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Bloody feckin'ell!

All right, yeah--Sturgis hadn't exactly planned on attending the ball. At least not as a guest. He had intended to volunteer to be one of the Hit Wizards on duty--that way he was allowed a wand which would be handy in case anything out of the ordinary happened or His lot tried for a stunt. But somehow Dorcas had managed to appear at his desk right as he was creasing his memo to Rowle and she dashed it all. She declared that he was taking a reprieve from life. She'd practically dragged him to the floos to nip home and fetch robes that weren't puce.

Sturgis had lost track of the hour or so at the ball leading up to now. The punch had made him suspicious after the third round he'd felt tipsy. Punch didn't make you tipsy on its own, but his protests were lost among the subsequent glasses of the fruity concoction Dorcas all-but poured down his throat.

Then she'd made him walk. He didn't want to walk but Dorcas had pulled him out of his chair and led him around. But he didn't get too far before Meadows hauled off and shoved him--right into another ball attendee! What had gotten into her? Honestly!

The rush of adrenaline dazed Sturgis who blinked wildly to focus the three peacocks before him into one. They had peacocks at this party? Why on Merlin's green earth...

Oh. It wasn't a real peacock he'd trampled, it was lady dressed as one. And he'd nearly tackled her with just a shove off his feet! Bugger all. He felt like such a clod.

"M'Sorry," Sturgis slurred, grasping at the woman's wrist to steady them both. His cheap mask had slid up his face and was pushing up a wild tuft of his hay-coloured hair. The adrenaline cleared some of the fogginess from his mind and made his eyes go wide in concern. "Really sorry. Must have tripped on my own feet. Are you all right? I hope didn't hurt you. Oh, bugger, I stepped on your dress. I'm so sorry."