Neither made any mention of the watch after that. After a while, they were back on speaking terms, but they were not as affectionate as before. Fabian found his attempts to apologise for being rude on that day brushed off rudely in turn, and he could not even so much as think of running his hand through Evan's hair again, or to caress that perfect jawline. They were back on civil terms, but the romantic aspect seemed to have flown out of that same window that night and remained irretrievable. Christmas came along and all the school were dismissed for the holidays. Surprisingly, Fabian received an invite from Narcissa, who was not aware of the sudden chill in the relationship, to a Christmas ball for the benefit of yet another charitable cause.

Fabian was about to decline the invite when Evan replied that of course the both of them would attend the ball, after all that effort Narcissa put into organising it alongside her mother.

At the ball, Fabian was assiduously ignored by Evan, so he stuck to himself by the banquet table, when a ginger-haired man approached him, tall and gangly like himself.

"Are you lost, my dear? You don't look you don't belong here." The man regarded Fabian's ill-fitting rental dress robes with distaste.

Fabian was appalled by his rudeness, although he was not incorrect. Throughout the entire night, Fabian had become increasingly aware that there was a world that was not his own, a world to which Evan belonged and he did not, and that all these balls, these glamorous charity galas with witches and wizards bedecked in flamboyant, exquisite bespoke dress robes and dazzling family jewels were entirely inaccessible to him, that this was a world in which he meant nothing and counted for nothing. He started to long for the world he recognised, the one with his sister and brother and living in a tiny cottage wedged in between a farm and the forest in the Welsh valleys, where everyone was honest and warm and not plagued by some confounded need to uphold outdated traditions.

"I'm Ignatius Prewett," the ginger man said pompously. "And whom might you be?"

Fabian looked at the man. Were they actually...related? He was vaguely aware his father had some brothers who ran off with their various pursuits and none of them bothered to keep in touch.

"I'm Fabian Prewett," he replied.

Ignatius Prewett responded with a look of such exaggerated shock mixed with unmistakable snobbery. "How on earth have you infiltrated this place?" he asked in a melodramatic voice.

"I did not infiltrate, I was invited," Fabian said indignantly.

"How were you invited? Pray tell, my imagination does not stretch so far."

Fabian was getting annoyed at Ignatius. "Are we related? Because you're being horrid to me."

Ignatius contorted his face with disgust on entertaining the idea that they were related. He looked like he was about to stomp off in a huff, when some other socialite he recognised came up to them and greeted them warmly. Fabian noted with interest the closeness with which they kissed each other on the cheeks. It seemed to him that there was something more going on here, in a way that people with particular inclinations recognised immediately in others who were like them.

Ignatius then swiftly created an excuse that his wife, Lucretia Black, was calling for him and stomped off impetuously.

Fabian was now left with the chore of socialising with someone he knew nothing about. "Are you friends with Ignatius?" he ventured.

The nameless socialite, who was dressed flamboyantly in robes of elaborate gold brocade, responded eagerly. "Yes, Iggy is a dear friend," he stated, as if it was a matter of course.

"Oh," Fabian responded unenthusiastically, failing to come up with empty social niceties. "What do you know of his marriage to Lucretia Black?"

The other wizard looked mildly surprised that he was so ill informed. "Don't you know what happened with Lucie's former husband?" He shuddered. "What a beastly man. Oh poor Lucie, she suffered so heavily under his hand. Now, Iggy, he's a dear one and he is very fond of Lucie, so he took it upon himself to preserve her honour by snatching her the jaws of that ghastly man."

"Oh," Fabian replied, unsure of what else to say. Perhaps his assumptions about his uncle's proclivities were wrong.

The wizard must have sensed his confusion, for he so kindly elaborated on the situation. "Lucretia was Iggy's earliest supporter, back when he was a pauper of a playwright. She was the one who lent him the money to stage his first play. He'll never forget her support and she's still his favourite muse."

Fabian nodded mutely. The wizard took pity on his sheer cluelessness, and winking at him, began to say, "I assume we are all friends of unicorns here."

Fabian was seized by a sudden bout of nerves. He looked around searchingly, pretending not to know what the euphemism meant, the same one that all his schoolmates used to mock him with when, at a Care of Magical Creatures lesson in his third year, a unicorn responded best to him out of the whole class.

"It's good that they have what they have now, Lucie and Iggy. He cares for her and she gets to preserve her inheritance. But it must be said no one is under the illusion that this branch will bear fruit."

Fabian nodded again. The wizard looked unimpressed with his lack of enthusiasm. A whirlwind of people flurried around him in air kisses and feigned smiles, and Fabian found himself face to face with his uncle once again.

"Ignatius," he called out. "I heard about what happened with Lucretia."

Ignatius looked at him like he was a speck of dust on a flawless porcelain vase. "That's none of your business," he dismissed.

Fabian looked at him sadly. He had so many things to ask his uncle about. How was it like to climb into the upper echelons of society? How does one manage to have affairs without losing respectability? How did he succeed in mingling with these people, how did he get them to accept him?

Ignatius seemed to have read his mind. "Don't be so common, my dear. I know you're dazzled by all the finery on display but take these words to heart—you will not find the prince or princess you are looking for within these gilded walls. A dark heart lies beneath and it does you well to run from it, as fast and far as you can. But if you choose to stay, realise that the only true nobility is in your own deeds. You will have no allies; you will have no royal one to sweep you off your feet into the sunset on a white horse. You'd sooner find yourself the keeper of secrets and the sweeper of things under the rug."

"But what about the one I love?" Fabian blurted. "What will I do with—with him?" His voice trailed off into a whisper at the last pronoun.

Ignatius pulled a face. "Sweetheart, love is the biggest lie that was ever invented."