

Aileen just hoped Darian’s help was not part of some pureblood game, though if Dolly and Tapendra seemed genuine friends, she supposed Tapendra and Darian could be.

At the compliment that seemed less a compliment and more an honest observation, Aileen marveled at how different it would sound coming from most any other man. Which was both refreshing and… strangely not.

Aileen smirked at him over her glass, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“Whatever are you insinuating, Tapendra?” She paused, taking a sip of her drink. “I just wake up like this.”

She gestured at her dress, which of course, was free of wrinkles and perfectly tailored. Her hair fell loose and wavy, but there was an art to that too. And just behind her ears hid a dab of perfume – not that she let anyone close enough to notice it.

Right. She woke up like this. Aileen’s smile widened, daring him to contradict her.

He looked her up and down again, and the smirk that crossed his features was subconsciously driven, an echo of her own. He'd believe it, really he would. It was an easy image to conjure, of her simply appearing in the morning, hair perfect, makeup merely a natural part of her face. Somehow, it was difficult to imagine Aileen sleeping; the image that came to mind for that was either her long, delicate form draped elegantly over some silk bedsheet, or her laying face-down, mouth open, snoring up a thunderstorm. There was little middle ground.

"I'm insinuating that you've got, you know. It." He waved his hands in an attempt to convey what it was, hands forming a hourglass shape for a moment. There were a lot of words for what she'd got - and her it was very different from Dolly's it or Darian's it. Dolly was sexy, fun, urban; Darian was dangerous, sly, exciting. Aileen was elegant, cold, classy. All breeds of that nebulous concept of style that was a marvel to behold, and something he secretly wished he had. 

"Sorry, I'm not making any sense, are I," he said, with a sigh and a sheepish sort of smile.  Best to change the topic, wasn't it -

"How's Abby doing?" He asked, having not seen the girl since that strange day after the Yule Ball.

"Oo, the elusive 'it'," she teased, raising her eyebrows when he made an hourglass shape with his hands. Aileen was flattered, but he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know, either. Perhaps it was the knowing that gave her ‘it’.

“Abby’s been fine,” she answered readily, letting him change the topic without further comment.

“It’s a shame, really, that she hasn’t sworn off music since the opera,” she added with a wry smirk, rubbing at her ear. That was the last time he’d seen her sister. Aileen had thanked Tapendra for his help, but she wondered if he knew how much it meant to her. And apparently, how much it meant to her mother.

The sudden lack of Howlers would either confuse him or go unnoticed, she imagined. He’d wake to the normal sounds of birds chirping at the window and students at the tower door, battling for his attention.

She smiled at her own private joke, directing the smile toward him.

“She’s enjoying her new internship with Aisling, and we’re both better off for it. It gives her something to do other than obsessing over Sasha, Tyr, and whoever else is in the wings,” she waved her hand in the air.

Aileen took a sip of wine, meeting his eyes over the glass. “Teenage girls. Insufferable.” As if he didn’t already know.

He nodded, listening. It was good Abby had at least seemed fine; with the events of this year so far, she could well be the only one. But he'd trust Aileen's account on this one since, as far as he knew, if she was going to tell anyone she wasn't okay, it was Aileen. Probably. There did seem to be a strange tension between the sisters – authority issues, no doubt. Already an issue with any teenager and then multiplied tenfold when you weren’t their real parent.

Tapendra grunted, amused. “You're telling me,” he said, sipping his drink again. “I've got two.” Georgiana's moods and whims were becoming more and more a mystery the older she got; he couldn't help the feeling that something thing was getting worse, but she wouldn't tell him anything. And he doubted just asking would produce the desired effect – more likely she'd throw something at him.

He put his beer on the bar and heaved a sigh. “And Cyhirae's gone and gotten herself a boyfriend,” he said, miserably, crossing his arms on the bar in front of him. “You know the worst part? I can't even bring myself to dislike the little bastard.”

“You’re a disgrace to parents everywhere. It must be time to take away your over-protective father badge,” she teased, gesturing with an open palm.

She sipped at her wine, not envying Tapendra one bit. Managing two teenagers sounded like an impossible task, especially when they acted so different from each other. There was no ‘one size fits all’.

“Why, who is he?”

Aileen paid little attention to the romantic entanglements of her students unless those students involved Abby. Cyhirae seemed sensible. Aileen just asked out of idle curiosity and to prolong the hilariously miserable look on Tapendra’s face.

True to her desire, Tapendra's miserable expression stayed in place. It wasn't that he disliked Ambrose. He rather wished he could dislike the boy – it'd make all this a little easier. But Ambrose was a kind boy, gentle as a lamb and about as dangerous. What the boy wasn't was terribly academic or, well...

Perhaps it was the other Peppers Tapendra had known and worked with, but poor Ambrose stuck out as more than a mite dim. He certain wasn't the sort Tapendra had  pictured his daughter with, when he'd allowed himself to worry about that prospect at all.

Mostly, though, it just underscored the uncomfortable and unavoidable fact that Cyhirae was growing up. He didn't have long, did he? Next year would be Georgiana's last year in school – hell, she'd be of age this year. Cyhirae wasn't that far behind. Where had the time gone?

It wouldn't be long, now, til he came home to an empty house...

He shook his head. “Ambrose Pepper,” he said. “I don't think he's in your class. He's -” Best to start off truthfully, really. “A very sweet boy. Bit of a lamb, really he is. Rather shy and easily led.” He sniffed. “And he's...well -” He shot Aileen a look. Surely she, of all people, would understand why he might wince?

“Not...exactly the brightest brain in his year,” he said, with a frown. “Poor thing's eyes glaze over at the slightest mention of mathematics, and he can barely cast...”

Tapendra sighed. “He's a lovely boy, really he is. Just not what I'd imagined as her type, I suppose.” A thought occurred, suddenly, and he laughed – softly and gently, but with an edge of melancholy to it. “Maybe she's more like her mother than I thought.”

Aileen gave him the briefest of sympathetic looks, cradling her wine glass in her hands. It took her a second to catch what he meant, because she knew he'd never call himself dim, no matter how humble he acted. No, he must be commenting on how dissimilar he was to Judy. She couldn't argue with him there. Nor did she feel like she could comment - she and his late wife had never gotten along. They'd had to share a Slytherin dorm for seven years.

"How old is Cyhirae? Fifteen?” Aileen paused. “Seems a bit too young for a type.” She lifted one shoulder, unconcerned. “Perhaps she appreciates that he’s different from her – not booksmart.”

Teenagers were supposed to date around, or so she’d heard. Cyhirae could do worse for her first boyfriend. If Ambrose was sweet and harmless, who cared if he couldn’t transfigure a teacup?

Aileen thought of the boys in Abby's life who were sweet and intelligent and unfortunately not harmless. All the smarts in the world hadn’t kept Sasha from trusting a dangerous criminal. And though she couldn’t find a fault in mild-mannered Tyr (not for lack of trying), he represented an early marriage at an age where Abby still asked her mother to make her hair appointments.

“What about Gigi?” Aileen raised her eyebrows, smirking slightly. “Too busy for dating now that she’s a prefect?”