a/n~ very sorry </3

❝𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?❞

          𝕋𝕙𝕖 candles are blown out, the dark becoming a battle field for demons and monsters that thrive in the blackness of misery. Making (y/n) a silent fighter against their sharp horns and whispers of blood and temptation. Her mind becomes it's own enemy; fighting against itself like it's autoimmune. The light is smothered out, she becomes a slave to fear, uncontrolled prophecies and future happenings. (y/n) drinks the poison offered by her abilities and then wonders why she feels so ill. Almost like the day time events of being happy and living like a normal witch is completely separate from the realm she dives into at night. Her vision sinks it's teeth into her flesh like a parasite. However, the power inside her that it represents makes it ethereal-almost ghostly. It's a drug that openly destroys her, but she yields abilities unimaginable by other beings.

Everything was still; quiet. (y/n) remained motionless in her bed, fingers clasped over her chest as she relived the event of the night. It still seemed impossible to think that Harry had wanted to take her so loyally, or even that he wanted to take her at all. Things seemed to be falling into place, almost too easily. Her world had never smoothed over at such a pace, there was always something that came along to make all the progress crumble into a pile of corrupted regret.

Perhaps (y/n)'s sleepless nights could be counted as the broken piece-the mistake that threatened to shatter anything she had that was good.

Daytime felt normal and warm, but as the Sun went down, the night became torturous and cold.

(y/n) hadn't been sleeping. Her fear was what kept her awake.

She couldn't carry the emotional repercussions of having Cedric's vision every night. It was too much at once; it was too real. Like she was experiencing some sort of warp in time that forced her to relive a traumatizing moment every time she repeated the same action of drifting off.

(y/n) had been sent to Madam Pomfrey's a few times, mainly when she would pass out from sleep deprivation. The school's healer threatened to dose (y/n) with Sleeping Draught if this pattern continued. Claiming it could be detrimental to her health if she kept depriving her body of rest.

Harry and Hermione had occasionally vocalised their concern. Her fragile state being boldly noticeable through the thick darkness under her eyes and the zombie that would sometimes come to the surface as she walked through the halls. It would be a simple question of if (y/n) was sleeping well, for they knew if they made it anymore obvious the girl would become irritated. Making it seem like she couldn't take care of herself. So, they started helping her through actions rather than words.

Hermione would spend a good chunk of her time in the library, researching the best calming properties for nightmares and insomnia. Proceeding to slip some in (y/n)'s tea at dinner occasionally, finally being able to rest herself when she would see her best friend comfortably nuzzled in the dorm bed's covers.

Harry, however, did a more emotional approach rather than Hermione's textbook plan. This was by awkwardly being (y/n)'s personal pillow whenever she needed it. Usually, it was while her and Harry were studying alone. Reading mixed with her sleep deprivation made her prone to falling asleep, Harry making her feel protected from any visions or harm that might try to tarnish her. Hence, her sleeping either on his shoulder or his lap, to which he wholeheartedly accepted-smiling down relieved when he would see her resting.

Those things didn't always work, sadly. Leading to the position she's currently laying in. None of it made sense. Why torture her with this haunting scene of disastrous death and suffering. (y/n) couldn't tell anyone about it, right? Lily Potter had warned her in third year about telling her visions to the trio, so what makes this time any different? It had to be something deeper than Cedric's death.

Perhaps a background detail she missed or something else she should be focusing on.

(y/n) aggressively sat up in her bed once her mind had wandered to different possibilities. Why hadn't she thought of this before?

It's not about Cedric. It's evident that there's nothing she could do about it, so her inner eye was trying to discreetly symbolize a different idea.

Cedric's death. That was the detail. Who had killed him? Lately the audio details of the dream had been clearing, making her hear the faint ending of what could be the killing curse. So who was it? Maybe the person who committed the sinful act is what she should be concerning herself with.

That didn't make any sense either. She had been repeatedly teased with the notion of 'the prophecy', so foreseeing Cedric's death was rational-calculated. If she was presented with the threat that the death of the beloved would branch from the death of the house of the badger, why connect it with Cedric if she wasn't supposed to stop the prophecy from being born? Or, perhaps, she wasn't supposed to prevent it, seeing Cedric's death was just a warning that it was about to be born; that something was about to bloom.

(y/n) tried to think of all the suspicious and threatening aspects she's experienced this year, possibly stringing their connections. 

It started with the nightmare of the Riddle House and hearing that someone wanted her and Harry, proceeding to the Quidditch World Cup (tainted with Death Eaters. Approached by a woman, who claimed the Dark Lord found out her identity through inside help, that she was in danger). Then, the event of Harry and her's name's being sabotaged into the Goblet of Fire, to which Sirius had warned was done by someone with ill intentions. Now the vision of Cedric, along with the prophecy whispers that started in third year.

She groaned as she fell back, head crashing into her pillow. (y/n) pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes, the front of her skull throbbing from exhaustion and an inner eye that gave her way too many things to decode.

