The day was not going the way that Isaac would have preferred. The young man had had no intention of visiting the village that weekend, despite the enthusiasm displayed by the mass populace of the school. He understood such enthusiasm, as it was difficult not to. For a good portion of the year, students and staff alike were locked up in a single local—although, admittedly the grounds were large, but with such a large population dwelling there it might have well been small—that a small respite in the form of visiting the local village was enough to entice anyone from the stone confines of the school. Yet, the Slytherin normally preferred to remain at the castle, where the population had dwindled considerably. But unfortunately, this was not to be the wizard’s fate that day. No, but a wicked twist of fate, the man had been captured by those in his family’s social circle.

Isaac could have easily shaken the group off with some excuse or another, but he knew he could not play that card indefinitely. The man had a role to play in that power world, and play it he must until he could find the exact moment to extricate himself from it. Isaac understood the necessity of playing the traditional pureblood son, loyal to his family’s long line of purebloods and their high class society. He was set to take over his father’s footsteps. As such, the Slytherin also knew that many within his circle were also courting for his good graces. It was no little thing to be held in high esteem by a Hawkwell, especially the future heir. It was a status that Isaac found particularly annoying. He had learned from an early age that it was all just games; smoke and mirrors. The people sidling up close to him could not care an actual whit about him, only about his status. There was no actual trust in this circus ring. It was distasteful.

Yet, the Slytherin had plastered on the mask and allowed himself to be dragged out of the castle as a willing participant of the day’s excursion, even if mentally he had chalked the day off as a lost cause. Their group was somewhat larger than he expected, but then the purebloods did seem to flock together: keep your friends close, but your enemies closer as the old adage went. There were females and males alike mixed in their group, and the youngest being in their fourth year. A fifth year girl had attached herself to his arm rather quickly from the get-go—the latest social climber—and while she chattered on she had thrown smug little smirks to her companions at having snagged the highest commodity of their group.

Isaac barely paid attention to where they went, just following along. His mouth made the correct comments when needed and his face remained an impassable mask to his true thoughts. The sweet shop left a sour taste in the lad’s mouth, and he found they could not leave the place soon enough. Isaac had never been a fan of sweets, and while the candy store offered a variety of other options, he still was not a fan of the place. So it had been with distaste, and evident annoyance that Isaac had found himself catered around the busy little shop. The girl on his arm—her family was in one of the lower tiers of pureblood, he believed—seemed determined to propel them onward in their trip when she registered that she would not impress the wizard there.

So it was with a decided if not rushed affair that the party of pureblood left the confection with little concern to those around them. As such, perhaps it was so surprising that what followed next had happened. Isaac could not say what had set it all in motion—the door most likely. He had not been the first to leave, but he had witnessed the tumble of the girl outside the door. Inwardly he winced, but outwardly he made no response, although his company seemed not so inclined. A quick glance at the group and Isaac could almost visualize the entire scene before it had even unfolded.

The female at his side, sniffed disdainfully at the girl—Hufflepuff? Gryffindor?—sat undignified on the ground with her candy (peppermint whatever they were) scattered around her from her tumble. “You best be sorry,” the girl to his left retorted, while the one on his arm remained silent, only sending a sneer down the girl’s way. “An ugly lump just standing there, were you trying to trip someone up.” The disdain and scorn dripped from the girl’s lips, while the two behind her poked seething jibe’s at the fallen’s wardrobe and position on the ground. The males in the group were not unresponsive as well, but deigning a mild cat fight—not that the girl on the ground seemed the type give back what she got—to ensue had chosen to chuckle and smirk instead of join in on the insults

Isaac found the whole thing a bit juvenile and stupid, and as if sensing that, the girl on his arm had remain silent at the start. However, she lifted her head, holding herself high above the dirt on the ground, she gave a light toss of her hair as she motioned the other girls. “Such vulgarity,” she sniffed, “I don’t know why you’re even trying with something so common.”