CROWN prince

⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that AMBROSE SELWYN? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the FORTY THREE year old pureblood WIX is a DURMSTRANG alumnus who has gone on to be a MEMBER OF THE WIZENGAMOT. i’ve heard they can be quite HARD WORKING & PERSONABLE, but i don’t know… they came off very SELF-PRESERVING & HEDONISTIC in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it?

dependent Harry Potter rp blog penned by Caro!!

playlist. pinterest. intro.

hélène laughed, “i’ll remember that,” she probably wouldn’t, though that was through no fault of ambrose. “i would have to agree,” she nodded, as she cast a quick glance at those around them. it was best to behave in such a setting, not that she’d ever been known to misbehave. “something tells me you’ll be an excellent teacher,” she ran her tongue across her lips as she looked at her friend, “after you,” she gestured towards a nearby table. 

“An excellent teacher,” Ambrose echoes with a good-nature that he certainly does not possess. Or at least, hasn’t in a long time. His eyes linger for a fraction of a moment on Helene, the upward tug of his lips exceedingly more genuine than most of the rest of him. This dance they’ve been doing has come to be a solid source of amusement, and he’ll take any opportunities she’ll allow to simply enjoy her company. And so he leads her towards a table, stopping to pull a chair out for her. “After you,” he echoes.

             ❝   𝐨𝐟   𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭   𝐢   𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞   𝐧𝐨   𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭  ,   elder   selwyn   .   ❞   eulalia   steps   into   his   space   and   takes   his   arm   with   an   ease   borne   from   YEARS   of   practice   ,   a   pointed   kind   of   feminine   grace   ,   even   if   eulalia   wasn’t   quite   so   familiar   with   the   man   .      the   fact   that   they’re   near   strangers   does   not   bother   her   in   the   slightest   ,   let   alone   is   it   something   she   would   allow   to   show   on   her   face   while   she   was   out   in   public   .   ambrose   selwyn   was   more   of   a   neutral   party   :   someone   who   was   neither   fully   in   their   pocket   nor   was   he   ever   directly   in   their   way   .   eulalia   had   a   healthy   dose   of   respect   for   people   who   kept   to   their   own   council   ,   even   if   it   was   less   than   convenient   for   her   if   they   weren’t   strictly   in   her   corner   .   still   ,   politesse   was   her   armor   and   she   bore   it   with   a   grin   .   softening   herself   in   his   view   was   only   a   perk   to   the   impromptu   meeting   .   ❝   terribly   sorry   to   be   taking   your   companion   for   the   afternoon   ,   mr.   blackwood   ,   but   i   am   a   B U S Y   woman   .   have   to   squeeze   in   a   break   when   i   can   .   you   understand   ,   don’t   you   ?   ❞      she   demures   ,   a   kindly   smile   taking   over   her   features   even   though   she   barely   bothers   to   listen   to   his   hasty   platitudes   ,   already   turning   back   towards   ambrose   .   ❝   again   ,   thank   you   for   the   escort   .   apparently   i   cannot   be   trusted   to   keep   track   of   my   own   items   when   i’m   out   and   about   .   ❞

--

And thus, the game is afoot. Ambrose makes careful work of guiding Madame Karkaroff out of the company and view of Mr. Blackwood, though she is certainly the one saving him in this scenario, incredibly aware of the hand on his arm. Whose it is. What exactly it means in this moment. They both know, as well as anyone in their sort of circles, that nothing that happens in public is at full-face value. It simply can’t be, what with the court of public opinion and the general goings-on of the world they lived in. ( That, to be clear, meaning more than just the magical one, but the one that operated in a court of shadows and whispers. Nothing of that world, of that facade, would ever be fully shown in the views of the masses. They simply could never know. ) He pats her hand gratefully as they walk, escorting her lithely through the crowd. “It’s my absolute pleasure, Madame, I assure you. And really, it’s you doing me the favor, is it not?” His grin is equal parts charming and reserved. No toes to be stepped on today. “After all, one can hardly deny the advantages of having your company even for a few moments, can they?” And while it is, to some degree, a game of flattery, Ambrose very much means what he says. To have the mostly undivided attention of the Lady Karkaroff for even a few moments is an advantage he has no intention of wasting. A game he’s more than eager to play. “Might I ask what you’re doing out on this lovely day?” 