Her thoughts felt unorganized.

At this moment she wished she had the skill to practice occlumency, lock away her memories from herself. Also wishing she could relive just the visual of her vision, not the other four sense, so she could attempt to find out who killed Cedric.

It was all too much on her brain at once. (y/n) feared if she were to think about it any harder, blood might start leaking out of her ears while her skull exploded.

She sighed as her eyes fluttered closed. Preparing herself for the inevitable trauma and suffering of the vision. She was learning how to deal with it.

Besides, she would need some rest if she were to use tomorrow as preparation for the Yule Ball.

(y/n)'s lips slightly curled as the thought peeked from behind her questions and responsibilities. That's what she'll imagine while falling asleep.

Harry. Her and Harry, enjoying themselves as they dance, eyes twinkling with desire and reflections from flickering candlelight.

The same imagining she said she hated balls for. Saying she hated imagining that good side because it was always a let down.

Harry was an exception.

She'd dream of the cheesiest what if's if it meant it would make her brain drown in lust for him instead of the usual fear she carried.

So she did. His face being the last thing she saw before she slipped under the waves of sleep.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(y/n)'s head was still pounding when she woke to sunlight piercing her eyes and Hermione frantically leaning over her.

"Wake up, (y/n). I can see you opening your eyes. Don't even think about going back to sleep! We have too much to do today." Hermione's voice was stern and urgent as she peeled the sheets off of her best friend.

The seer slowly became more awake, only to be confused as to why Hermione was pestering her so much. She was standing next to her bed, a piece of parchment tightly encased under her arm. Her features creasing in worry and a rushed sense of productivity.

"Hermione, it's Saturday, why are you waking me up so early?" She scanned her, only to realize the parchment was a schedule.

Hermione didn't say anything. Only looked at (y/n) with shock that she didn't realize the importance of the day.

Hermione exhaled sharply like she was holding her breath. "Do you realize what tomorrow is?"

(y/n) looked around confused, "The...Yule Ball?"

"Precisely. Don't you see the issue?"

(y/n) shook her head.

Hermione grunted in frustration. "It's tomorrow. Yet, you don't have a dress, haven't practiced for the first dance, nor do you have any jewelry."

Hermione sat next to her, revealing the parchment that was caged against her side. "I made a schedule for today to ensure you had everything prepared so you aren't rushing tomorrow."

Hermione passed (y/n) the creased parchment. Sure enough, there was a neatly sketched timetable for the day. Not an hour that wasn't filled with something to accomplish.

The first being the obstacle of finding a dress. (y/n) loved dresses...on other people. But she hated the disappointment of wearing one herself.

"Do you know why your parents never sent you a dress? It was on the school supplies list." Hermione brought up the subject gently.

Her parents had been different since third year. Distant, always busy, not acting like their normal selves. They were now worn out and grey. Before they were bubbly and hopeful. Making sure the cottage was always warm and optimistic. However, (y/n) never goes home for Christmas anymore. Mainly because now the cottage was always dark and quiet like an abandoned cabin, for Astra and Vincent were never there. They still tried their hardest to remain bright whenever their daughter would come home, but the old them seemed like a made up memory.

"Well, mum did send me a package a couple months back. I was sort of relying on it to be my dress." (y/n) went over to the trunk, unlatching the metal hooks with a loud clanking sound. She fumbled inside to find the medium sized box on the bottom, a creme color that made her nervous for what was inside.

Resting it on her covers as it sunk into them, gently prying the lid off. Peeling the crinkling tissue paper from the item, she gasped once she caught sight of the objects details.

Hermione looked at (y/n)'s expression, "It's a dress isn't it? See, I knew you would end up with something. At least we can cross that off and get a jump start on everything else."

(y/n) shook her head, brows furrowed and mouth curved downward in disgust. "Oh, no. This is awful! Hermione this is the most horrendous dress I've ever seen."

Hermione peeked over the risen tissue paper, grabbing it gently and holding it up. She gaped in horror once she absorbed the dresses characteristics.

It had large puffy sleeves, with bulky beads of gems littering them, making swilry patterns as they made their way down to the stomach. It appeared to originally be an eggshell white, but overtime faded to a pale dandelion-flaxen, some patches darker than others. The bottom had a cheap layer of some sort of thin material that was rough and could be separated from the actual fabric of the dress. It's length could be estimated to go to maybe (y/n)'s knees, making it not a suitable amount of inches for a ball. The chest part didn't have any real structure, mainly a loose piece of cloth.

Panic rose inside of (y/n). She had counted on the dress being decent, but now she's supposed to find a dress the day before the ball. Less than 24 hours before she has to start getting ready.

"There's a note with it," Hermione said, almost queasily. She pulled out a small, rectangle piece of Muggle paper. The handwriting was sloppy, rushed.

(𝘺/𝘯),

𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘏𝘰𝘨𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴. 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘐 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘵, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦....𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵!

