Disaster or Masterpiece? [Sam Turner]

[Owen Fairchild]

Owen stood in front of the mirror, blinking at the reflection that didn’t feel entirely like him. The long black tailcoat with its golden lining flared behind him like some sort of extravagant cape, and he had to resist the urge to spin around just to see it catch the light. The gold pattern on the inside gleamed, almost daring him to step into the ball with confidence.

The black waistcoat was perfectly snug, buttoned up with gold buttons that matched the tie he’d painstakingly chosen. The sharp black trousers fell straight, almost too perfect, and polished shoes reflected the candlelight in tiny, mocking flashes. He tugged at the cuffs, smoothed the lapels, and straightened the cravat once more. Bold. He should feel bold. But…

He shifted from foot to foot, twisting and turning to view either side of his back. What if it was too much? What if everyone stared—and not in a good way? What if he looked ridiculous, like a magician’s rejected apprentice rather than a student ready for a ball?

No. Sam. Only Sam could judge this fairly.

He grabbed a piece of parchment and scribbled a note, heart hammering:

"Sam, meet me in the Room of Requirement. Need a second opinion. Urgent. No one else can see this disaster—or masterpiece—get here... stat!"

Rolling up his note, he quickly darted to his owl (not so quick to startle the poor creature), and handed it over. The owl gracefully took a hold of the note and hooted before taking off with the message, leaving Owen alone with his own reflection once more. He ran a hand down the coat, feeling the silky golden lining under his fingertips. Bold. Daring. And maybe… just a little ridiculous. Who was he trying to impress? The more he stood in front of the mirror and inspected his outfit, the more he started to panic.

He paced, adjusted the tailcoat again, and tried not to fidget too much. Soon, Sam would appear, and hopefully she’d say the words he needed to hear: You look amazing. Until then… he would just have to wait, twirling a golden cuff in his fingers, heart racing at the thought of her verdict - pacing up and down the little room.