“a true gentleman,” hélène smiled, as she raised the flute to her lips to take a small sip of the bubbling beverage. “one might question the legality of it,” she chuckled. she certainly had no plans to do so, but she thought it was still worth mentioning. if for nothing else than to further the conversation. “i must confess i’ve never been much of a gambler,” she smiled, “perhaps you could show me the ropes?”

“In some occasions.” Not all, by any stretch, but that’s hardly the question of the moment. For now, small talk and amusement will suffice. He’ll make certain of it. “One might,” he agrees with an amused twinkle in his eye. “Though considering the crowd at hand, I’d say it’d be risky at best to do anything... too untoward.” Which, of course, meant it was maybe one of the better times and places to do so. Ambrose wouldn’t deny, depending on the party, that there was something thrilling about procuring certain deals at an event as public as this. “I’m far from an expert, myself, but I’d be more than happy to share what I know.”

location: the belby manor participants: hélène levesque & ambrose selwyn ( @dubiousiisms​ )

“why thank you,” hélène smiled as she accepted the champagne flute from her friend. “i could’ve gotten this myself, you know,” she remarked, though it was worth mentioning she hadn’t made any real effort to get one. “but perhaps it’s best that you’re such a gentleman,” she laughed, “this crowd looks like a nightmare.”

“A lady shouldn’t have to get her own drink,” Ambrose replies with a wink, not strictly intending to let his fingers drag across hers in the passing-off of her drink, but certainly not opposed when it happens. His grin is characteristically charming, a show put on for a party of one. Certainly one of his favored audiences, to be sure. Casting a glance over his shoulder at the bar, he laughs lightly. “Gambling and drinking, looks like Miss Belby’s running a certifiable den of iniquity, mm?”

“eliza fawley,” the impressive diamond inset into her golden wedding band glitters beautifully beneath the music hall chandeliers, the least obvious way to answer the question she can feel him dancing around being to take his offered hand with her own and give a firm shake. her husband - last seen in heated debate at the bar - wears the other half of the set, tonight, for the purpose of keeping up appearances; they BOTH know where they sit in regards to this marriage, but now is not the time in which to announce shared lack of commitment plainly. “my husband and i have just moved back to london,” eliza will have to make do with too friendly smiles and a handshake that lingers a moment too long, in order to communicate her circumstance. she’s used to it. “so no, ambrose-” she doesn’t much care for the formalities of pureblood society, all mr and miss, never has, never will, “you wouldn’t have seen me at any of these stuffy events before now. more’s the pity… for both of us.” 

“Eliza,” he repeats, savoring the way her name feels in his mouth. The surname rings bells, of course, and it’d be hard to ignore even if he wanted to. But the way her hand lingers with his just a fraction longer than would be sociably polite, the way she chooses her words so carefully. The tone of her voice, the glimmer of her grin. It’s a language that Ambrose has come to speak well and certainly one he’s glad to see she does as well. It’d be shame to waste such a pretty face in to the life of a loveless, stuck marriage. Say what you will about the Selwyn heir and commitment, but he respects it so long as those involved do, too. Usually. He takes care not to broadcast the indiscretions, of course, to keep things subtle and quiet. Another facet of his life tucked away from the public eye. “You’re not a fan, then? Here for the glimmer and the glitz? Or maybe the champagne?” The las bit is tossed in with a bit of humor, brows raised as his smile grows. 

The silence in Ambrose's pause is all but deafening. It's not a question he ever anticipated, nor one he really has a good answer to. How is someone supposed to have a good answer to something like this? "I..." The charming façade fades for the briefest of moments, revealing the shattered man underneath. "I didn't even get around to that for a while after Lyra's passing. I had my daughter to think about and that was sort of the focus of my life for a while, so..." It doesn't answer the question. "It took me a few years to take it off."

accepting:

it will never stop feeling WRONG. marietta decided that years ago ; a list of names, pictures of faces too young that will never change. the worst of it is the fact that she always realizes anew that she had forgotten the finer details of people’s faces until seeing mementos of them here, that voices she once would have recognized in an instant have left her mind all together. what had padma sounded like, her laugh, her voice? that’s the name that catches her off guard every year, and it has again this time. maybe it’s the memories of happy times spent in ravenclaw tower that has really thrown her this go-round.

