“He’s a very excellent snake and thoroughly does you and Slytherin credit.” Plus he wasn’t too completely dissimilar from Sal himself, though that was a compliment that could be on shaky ground with Sal at times, so she omitted it. 

Lord Salazar, the eldest son of the Duke of Slytherin, is one of those rare members of Society who manages to be both highly fashionable and likeable while being something of a quiet recluse. A great student of the Sciences, it is speculated that he may one day put forward strong influence in Parliament. While an attractive mark in the marriage mark, with a large fortune and future dukedom to raise his chances, many find his dark and severe looks intimidating and he’s done quite well staying single through many seasons. 

Colonel Alden, the younger son of an Earl, might seem an odd companion for Lord Salazar, but the two forged a strong friendship in their youth before Garrett was bought a commission in the Royal Military. He found military service suited him and distinguished himself numerous times in the fight against Napoleon, and indeed always seemed more comfortable in command than at home among Society. While his honours and private fortune might make him a highly eligible bachelor, he mostly scorns Society, preferring the countryside when at home, where he can roam and hunt and is only rarely forced into dancing. 

         One step forward, three steps back. 

It was instinct to scream, but she couldn’t find her voice, and when feeling finally returned to her legs, she pushed through her awestruck classmates, gasping for air once alone. 

                 All the progress she’d thought she’d made - gone. 

“If you’re hear to check up on me,” Ginny spoke at the footsteps approaching her without looking up, “rest assured Harry, Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, and even Michael have all checked in.”  She turned finally, eyes landing on Sal only for a moment before quickly falling back to the tabletop in front of her.       She hadn’t expected to see him so soon. “I’m fine. Really.”    

        “Mr. Oram.” Petunia barely glanced up at the boy, focused instead of the dream journals she was sorting through, figuring out who’d at least tried to faithfully recount their dreams and who had made shit up in the frantic minutes before the journals were due. It was vary obvious to her and with the deadline for class drops coming up, she needed to make sure that those were weren’t going to take Divination seriously were kicked out of hers before she was stuck with them. 

Finishing another one, scowling at her notes, she added the journal to the pile of ‘Can Stay, But Won’t Enjoy Themselves’ before she properly looked up at him. “Have a seat,” she gestured to the chair on the other side of her desk. Her office, at the base of the Divination Tower, was warm, comfortable, and neat. “Is there something I can help you with?” 

Salvatore Oram was decidedly one of her Non-Problem Students; one who didn’t baulk overly much at her authority or ensured that there were thinly veiled complaints lodged with the school board every years. He wasn’t even one of those who fawned over her only to sneer Mudblood when her back was turned after docking a few points. “Is it another pass to the restricted section?”

    She skipped past where the goblins had set up, uninterested in their wares, for all that they would attract many others over the next two weeks. She was more interested in the stalls of potion ingredients and the pens of animals which seemed more out of legends and myths than anything that could be real. Lured away by the most delicious smells, she followed her nose to where the food vendors were.  Here the crowds were thickest, with evening approaching and the work of setting up wearing on everyone. Jostled and pushed, Rowena wove through the crowds, still just looking, ears half bent towards the various snatches of music she could hear over the din of people. Some of it was familiar, others strange; a neat summary of the faire as a whole. Finding a quiet perch, she sat and watched people and considered the stalls, finger running over the coin she’d been given to spend or save. After a while she shrugged, hopping down from the fence, turning to head back to her camp. There’d be food there, stew and rabbit meat, with some bread. Good enough. She’d have a treat tomorrow, perhaps.