"Hermione, honestly, I think lipstick would look great on you with your dress. Sophisticated."

She scoffs loudly, returning the stick of gloss into the tube to apply more of the rose colour to her lips. "As I've already told you, I don't like lipstick. Makes my lips feel dry."

I smirk to myself, "Well, what if you plan on kissing Krum later this evening?"

Her demeanor instantly changes from joyful and carefree to agonizingly quiet and guilty-looking.

"I don't think I would like to attend with Viktor anymore."

Looking up from the mirror I was staring at in an attempt to fix my hair, I drop my arms to my sides. Her answer was rushed, out of the blue, but calculated, as if she has been waiting to tell someone this entire time, since she was asked. "What? You don't?", I repeat, my tone of voice pitiful for the poor gentleman.

She looks down, out of shame, I suppose. "This is about Ron, isn't it?"

She keeps her sights fixated onto the floor beneath us, angry at herself for making a mistake that she knew she would regret. "Well, that's all the more reason to go with Krum. It'll make Ron jealous, especially seeing how he saw Viktor as an idol."

Her head raised, eyebrows arching up in reaction, "You're absolutely right! Ronald can take whoever he wants for this evening. I, on the other hand, am going to enjoy myself with 'the most famous Seeker in the world'. She nods her head quickly, smiling to herself in approval of her change in attitude.

I smile myself, returning my attention to my hair, finally placing the strands where I wanted. "Alright, I think I'm finished."

"Me too!"

The both of us simultaneously turned ourselves around to examine the other. Hermione looks absolutely breathtaking in her pink-to-purple ruffled ombré dress. According to her, my grey gown looked incredible on me, and the velvet bodice complimented my skin tone.

"Speaking of boys, how did George take it?"

I sighed. There was no need for Hermione to add context to what she asked, I already knew exactly what she was talking about.

-Two weeks ago-

"So, uh, do you mind telling me why we're here?"

I peer up at him, only to notice the seriousness in his eyes. "What? Where's the snark? The pun?", scoffing at his words.

He chuckles, mostly to himself, "Believe it or not, Heather, I can be serious at serious times."

I scoff, once again, "Yeah, right. I bet you're looking for something to make fun of right at this moment."

The boy lets out another laugh, his eyes twinkling under the pale moonlight. "Alright then, if that's what you want. What do you call a crossbreed between a cockalorum and a pollock?"

I scrunch my eyebrows together, shaking my head. "George, please, I'm trying to tell you something here-"

"Yes, yes, I get that but you haven't even heard the answer. So, what do you call that crossbreed?"

I stare a him for a few seconds, a bashful smile across my face as I give up the search for the answer. "What is it?"

He begins to form a smirk, swallowing quickly to begin his answer, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Draco Malfoy."

I had to bite my cheeks and press my lips into a firm line to keep from laughing, but my efforts failed me as loud blows of airy laughter left my lips.

Calming down, I speak up again."Well, speaking of the devil, I have to talk to you about something dealing with...Malfoy."

George's smile instantly fades away, the glimmer in his eyes growing dimmer ever-so-slightly. "He hasn't done anything again, has he?"

My eyebrows cross together in confusion for the second time that night, "No! No, he...he hasn't done anything.", I silently curse myself for the way I was so quick to defend the boy. "I've received my punishment for the Alihosty Draught prank."

His sights perk up, his body now swaying back and forth in impatience. "Well, go on then! You're not just gonna leave me here on the edge of the Dark Forest without an answer, are you?"

My head tilts to the side, eyes narrows at the ginger-haired boy in front of me. "George, don't tell me you're scared of the forest-"

"Yes! Yes, I am scared, so can you please get to it!", he rushes.

I chuckle under my breath until I remember the entire reason we came here. "I have to go to the Yule Ball...with Malfoy."

He stands still. Breaths now leaving his lips, neither rushed, nor slowed. He inhales to speak, "It's alright, Heather. I understand this is out of your hands."