-𝘔𝘶𝘮

(y/n) scoffed in disbelief as Hermione finished reading the note aloud, her herself having a cringe expression. "Well that's just horrid. I mean, did she even try?"

(y/n) groaned as she face planted into her sheets. "Hermione I cannot have Harry see me in this. I want him to be in awe, not want to run away."

Hermione rubbed her back in soothing circles. "It'll be alright. I was expecting to have to find you a dress anyway. That's what the schedule's for."

"It's not like we can buy one. Where are we suppose to get something good at such short notice?" (y/n) was now pacing the dorm.

Hermione sat pondering intensely, staring into a corner. It was a few minutes until she smiled in amusement, springing into a standing position. "Why hadn't I thought of it before!" She rushed over to her own trunk, (y/n)'s eyes staring after her with hope. Hermione pulled out one of her old Charms textbooks, it somehow still being in remarkable condition. She spoke while flipping through the pages urgently. "I remember learning about this one spell. It gives the ability to change the appearance of clothing, or something similar." Her finger skimmed each page. "Here! 'The Multicorfors Spell is a transfiguration spell that can be used to change the colour and style of the target's outfit'. We can just use this and transfigure your dress into whatever you want." Hermione brushed back her bushy hair as her soulful pride seeped into the cracks of her skin, translating into her current expression. Remembering the things she's researched that deemed useful in a situation was her version of a high. Her intelligence was her drug.

(y/n) ran over and tackled Hermione with a hug. "Hermione Jean Granger you're a genius."

She quickly went behind one of the bed curtains, sheer but colored. (y/n) held the dress at arms length, almost as if it held an illness that could plague her if it grazed her skin. As she slipped the thin material over her body the seams scratched her skin itchily on it's way down. She shivered uncomfortably.

(y/n) looked down at the ghastly clothing piece that now wrapped itself around her. It didn't cling anywhere, only hung loosely like a blanket.

(y/n) shook her head in astonishment as she walked into the open of the dorm. Standing almost ashamed.

Hermione peeled her eyes away from the charms book once the dress came into peripheral view, immediately widening her eyes, hands clamped over her unhinged jaw. "Oh dear." Was all she could manage. "We have to start immediately if we want to stay on schedule."

Hermione readied herself on the edge of the bed, wand held at it's proper position. She already had a checklist for the dress planned out in her head. "So, I suppose we start with the bottom. How do you want the length and style. Ballgown?"

(y/n) thought for a moment. This would have to be strategic. She currently has a chance to make her dream dress, she can't mess it up. Especially if she's Harry Potter's date.

"I'm not sure. I want it to be flowy, but still a little full at the same time. Cascading around my feet so it floats around me when I spin. Slightly shorter in the front. I'm not good at putting things into words, sorry," (y/n) said sheepishly. She could never do justice to the image that was in her head.

Hermione tapped her wand to her mouth in heavy thought as she concentrated on the image of it in her head to cast the charm. "Ok, I think I have it. Multicorfors!"

A glowing scarlet light burst out of Hermione's wand, swirling itself around the bottom of the dress, sprinkling down to the floor like a waterfall, dragging the bottom hem of the dress with it. It was pretty close to what (y/n) was imagining. She remained grateful that her and Hermione had similar visions.

It was the perfect medium between the image she clearly saw in her mind's eye, and the textbook definition of what she was describing-to which Hermione was most likely basing it off of.

Hermione's lips reflected her satisfaction with the turn out. She wasted no time to beseech about the upper section of the gown. "What sort of cut? We'll most certainly need to modify the sleeves."

(y/n) pondered in wandering inquisition. She didn't know about the specific cuts of dresses. In fact, she had realized in the slot of time that she hadn't ever obsessed over things like magazines and sticky lip-gloss. "Um, I'm not sure what it's called. It's not necessarily a v-neck, but it's got a curve as it dips down, while the waist is sturdy and fitted. The sleeves, should be a loose off the shoulder strap that hangs delicately and is a nice material."

Hermione's thought process was ephemeral as her wand hand flicked towards the dress, the incantation following her breath. The scarlet light proceeded to coruscate around the dresses neckline, morphing the appearance once more. Hermione's gaze fell upon her wristwatch, her breath frantically increasing pace. "We're falling behind schedule. All we should need now is a colour. Preference?"

Only one colour seemed to push it's way adamantly through to the peak of (y/n)'s thoughts. It was delicate yet brute. Bleeding glamour while also exerting authority. "Dark red.  A ruby or that of a deep rose."

Hermione's honey eye's glittered in ecstatic approval. The charm successfully caused the once flaxen dress to come alive with a deep rose that slowly trickled down the new fabric of the once unsightly gown. Like a blood river blessing a river bed betrayed by a drought. Her body looks as though it had been systematically secured with an expensive cloth that had been left in the middle of a war. Bloodstains turned to glittering roses.

The girls couldn't help but grow relieved and progressively longing for the Yule Ball. "You look...absolutely gorgeous," Hermione smiled. It was wide and genuine, showing almost all of her front teeth. She tried to think of anything else , but the main parts had seemed to be taken care of. "Do you like it?"