whatever it is, it’s what drove her to try and find someplace quiet. there’s an abundance of places one could go in hogwarts to reflect and be alone, but it seems a lot of people have had the same thought of her. every secluded bench or bathroom she recalls being empty most of the time has been host to someone else trying to stifle weeping or staring blankly into the middle distance or speaking lowly to someone in a way marietta knows wouldn’t be welcoming to another face.

she’s going to have to settle to sitting with someone else, it seems. this bench is tucked in a corner of one of the courtyards and marietta draws close to the figure already sitting there. “mind if i join you?” her voice is quiet but not quite tentative, “it feels more crowded this year.”

The plight of Hogwarts had been unforgettable, but also a near-miss in Ambrose’s life. He’d been a different man then, less left to his own devices and more overwhelmingly at the beck and call of Ianthe. She had been young then, not yet of age to join the school, just young enough to ask sharp questions without realizing the answers might be too big for her. And he’d been, frankly, uninvested. So he’d taken her away--taken a short sabbatical from work and whisked his eight year old daughter away to the French countryside to visit his parents. A beautiful trip, really, one neither of them were likely to forget. Simply put, he remembers, but feels no attachment. The horrors undergone by the students of the years unfortunate enough to be caught in the fight were of a magnitude he didn’t want to consider. The losses detrimental to every side. The lines drawn both in cement and in sand. It’s a whirlwind the magical world will likely never forget. 

All that said, he would be remiss not to attend the memorial. It’s a matter of public station, of respect to the fallen, of honoring the living. And so he sits, away from the heavier parts of the crowd, head leaning back against a pillar as thoughts circle like sharks. Dark eyes flit to his new companion and a kind, if not tempered, smile slides across his lips. “Be my guest.” He provides her with the time to sit, to get comfortable, before tacking on. “I missed last year, but it certainly feels busier than the year before.” 

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽          :          merlin’s     music     hall     . 𝙵𝙾𝚁          :          ambrose     selwyn          (          @dubiousiisms​          )          . 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂          :          closed     .

&          perhaps     it’s     a     notion     they     both     share          /          an     innate     knowledge     ,     a     learned     habit     that     becomes     impossible     to     drop     .     there’s     no     𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐     involved     in     attending     the     opera     ,     for     SALAZAR’S     sake     ,     but     when     impenetrably     cool     gaze     meets     other’s     there’s     no     denying     that     it’s     not     just     congenial     warmth     alone     that     curls     into     what     passes     for     a     smile     .          ❛          ambrose     .          ❜          elegant     hand     waves     him     over     ,     gestures     to     the     empty     space     that     so     briefly     lingers     at     his     side     .          ❛          i     wasn’t     𝑨𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑬     that     you     were     attending     this     evening     ,     otherwise     i     would’ve     extended     an     invitation     to     our     box     .     the     view     is     wonderful     here     ,     absolutely     magnificent     .          ❜

There is a fine line to be walked between being polite, sociable, and being a doormat. Making any statement overly aggressive warrants scorn while simply sitting back and allowing anything at all to be said to or about you earns its own form of disdain--and often pity as well. This is the world that Ambrose has grown up in--politicking and swimming through shades of grey. Navigating every conversation as expertly as one would navigate a boat through a reef. He considers himself quite good at it, were he to ever be honest about it, though that would involve a level of honesty he hasn’t broached in over a decade. These situations rarely phase him these days--but it would be pure and unadulterated lunacy (and only that) to say that he doesn’t play a bit safer in the presence of the Minister of Magic. “Minister Karkaroff.” Ambrose makes his way over, slowly as if he’s not technically at the beck and call of this man. Even a predator must take heed of those that outsize him. “That would have been a very kind offer, indeed. My family procured tickets several months back, and yet I’m the only one able to attend the festivities.” He offers a good-natured chuckle. “Are you a fan of opera?” 