I blink rapidly before he speaks again.

"What? Did you think I was going to blame you? Of course not, this is Snape we're talking about."

I sigh. "Are you sure you're not mad?"

"Of course not, sweetheart.", a gentle smile forming onto his lips, that shimmer returning in his eyes. "Besides, it's only the Yule Ball. I have you for myself until then."

Grins take over our features as we walk back to the castle, hand in hand. The moonlight shines onto the structure so romantically, as if it were professing its love.

"Just, please, don't tell Fred about the whole Dark Forest thing."

A laugh surpasses my lips. "I promise."

-Present-

Hermione simply nodded her head and agreed with what George said. It wasn't my fault, and I shouldn't be angry at that.

"Are you ready to go?", I inquire, sticking my arm out at an angle for my friend to connect hers with.

"Ready as I'll ever be.", we both chuckle as we walk out of the abandoned bathroom to meet our fates.

—

"Merlin's Beard on a stove, Ron! Remind me to thank your mother next time I see her!"

Ron huffs. "Shut it, Heather.", he casts before looking downward, completely ignoring his... date. By the looks of it, poor Miss Patil would rather be anywhere but here.

We've only just arrived, and after having feeling humiliated by Hermione drawing attention to herself, I could only curse quietly as the turning heads in the crowd included Draco. I've noticed that once his eyes laid onto my dressed figure, they suddenly went wide, and his throat moved, swallowing as if his mouth just suddenly went dry.

The sight made me roll my mascara-covered eye, and the sickening feeling in the back of my throat only made me feel worse as I sit here, waiting for him to actually take action, as he was supposed to.

Although, watching Harry and his two left feet made me feel just a slight bit better as he continued to turn Padma's toes a mix of green and purple.

I sit here, bored out of my mind, contemplating leaving, until a flash of strawberry-red hair crosses my peripheral.

It's George.

Dancing.

With another girl.

The jealousy inside of me stays quiet, like an inactive volcano. I'm not jealous he's here with another girl, not at all. No, no, instead, I feel bad for myself. I should care. I should feel the jealousy seething through my bones. But not an ounce of said emotion seeps through. Nothing erupts, the volcano stays quiet. Nothing except the daily feeling of self-loathing bubbles up inside of me, turning my vision sideways.

Next thing I knew, I heard Ron calling me from behind as I marched up to the blond-haired boy.

"Hey- what are you doing-"

"Shut up.", I spit out.

I turn myself around, letting go of the boy where I snatched his cuff-linked arm. Closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath, I fix my hair and examine the boy in front of me.

He gawks at me in utter awe, completely unaware of the reason as to why I dragged him away from the spot he's been at since he got here, which was, quite frankly, only a quarter of an hour ago.

He speaks up, "I- I was with- with my friends back ther-"

"Oh, really, Malfoy? 'Cause I couldn't give a damn about what you were doing."

He shuts up at my attitude and crossed-arm figure, straightening his parted hair to the side to refrain from messing it up. The action causes me to take his dressed figure into account, the sight almost causing me to lose my breath.

Although his dress robes seemed rather...standard, the black and white suit couldn't help but make the wretched boy look...in a word, expensive.

There was no detailing, no accessories, nothing at all that made this outfit seem special. And yet, it was absolutely perfect.

He clears his throat, allowing me to know that he isn't going to speak. I scoff and roll my eyes for what seems like the twentieth time tonight at his shyness. Why is he acting this way? It's only me.

"I want to dance."

His eyes widen, "Y- you want to- to what?"

I roll my eyes again at his constant stuttering that seemed to only be a habit as of tonight. "I said, 'I want to dance." I grab his wrist again and begin my pace towards the dance floor, only to have the boy keep his grip on mine, turning me around and granting a confused look to form onto my face. "What is it?"

He allows his eyebrows to furrow as mine have, and his eyes scan mine. "You've dreaded this exact thing for months, ever since I asked you myself, and now you want to dance?"