(y/n) could hardly contain the excitement that was bubbling in her chest. Looking at her arm she could see that the color complimented her skin tone in a intricate contrast.

"This is wonderful. Now that we've taken care of that, let's take a much needed break and head down to breakfast."

Hermione's hand barely managed to wrap itself around the heavy doorknob when a panicky wail erupted behind her like a built up volcano. Her bushy hair sliced through the tense air as her head snapped in a 180 degree turn. Her eyes were flickering in horror when her pupils observed the once ravishing dress melt slowly like a mud river back to it's original form. Hermione rushed over. "What happened?"

(y/n) felt like screaming and crying all at once, nothing ever seemed to fall into place without being crooked. "I-I don't know I went to take it off and the charm started fading."

Hermione gnawed at her lip as she tried to shuffle through the book pages she kept in her mind's possession, trying to remember if she read anything about the charm being temporary. "I don't remember reading anything about the results being short-term. It must fade once the target no longer is in contact with the article of clothing."

(y/n) grew increasingly more concerned. The dress had unraveled it's disguise as soon as she slightly lifted the sleeve. She couldn't risk any part of it parting with her skin at the Yule Ball and it all fading. "What are we going to do? It's already eleven and we have no other plan."

Hermione sighed as she squeezed her eyes shut. She hated making mistakes. "It'll have to wait until after we go to breakfast. I tend to not think right until I've eaten something. Probably why I missed something in the book or didn't recall something Professor Flitwick said."

They made their way into the corridors, rays shining brightly through the windows, the scintillating Sun dripping down the ancient stone walls like auspicious restoration.

Hermione didn't say much, only absentmindedly observing Peeves teasing the second years, most likely losing her attention and daydreaming. (y/n) could tell she was silently cursing herself about the dress, wondering where she went wrong. Freaking out about slightly off schedule, reliving reading the textbook to think of what she missed.

"You girls are looking gloomy on this fine Saturday!" Peeves' silver mist glided to them in excitement and desperation. "Shouldn't you be squealing about the Yule Ball somewhere?"

"We would be if I had a dress. There were some...mishaps with the one I was sent." They kept walking, Peeves following them by gliding backwards, arms crossed.

He clicked his tongue while shaking his head, nearly floating on his back by now. "I would offer you this gown, but it would seem as though I'm a poltergeist. Unless you're secretly dead, of course."

(y/n) and Hermione shared an odd look, "Not that I know of, Peeves."

He shrugged his shoulders, his opaque body almost shivering as he moved through the air. It was an almost blue sort of silver, microscopic swirls of his misty cloud occasionally branch off and float, only to quickly disappear into air particles. "Suit yourself!" Peeves soared off, cheering in exaggerated exhilaration as his ghostly presence slices through oxygen, creating a cold breeze.

Hermione goes back to her overthinking, right before they enter the Great Hall. "'Mione," (y/n) says softly, "the dress wasn't your fault. There's no way you could've known. I doubt anyone's stuck around long enough to see the target's clothes to notice it's not permanent. Please don't linger on this."

Hermione nods reluctantly, her body language immediately tensing up once they near the Gryffindor table-Ron in sight.

(y/n)'s chest fluttered at the sight of Harry, knowing that he's her date. It's such a big step for them, as this could mean one large step closer to them telling each other how they feel.

The two girls sat down. It was like a bright day of innocent glances of the honeymoon phase. Before hardships have a chance to make lovers think of the honey as sticky instead of sweet and the moon as a representation of darkness instead of romantic luminescence.

Ron and Hermione grew confused as (y/n) and Harry made eye contact and anxiously greeted each other hello. Proceeding to flush in their cheeks as they looked down at their food with smiles that surely made their face muscles hurt. They didn't care, nor could they do anything about it even if they did care, because the feeling inside made it hard to do anything but smile.

Ron gave a lopsided smirk as he realized what was happening. Harry had came rushing into their dormitory the night before, disregarding the fact that is was past curfew, and shook Ron awake. Ron got flashbacks from Sirius Black and hit Harry in the head with a pillow, before recognizing the round glasses and messy raven hair. Harry rubbed his head while he rambled about how he couldn't believe he had just asked (y/n) and everything was coming together, although he wouldn't tell Ron exactly what was coming together.  Harry wouldn't shut up about it, really. Babbling about what all this could mean-Ron was, of course, sleeping at this point, so Harry was talking to the air.

"Yesterday, Harry thankfully got me a date with Padma Patil. I would've been  going alone. So, you two are going together, huh?" Ron smirked, looking between the two Gryfindors who were now looking up with wide eyes.

Harry smiled lightly while looking at (y/n), the girl across from him brushing the hair out of her face while still looking at a nosy Ronald. "Yeah. We are."

