"For a while," Drystan flashed her a brief smile, but didn't expand further on the subject. He didn't often share anything about himself, if he could help it, barring people he was close to, such as Odette. But his public self was quite reserved—stand-offish, even. He was always polite, always inclined to continue a conversation, but there was very little warmth about him. Drystan's relationship with Miss Zeller was peculiar—he certainly knew intimate details about her that he would not ordinarily know if, say, he had met her here. And there was no question that she was quite aware of some of his own peculiar situations. What category, then, did Bess Zeller fall into? Benefactee was hardly the term, not even Drystan felt that applied (considering she wasn't even aware that she was such), but there was a certain amount of—cautious tension between the two, in his opinion. Or perhaps that was because he found her utterly fascinating, and that was positively unheard of.
He thought far too much. So much so, perhaps, that he was considering indulging in Professor Slughorn's oak-aged mead.
"You look very beautiful tonight," he said, nodding his head towards her golden garb slightly. His thoughts turned ruefully amused as he compared the casual purple robe he was sporting to the dress ones of those around him. He should probably stop being petty about dress codes and adhere to them every once in a while, he thought.
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