#quartusbellumstarter

It was no surprise later, closer to midnight then not, that Gabriel was feeling stuffy. The party was put on by Nott, after all. Nott wouldn’t know a decent party if it bit him on the arse and without Mrs. Nott it probably would have had an ending time of ten-thirty.

Which, really, would have been a blessing at this point. 

Sure the food was good, and there were plenty of drinks, but it was all so... one note. At least if the party was at the Malfoy estate Gabriel would have found other ways of making the party...interesting (in socially acceptable ways, of course).

He needed some water, maybe. Or just a quick walk in the gardens. Or...

Gabriel Greengrass had experienced many needles in his life and more than his share of potions (much to his frustration). This was neither. It cut his skin and burned through his robes (and he liked those robes!) The shriek probably would have put his son’s ear-piercing shouts to shame. The following, “What is it, what is so my chest?” No less reverberating around the room.

There was nothing Gabriel liked more than a party: but this one was pushing his love of event and cascading towards morgue. Like most pureblood events --it was stiff and fitted tight with egos, most of which were honestly deserved but several of which who were not. Gabriel had spent the majority of the day bossing house-elves around, the rest of it drinking, and was now grasping between the smoking room (ghastly smell, but fabulous buzz) and the main hall looking for...

Well, something that wasn’t so terribly dull. 

“So,” Gabriel grabbed the first unsuspecting wix he could, hardly paying overly much attention to whom it was and how what he might say would reflect upon their ears. “Tell me, who do you think Mrs. Nott is having an affair with?”

He leaned in, licorice still on his breath from his last drink, “I mean, we all know she’s a lesbian for all that she’s just had Nott Jr.” He waved a hand voice low among the general rumble of the room but close enough he knew he wouldn’t be missed. “Can’t blame such a pretty little blond thing looking elsewhere for other pretty little things. Nott looks like he’s just dusted himself off from the crypt.”