Ron laughed quietly but deeply, "Couldn't see Harry wanting to go with anyone else- Ow!" Harry kicked Ron's shin, never being able to figure out why he couldn't keep his thoughts to himself. Luckily, the comment Ron had made saying they were talking about girls when (y/n) came to the common room in third year had subsided within a few days. Harry hoped this would be forgotten all the more quickly. "Say, Hermione, have you found a date yet?"

Hermione looked up from the Daily Prophet in disgust, mouth parted and in a slight frown, space between her eyebrows creased. "I already told you Ronald, somebody already asked me. I accepted their proposal."

(y/n) slid a tightly folded note across the table to Harry, the parchment making a rough scratching sound against the grainy wood.

Ron shook his head, "You're lying. If you weren't so proud you could've let me bloody take you."

Hermione scoffed, nostrils flaring as her anger made her breathing rickety and deep, "Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone would want to take me?" Hermione rose to her feet sharply, staring Ron down. "You'll see."

She snatched a waffle and the fresh newspaper, storming out with heavy footsteps like she did the last time Ron said something dense. Only this time it seemed as though her fury was deep and more personal. Something more hard to forgive and forget.

The moment was interrupted by the shrilling squawks of the owls coming in to deliver post. (y/n) was rather confused when she spotted a familiar owl dive bombing towards the quartet's section of the Gryffindor table.

The refrain of her owl's wings fluttering the air against her feathers was followed by a well taken care of package sinking to the wood in front of her. She racked through a thought process of who she knew that could possibly be sending her post at such an awkward time in the day and year. Most certainly not her parents.

"Who could that be from?" Harry asked with a hint of curiosity and the natural instinct of nosiness.

Her shoulders motioned up and down sincerely. (y/n)'s sharp, flesh covered marrow were hesitantly smoothing over the cold metal latch that enclosed the wooden box. She delicately pushed it up with a satisfied click, releasing the scientific tension from the enclosure. The handmade box made an aged creaking groan as the lid was pushed up and now stood vertically. There was a lustrous piece of plum-coloured satin thinly place on top of the mysterious item. Benevolently, (y/n) lifted the smooth satin, revealing what she would never expect in a million years.

A gown.

Although she could only see the fabric as it was intricately folded, it was still enough information for her eyes to make her heave in pleasant satisfaction of surprise and giddiness of attraction.

There was a note tucked securely between the gown and side of the wooden square. The writing was written in precise cursive with a fresh quill, neat like each letter was carefully inspected and carved individually. The scorpion-black ink didn't bleed anywhere except where it was supposed to.

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (𝐲/𝐧),

𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐈 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐞-𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭. 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭. 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐦. 𝐓𝐨 𝐮𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞,

𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐲

(y/n) didn't even notice the sensation of a cold dewdrop of grief slither against the skin of her cheek until she finished the note. It was a parental comfort and guidance she hadn't felt in awhile. The days on the calender passed like a dangerously silent killer, robbing her the knowledge of how much time has passed since Astra and Vincent had sincerely been there for her. She can't even go to them with her problems anymore because she's a seer, and that's what most of her issues revolve around. Remus get's it. Having an ability that isn't 'manageable'. One that you have to just suffer through over and over again, the people that are there for you not even being able to realistically be there for you and help because it's more physical than mental in species. He knows exactly what it's like. He's her blood.

Harry hesitantly placed his hand on her own. "What is it?"

She quickly wiped the tear that managed to escape out of it's cell. "A gown. It use to, um, be my mum's. Remus sent it. It's beautiful."

Harry lightly rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "Can I see it?"

(y/n) dramatically got up, obtaining the box as she did so. "Oh, no way, Potter. You're my date. It has to be a surprise for when you see me at the ball."

Harry tried to contain his smile by clamping his bottom lip discreetly, looking down at his cereal while swirling his spoon around in the bone white liquid that was swirling with dissolved chocolate. His cheeks were a light shade of bubblegum from the blood that rushed to his face from hearing her call him her date, also from simply imagining her in a dress.

(y/n) noticed, smirking to herself that she finally got a reaction out of him. It was exciting, but also slightly paralyzing. "I'll see you guys later."

She untangles herself from the Oak bench, excitedly taking the carved box with her antsily. She was hoping her finding a dress and the note she gave Harry would cheer Hermione up a little.

Her frame exits the Great Hall, Harry opening the note carefully.

Ron looked over his shoulder, trying to read it, but Harry had the sides of the paper up like a shield. "What's it say, mate?"

Harry looked up at Ron nervously, glancing back at the note, trying to decide if he should tell him. He gives in. Ron is his best friend, and it's not like he knows enough based on the message to have a secret to hid. "It says, 'Meet me at the Transfiguration classroom at eight. Don't be late, Potter.' Not sure exactly what that's for."

Harry really true hadn't a clue what it was for. He did know that he was looking forward to finding out.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was Hermione's inquisitive gaze that made (y/n) zealous for her to propose an inquiry about the slip she had provided Harry with in the Great Hall.

Hermione leaned forward in questioning suspicion. "What was the note?"

