What: The Rosier Masquerade Ball
Who: All purebloods of note (and good reputation)!
When: June 1974
Where: The Rosier family's primary country property, France
Rating: Goodness knows! There's going to be at least a little scandal though, so we'll say PG-13+, to play it safe.



The sense of effortless grace and style that one was confronted with upon arrival at the Rosier château on the night of their masquerade ball was actually, as is often the case, anything but effortless. The normal running of the household had been disturbed for weeks, over both the items of great importance such as the guest list, catering, staffing and entertainment, and the most minor concerns such the lettering on the invites. It was vital that no trifle be neglected for such an important occasion, and indeed, none had been.

The grand ballroom was styled to match the theme of the ball, in black and white. Wispy voiles were hung at every tall window and at the large open doors at the back of the ballroom leading out onto a terrace and the gardens beyond, where little lights could be seen scattered in the tall trees and delicate flowers. Large panels inside the ballroom itself had been charmed into mirrors, to give an almost dream-like sense to the evening as the hall gradually filled with dancing couples and talking groups composed of the upper echelons of pureblood society.

Those who wished for more sustenance than the liveried staff offering champagne and hors d'oeuvres could provide swept across to the veritable banquet laid out in an anti-chamber to the right of the ballroom, intended to sustain guests until the late dinner. Those who did not wish to dance or felt the need to refresh themselves went to the gaming rooms and cloakrooms on the left of the hall.

A musical ensemble, masked and also attired in black and white, were set on a raised dais in the ballroom to provide music for those dancing, whilst a smaller quartet played in a gazebo set out a distance away in the fragrant grounds for those who wished to venture further afield in the still-warm evening.

As more and more guests arrived and were announced, and the ballroom, adjoining chambers and gardens filled with well-bred witches and wizards, a sense of excitement built. The bastions of pureblood society began to appear in full force, each family entry more impressive than the last. That itself would be enough spectacle for less-cultured members of society, but this was the crème de la crème and lesser members limited themselves to covert glances, envious and curious in turn. If those that had gained invitations through less than scrupulous means stared over-long, no one paid any attention due to their attempts to check the way many of their own gazes fell towards the great families.

Rosier balls and society events were without a doubt regarded as a highlight of every pureblood social calendar, and all agreed that this masquerade was even better than the last winter ball. The young Rosier ladies scattered throughout the hall were all exceedingly beautiful, and none more so than the hostess Madame Odile Rosier, on the arm of her husband (and heir apparent to the House) Thibaud. He cut a dashing figure despite – or perhaps because of, many ladies whispered – his age, which had only increased his dignity and not stolen any of the good looks of his youth. Their only son Evan, an exceedingly eligible young man by all accounts (with the family planned to fall to him in his turn), was dutifully guiding a fresh-faced young cousin through a complicated dance with enviable style.

The night of the Rosier ball was full of possibility, and it had only just begun.

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