“You’ll have to forgive my being forward,” eyes scan her hands for a ring, for any indication of marital state. It’s not that flirting with married women is off the table by any stretch, but it does certainly help to know what he’s getting into before he does so. A game played differently, is all, with perhaps a bit less abandon and a few more calculated steps. Ambrose smiles all the same, nodding his head in her direction as he steps into her line of view. “But I’m afraid I’ve not seen you around before and I’m quite sure I’d remember if I had. It seems an awful waste not to introduce myself, at the very least.” One hand extends at just the right angle that it could be either a hand-shake or an attempt to take her hand in a less... professional way, shall we say, the interpretation entirely up to her. “My name is Ambrose Selwyn, Miss...?” 

Great, now she looked like an incompetent witch, too.

 He probably didn’t mean it like that. Of course he didn’t mean it like that, he was just trying to be nice. Probably. Not everyone used every interraction as an opportunity to prove your inferiority. There were just a lot of those people at the ministry.

Besides, she could probably do a cleaning spell, theoretically .She was a grown woman, and a decent spellcaster - except    she had only  tried one of those once, in Second year, and had ended up setting fire to her skirt,  so she’d avoided them ever since.

“You know, that would be lovely. It would certainly save me a trip home. I would have cast something myself,  but I’ve had some pretty disastrous results with that kind of emergency spell. But if you know something that works, that would be lovely.”

It’s hard to put into words how exactly he knows. Perhaps it’s just years of reading people. Perhaps it’s just that she’s an easy read. Perhaps he’s just on top of his shit today. No matter the reason, he can tell she’s overthinking the whole thing. This constitutes his second good deed for the day, and frankly that may be just his fill. True charity came sparingly from Ambrose Selwyn, at least these days, and he’s not above admitting that. Well perhaps he is right now, but not in most scenarios.

There’s the smallest hint of a tease to his smile as he nods, brandishing his wand. A small flourish and some murmured words produce the faintest hint of steam from his wand which all but slithers towards the young woman, wrapping itself around the stained portion of her shirt. It seems almost to sap the discoloration from the top and into itself, a sponge of sorts, and as the faintest hints of the stain vanish, as does the steam, tinted faintly the color of coffee. 

“Right then. There you go, Miss...?” He pauses, allowing her the space to provide her name. “All cleared up and good to go.” 

            𝐞𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚   𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬   𝐭𝐨   𝐚   𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩   ,   one   eyebrow   arched   as   she   turns   on   her   heels   .   ❝   aren’t   you   just   an   everyday   hero   ,   elder   selwyn   ,   ❞   she   drawls   ,   a   playful   smile   tugging   at   her   lips   as   she   reaches   a   hand   out   for   the   coin   purse   that   had   slipped   from   its   place   beneath   her   arm   without   her   notice   .   she   wouldn’t   have   missed   the   spare   sickles   and   knuts   and   galleons   later   on   but   perhaps   she   might   have   MOURNED   the   loss   of   the   hand   painted   silk   of   the   bag   .   ❝   never   a   bother   to   see   you   out   and   about   ,   ❞   her   eyes   flicker   to   the   man’s   company   ,   some   peon   with   some   request   or   another   on   their   tongue   that   he’s   clearly   trying   to   avoid   ,   and   so   she   offers   him   up   an   out   .   all   in   the   spirit   of   saving   him   right   back   .   ❝   in   fact   ,   how   about   i   buy   you   a   drink   ?   a   little   recompense   straight   from   the   bag   you’ve   rescued   today   ?   ❞

“I certainly try, Madame Karkaroff.” The Karkaroffs are, in all rights, a dangerous family to be involved with, if only for how much power and influence they hold. Ambrose has watched them work from afar for long enough to know at least that much. Charming and persuasive, with names of pedigree and weight to boot. More often than not, he opts to stay out of their circle, if only because it also keeps him out of their line of fire. But in this instance, just this once, he really could use the assistance. And he really doesn’t feel like continuing this conversation with Mr. Blackwood right now, so if he just... takes the offer, well. Who’s to blame him? There’s a flicker, just a passing moment, of gratefulness in his eyes as she offers the escape. “I’d enjoy that quite a bit.” His gaze passes from Eulalia to his company for a moment and the most faux of smiles crosses his lips. “Perhaps we can continue this another time, Mr. Blackwood?” He barely gives him time to respond before stepping away and offering his arm to his new company. “Shall we?”