(y/n) hid her whirling butterflies and excitement in the back of her placid smile as she slipped the cast of shoes onto her tired feet. "I told him to meet me in the Transfiguration classroom. We're due for at least one dance lesson before the Yule Ball. Cedric, thankfully, informed me that the Champions are required to open with a first dance."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow in a copius amount of fascination. "What time will this be occurring?"

(y/n) ran her clammy hands over the valleys and mountains of the wrinkles on her newly washed clothing. Finally, she loosely lifted Hermione's bony wrist to examine which roman numerals the skinny hands behind the glass of her watch fell. "I need to be there in about five minutes."

"Oh, you must leave! You wouldn't want to be late for this." Hermione tightly curled her fingers around her best friend's shoulders, shoving her body staggeringly across the wide and empty room towards the grand, polished door, wishing her luck before closing the door behind the seer.

(y/n)'s back was now to the dorm as she fiddled with her skirt. It was now or quite literally never.

As she stepped into the Transfiguration classroom, it appeared to be vacant. The moonlight was beginning to refract against the dew glittering glass panes of the gothic windows. It littered a pale, milky light across the naked floors. All chairs and furniture had been securely put in a secure place of storage for the event of nightfall, leaving the room that of open space-like a freshly renovated cathedral. The only object of obstruction was the colossal gramophone that sat on a sturdy table. It flared out identically to that of a bindweed flower, the deep blush color that painted the musical object also being a mirror of the pollinated plant. The waltz music was in place for production.

Harry silently made his way to the center of the classroom, turning the shoulder of the contemplative girl.

She was at first rattled by the sudden contact, but that soon melted to vibrations of butterflies upon meeting a pair of green eyes.

"Care to tell me what this is about?" Harry beseechingly asked in amusement.

(y/n) excitedly tangled her hand within his, pulling him closer to the gramophone, a small area perfectly structured for the waltz. "We're dancing."

"Dancing?"

(y/n) nodded as she steadied herself in front of him. "Mhm. We need to practice. Especially since we're opening the dance."

Harry's eyelids opened wide in ambushed fear. "W-we're what?"

"Opening the Yule Ball! We need to practice the Waltz. From what I've gathered you aren't exactly a natural." (y/n) said, with overwhelming amusement at having the memory of him attempting to dance formally resurface for a moment. Harry did not disagree, for he knew it was factual.

She went over to the gramophone, winding it up, the gears grinding like an assembly line to bring the device to life.

(y/n) went back over to Harry and positioned herself so that they were planted onto the polished floor in the proper positions for the start of the Waltz. The gramophone emitted a crackling static, like a fresh fire newly fed with wood, burning it to coal.

The soft flow of the music began, they circled each other, eyes never as much as flickering away from the other's gaze. (y/n) glided closer, gently guiding Harry's hand to the small of her back while her's rested on his sturdy shoulder. Their free hands found one another, firmly held high, almost like a tingling static resulted as soon as their skin met.

They steadily began to waltz to the fast paced orchestra, eyes swimming together like hypnosis. It was almost like the action was a natural instinct for them, their feet perfectly in sync as they made their way, spinning around the room. His hold on her was gentle, like a caring caress. The pace was fast, comparable to their rapid heartbeats. Their movements were graceful and synchronized, excluding the occasional slip up from Harry, to which they breathlessly laughed and resumed. Lips tugged into parted smiles of euphoria and amazement.

The warmth between them was spreading like wildfire. As she looked up at him, his breath tickled like a feather against her blushing cheeks.

(y/n)'s breathing grew ragged, as her beating heart seemed to be pumping blood at an unnaturally fast pace.

In the beginning, Harry's movement's had been made insecurely, as if he wasn't sure which direction to go in. Their bodies were slightly moving roughly.

However, as they'd been dancing for a lengthier amount of minutes, Harry's next steps became calculated. He was guiding her softly, even though his gaze was never able to leave (y/n)'s, he seemed to know where to go. Like every angel was naturally programmed in him somewhere.

(y/n) concentrated on her body and it's rythm, easily adapting to each change in direction, savoring each movement he decides to make, executing them all with equal effort. She let go of all her fear, worries, and sadness. Let it all spill like ripe wine, into the music and on the floor. She let him guide her to where she needed to go. He went left, she went left. He went right, as did she.

They became one with the formal instrumental, with the dance.

Dancing is a form of art. Expressing yourself, your feelings, into movements and expressions. Your emotions being out in the open like a window for anyone to see. It's intimate and vulnerable. Life forms who dance together seem to be pulled under that tide of vulnerability and intimacy.

This could be demonstrated by the fact that (y/n) was, in this moment, drunk on emerald green. For she had never been able to ingest so much of it at once.

It wasn't as simplistic as looking within the colors of the other's iris. It was being able to see each emotion that made the tint flicker colors like a wave. Communicating through touch and sight alone. It was opening yourself to the other with trust and exposure.

Outside, the moon and stars were each other's every night. Terrestrially woven onto the same thread by the universe and fate in one. It's never by chance, always by supreme being's strategic decision.