He observed my eyes as they found the ceiling suddenly interesting. I let out a loud groan, having to think quick so I could explain myself.

My sights return to his as I begin, "Professor McGonagall came over to me and told me to have a good time or she'd have my neck. It was part of my punishment."

He glazes his grey eyes over me, then around the large room. "Fine," he says, still looking at the people dancing, "we'll dance."

To my unfortunate self, a slow song begins to play. One I haven't heard of before. He slightly bows, as a true gentleman would. Only the entire gesture is ruined by the devilishly sly smirk upon his face. I stretch my hand out to place it in his, and bend my knees in a curtsy, as I have before during my family's infamous parties. We come closer, to my dismay, and begin to move.

His hand upon my waist, his hold so tight upon my flesh, I can feel the coldness slipping through into the fabric of my dress. My hand upon his shoulder, holding tightly as we sway so smooth, smoother than anyone else in the room.

The violas and violins pick up speed, and so do we. At this point, it almost seems like the instinct comes so easily when he leads the two of us around the room. The delicacy we hold as one bounces off of our attachment on each other. It feels angelic, up until I hear the deep vocals of the boy once again.

"I'm surprised you haven't fallen on your feet, yet."

My eyes snapping to his, "Excuse me? If I fell down, I would drag you with me to the floor."

He chuckles in an unfunny manner. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Admit it."

We shift around as the music does, all notes of piano and violin moving straight through my ears as the song registers inside of my brain without me knowing it, my feet moving on their own in the silver heels I'm wearing.

The girl scoffs, chuckling slightly herself, "As if. That'd be the last thing I want. Especially since it would be you."

"And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?", he asks, forming his lips into a thin line out of anger by her response, peering at her through his dark eyelashes.

She laughs again. "It means exactly what you think. It means exactly what I've been telling you this entire time, since first year. You're an insolent, needy, whiny, little bitch."

He collects his thoughts from her words as he lifts her off the ground, effortlessly spinning her into the air. When he puts her back down, though, the young boy keeps his hands upon her waist as he notices hers are still affixed to his shoulders.

The music moves faster, and so do they. The sounds of the swishing of her dress and the clicks of his shoes go unnoticed as their bodies move closer.

"Oh yeah? Well, you're an incompetent, intolerable swine who cannot even get with anyone from the bottom of the ranks."

Her eyebrow arched up as she takes his words in, twirling around in his hold, "How do you mean?"

His displeased frown is replaced by a troublesome smirk once again. "It means,", he begins, "that you are so pathetic, you couldn't even get with Weasley tonight. How unfortunate."

Peering up at him through thick lashes, the girl begins her defense as she raises her heel and stamps it on the boy's right foot.

"Ah!-"

"Do not bring George into this!"

They sway together, the music grows louder.

"Why not? He's the whole reason why you marched up to me and commanded me to dance.", he mocks, the mix of a disgusted and hurt look still gracing his pale face.

Her mouth is open, her brain trying to think of something to say. "Excuse me?"

He looks down at her with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, as if he adored her stupidity. "Chéri, (honey), you were disgustingly full of jealousy when you saw Weasley dancing with another. It wasn't too hard to decipher."

The music grows louder. Her heart thunders behind her chest at the realization of her exposed self.

"In fact,", he says, "I watched the entire thing unfold right before my eyes."

She stays silent. The music gets louder. Faster.

He sighs, almost dream-like, the way dearest Luna does. "When are you going to realize, that this was meant to happen?"

Louder.

A shaky breath pushes past her lips. "This?", she implores, repeating the boys' word.

"You and me. Us.", he sinks his head lower.

Faster.

With a final breath, with a final note from the delicate instruments that so brought themselves to life at this time of night, he dips her. His hand strongly placed against the small of her back and the surface of her right shoulder, her hands gripping his arms so tightly to hold herself steady, although she knew he wouldn't let her fall. Their faces only inches apart, as if the two were replaying the night they shared their lips as one.