Precisely the same philosophy on the inside of the stone walls. She viewed him as her stars as she bled brightness like the moon.

However, they don't get the assurance that they were woven by fate or even by the universe. It's the vulnerability of dance that is allowing (y/n) to bleed the feeling.

It easily had the chance to be two asteroids heading to each other to either create destruction, or a whole other galaxy.  

Of course, (y/n) didn't think of it in such a intricate, lyrical way. All she saw it as was that he was the only person she's ever felt so comfortable with. Ever wanted to be around a close to every time she was alone and without him. He made her feel seen.

Harry's never focused so much to keep a person safe and make them feel heard, making the fact that now he had someone to make him feel that way strange and foreign.

They continued to flow with the music. It felt like a movie, graceful and meaningful.

It was impressive how precise they'd gotten with their exact movements lining up with the notes of the song. Repeating the same few steps over and over, barely having to even think about it at this point.

The flow of the music became less prevalent as the gramophone's needle progressively slowed itself to a stop.

Harry and (y/n) stood still for a moment, slowly coming back to their normal, enclosed conscious as the reluctantly broke apart. Both avoided prolonged eye contact.

(y/n) stood as a flashback of everything just experienced crashed on her like a tidal wave. She cleared her scratchy throat, "Well, I'd say that was a good use of our time. You're a quick learner."

Their connected hands never parted.

Harry laughed nervously, sounding like it was mostly air, "I did have a good dance partner."

(y/n) playfully shoved his shoulder as she made her way to the large doorway, undoing her hand from his tight grip. "I think we're just naturally in sync. Hey, I feel like I forgot to ask you something about tomorrow. Will you be around the castle if I remember?"

Harry thought for a moment, the dancing making him forget there was a whole other world he was living in, with actual responsibilities. "Yeah," he sighed, "I'll be in the common room, most likely. I'm going to try and research to see if I can find anything about that Golden Egg."

(y/n) felt incredibly guilty that she wasn't going to be helping, but she still had to situate herself for the Yule Ball. "I hope you find something useful, Harry. I hate that you have all this stress on you. If I get done early I'll come help you."

A relieved sigh escaped from Harry's parted lips, "Thank you, I'll need it."

(y/n) nodded in reassurance, giving a small wave before leaving.

If they had just danced like that, she couldn't imagine what it would be like at the Yule Ball.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

( play Je te laisserai des mots- Patrick Watson -slowed and reverb- 1 hour to cry djkfd )

The time read that thirty minutes had passed since (y/n) had danced with Harry. Hermione was nowhere to be found, most likely sulking over books in the library.

(y/n)'s body currently lay like a corpse on her messily made bed, staring at the top of her bed, enclosed in curtains. Finally, the reminder of what she was wanting to ask Harry popped up like a lost item.

She wanted to see if they were going to use corsages and boutonnieres. It was certainly unnecessary for the dance, but she was subconsciously using it as an excuse to talk him. 

(y/n) set herself on a path to the Gryffindor common room, not being able to think of Harry in the same light ever since their shared dance mixed with cupids arrows.

Her line of vision clashed with the entrance to the common room. The clementine light softly leaked out of it, sinking into the rough walls. Her feet carried her to the primary stone step. She could hear a faint, high pitched giggle waft into her warm ears.

She could only assume it was Hermione's, considering she couldn't be found anywhere else.

(y/n) gradually made her way down into the vessel, like walking a plank into a sea of screaming victims.

The air was thick with disloyalty and sin. A bitter aroma so pungent (y/n) could almost taste it tingling her tongue.

Her feet refused to unstick themselves from the currently wavering floor. It was one sight. Her eyes betrayed her for allowing her to see the image in front of her. It should've blocked it out. Her feet should've carried her away before she could observe anything.

(y/n)'s eyes were glued on the blood red sofa. It held the unmistakable messy hair of Harry, him rising slightly to reveal his glasses too. Her eyes flickered to the square arm of the furniture. Only to regrettably notice that loose, chocolate curls were messily tumbling over it.

The position they were in could in no way be considered platonic. The girl was laying on her back, head resting on the couch. Harry was towering over her, knees on either side of her.

She felt her chest wrench, like someone was twisting an invisible organ behind her sternum over and over again until it snapped. Tears pricked against her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Harry got up, looking over at (y/n), immediately cursing under his breath before running over to her. Actually seeing him instead of just his hair made her feel her heart convulse in a sharp pain, a shot to the heart, like thousands of shards of it scattered themselves within her body. So sharp and painful she thought that it was any second before they punctured her skin in various places. She almost wished they did. Then, maybe she would bleed out, and this moment would be over.

His face was in front of her. She was still paralyzed. Still processing her new found wrath for him.

"Where are you going?" the girl asked, giggling. Only to stop laughing and give a snobby expression once seeing (y/n) and Harry still staring at each other. "Oh...right."

Romilda. It was Romilda Vain. A pretty girl with skin like caramel and eyes like the chocolate of her curls. A pretty girl that Harry would probably ditch (y/n) for in an instant.

Romilda sighed, almost like (y/n) interrupting was an inconvenience for her, resting her chin on the hands that laid flat on the back of the couch. She almost looked like the situation was dramatic, almost looked like she wanted to laugh.

"(y/n)," Harry said shakily, "I promise you, it is not what it looks like." Sure. That's what they always say.

(y/n) didn't say anything.

She was looking into his panicked eyes. The same eyes she'd stared into less than an hour before, dizzily in a trance of lust. She looked into them and saw passion-saw what might've been a future of sleepy kisses and secret hand holding.

She had been drunk on emerald green. Now she was sick on it.

She looked into them, not seeing his passion and desires. Seeing things she had never seen in him before.

It was like someone had replaced him, his body just a shell being used to house a different soul.

She looked over at Romilda, who did not look guilty in the slightest. She had no remorse, no sense of regret. She was completely fine while everything (y/n) and Harry had been building up over the years crumbled all at once.

(y/n) couldn't look at him. His face was making her nauseous. If she stayed any longer, she might say something she'll regret, or start convulsing in sobs she won't be able to stop. Harry made the choice. He chose who he wanted, there was nothing she could change about that.

Jaw trembling, she quickly turned to run, being halted by Harry grabbing her bicep. It wasn't his usual, gentle grab, it was brute. It almost hurt. He was squeezing it like he was pleading, he was scared.

(y/n) glared at him. It was a look he had never seen her give anyone, and it almost knocked the wind out of him from the hatred he felt.

She ensured that her stare was like dozens of sharp daggers. Hoping maybe if they were puncturing enough they would shatter his heart too so he could bath in the pain.

"If you would just let me explain-"

(y/n) aggressively ripped her arm away from him, thinking her muscles might've ripped out. "Don't." She seethed, her voice deep and blunt, cracking ever so slightly.

The air was stuffy with venom and hatred and pain.

The girl stormed out, passing by Ron who was on his way to the now hostile room, looking confusingly at her.

She made her way to a nearby window, finally being able to fully feel the pain. Hating herself and hating the universe. Hating the stars and the moon outside. Hating everything.

Sure, the Yule Ball didn't mean you were dating someone, but unless you specify you're going as friends, feelings for each other is what is implied. Even if it wasn't, they both still had something.

Him doing that showed he liked someone else to lay like that with them, demolishing any feelings she thought he might've had.

It had barely been two minutes before she could see Harry rapidly rounding the corner, hair bouncing from the speed he was running. She quickly stood up and backed away when he was standing close. "It wasn't what it looked like! Please, (y/n). I was minding my own business, and she came in and flirted. Then, I tripped and knocked her on the couch on accident. When I tried to get up she pulled me back. That's what you saw."

She spoke the first full sentence to him. "That sounds unbelievably stupid. Was this all a trick to make her want you? Did you ask me as a last minute plan to make her jealous and then make a move on you? Makes sense that it was the day before the last that you could get a date at nearly eleven. Direct me to the common room so that I would see that. So I could see that you were with her instead? Easily break me off as your date? I'll make it easy for you, Harry Potter. I'm not your date anymore." At this point her voice was wavering, face contorted to house the fact that she was about to cry. Her fists were trembling from how hard she was squeezing them, knuckles pale.

Harry's breathing was rapid. "No, no, I assure you I would never do that to you. You're special to me."

(y/n) looked out the window with her jaw clenched. "Go."

"Please will you just-"

"Go, Harry!" She cried. Tears giving way, the dam she'd set up breaking.

Eyes glistening, he hesitated before turning around and leaving.

(y/n) collapsed against the cold window, sobbing until  her lungs were tired. The cold didn't sting like it usually did, it felt like the inside of her. She felt like no matter how hard she cried, the sadness and hurt didn't escape through them. No matter how hard she cried, the pain stuck to her bones and carved into her organs to stay forever.

Her head rested on her palm, not knowing what she was going to do without a date, without Harry, and only left with heartbreak.

A large hand rested itself on her shoulder, causing herself to break contact with her skin and look up to see Ivan. He looked sincerely concerned, observing her body language, the tear stains, and the look of pain.

He sat on the open space on the sill, "Hey, are you alright?"

She held so much sadness in her eyes, he could almost touch the developing scars of her soul.

Freshly cut wounds.

She laughed as she shook her head, trying not to cry again. "Honestly, no," she sniffled before looking up at him slowly with a sly smirk and a realization. "Say, Ivan...do you have a date to the ball yet? I revoke my answer to your proposal."

The ones who break your heart will always try to come back. Maybe she should block that.

Maybe it was better this way.

Lonelier, but better.

-

-

a/n: i know you're mad please don't scream at me.

what are your thoughts and opinions about this?

don't stop reading cause you're frustrated, remember that angry love confessions exist

hope you enjoyed, until next time ~i

Mrs. Potter Squad

#BEMSUPREMACY