❝YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL TONIGHT...❞

.・。.・゜✭・.

Ara stands at the mirror in the sixth-year girls' dormitory, adjusting the neckline of her dress and feeling nervous, which is uncharacteristic for her. On any other day, she'd march into that ballroom, sandwiched between the twins, and have the time of her life, not caring what anyone thought of her.

But she's not going with the twins. She's going with Harry, who'll be opening the ball with the other champions. Which means everyone will be staring at her.

Including Fred.

This is the longest they've ever gone without talking. Well, they've talked, but in a "Could you pass the pumpkin juice?" or "Did you finish Sprout's essay yet?" sort of way. It's crushing Ara to be so distant from him, but at the same time, if she brings up the ball, it means she'll have to confront the feelings she's been shoving down for months.

She'd thought he was mad that she was going with Harry, that he was planning to ask her, but then he asked Angelina so easily. And Ara wondered then if she was misreading everything. If she was the only one who felt this way.

Behind her, Angelina and Alicia are giggling about something, both looking absolutely stunning. Ara thinks she heard them say something about Lee, which makes sense: Lee asked Alicia to the ball, but she was already going with a boy from Beauxbatons. So he's going with Katie Bell, and Alicia thinks Katie might fancy him a little.

"Ara, you coming?" asks Angelina, stopping in the doorway, her stunning velvet dress swishing softly around her ankles.

"Erm... yeah, in just a minute." Ara forces a polite smile. "I've got to fix my hair a little."

"Okay." Angelina pauses, frowning slightly. "You alright?"

"Fine. Just...nervous. I've never been to a ball before."

Angelina nods, her smile reappearing, and follows Alicia down the stairs. Ara turns back to the mirror and adjusts the flower clip holding her hair in place. It looks fine, but she'd really rather not watch Fred and Angelina fawn over each other, so she's stalling for time.

"How do I look, Jasper?" Ara turns around, spinning so that the little squirrel, perched on her pillow, can see her dress fully. She's rather happy with it, having found it in a catalog Angelina lent her. It's white and floaty and covered in thousands of tiny embroidered wildflowers, and thanks to a simple glitter charm, it shimmers whenever it catches the light. "Good enough to be Harry's date?"

Jasper chitters, raising his hazelnut in solidarity.

"We're going as friends, Jasper."

He twitches his tail, almost judgmentally.

"Really." Ara rolls her eyes. "Well, Fred asked Angelina, so..."

She glances at the clock. It's nearing eight. There's no more time for stalling.

Deep breaths. It'll be fine.

Ara takes one last quick look in the mirror, before blowing a kiss to Jasper and hurrying out of the dormitory and down the stairs.

The common room is full of students in dress robes, waiting for their dates and chatting to their friends. There's a small group of fourth-year boys standing at the foot of the dormitory stairs, and Ara spots Harry among them.

"Oi, Harry," she calls, waving at him.

Harry turns around, and so do the other boys, and in unison, their jaws drop. Ara feels as though she's wearing nothing at all; she doesn't usually get stares like this. But there's something nice about it, in a way.

"You look..." Ron–whose dress robes are very obviously secondhand and incredibly old–struggles to form a sentence, finally scrambling to come up with, "Bloody hell."

"Are you ready to go down, Harry?" Ara asks, resisting the urge to pick at her nails or bite her lip. She feels beautiful for the first time in a very long time and she will not ruin it.

Harry just nods, and Ara stifles a laugh at the very incredulous looks from Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville. She slips a hand into Harry's and pulls him toward the portrait hole, purposefully averting her eyes from where Fred, Angelina, Katie, Lee, and George are standing.

"You do look nice," Harry says softly, as they hurry down the corridor. "Your dress is wicked."

"Thank you." Ara smiles at him. "You look very nice, too."

And he does. Although his hair will never lie flat, he's combed it as best as he can, and his robes are a lovely dark green that match his eyes. Ara vaguely remembers Mrs. Weasley bought them for him over the summer.

"Oi!" There's a voice behind them, and then George appears beside them, breathing hard. "Slow down, will you?"

"Hi," Ara says, grinning. "Nice robes."

George glances down at his robes, which are quite autumn-themed–brown and deep orange–and smirks. "Yeah, a bright bloody idea Mum had with these. But they say orange enhances one's sex appeal."

"Who're you going with?" Harry asks.

"Girl from Ravenclaw, name's Marietta," George replies with a slight air of disgust. "Lee set us up."

Ara can tell he's still a little pissed that Fred's going with Angelina. He'd confided to her that he was planning to ask her soon, in a very sweet way, and tell her that he fancied her. But Fred couldn't have known about George's feelings when he asked her, so George is stuck with Lee's idea of a "perfect match."

Which, Ara will admit, will probably not work out well.

The entrance hall is quickly filling with students from all three schools, anxiously awaiting eight o'clock, when the doors to the Great Hall will open, and the ball will begin. Ara wishes they could dress like this more often; it's lovely, seeing her friends in such beautiful clothes.

"Oh, there's Lee." George grimaces at Ara. "Wish me luck!"

And he dashes off to where Lee and Katie are standing with another girl, a Ravenclaw, with curly red hair and a rather sour expression on her face. Just to the right, Ron is standing in the corner, fiddling with the cuffs of his robes, while his date–one of the Patil twins, looking stunning in bright turquoise–sulks next to him.

"He ran out of time," Harry mutters, as if reading Ara's mind. "Didn't ask who he wanted, so Dean got Parvati to convince her sister to go with him."

"I would've thought he and Hermione would go together," Ara replies, frowning. "Why didn't he ask her?"

"He did. Sort of. But she said she was going with someone else."

Ara turns back to the crowd, scanning it. There's Seamus and Lavender, Dean and a pretty Hufflepuff girl, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, and then–Ara stifles a laugh–Roger Davies. With Fleur Delacour.

"Oh, my god. There's no way." Ara cannot believe that Roger Davies rebounded from her to Fleur Delacour. It's absolutely hilarious.

"What?" Harry follows her gaze, and then he grins. "Well, I didn't expect that."

"Champions, over here, please!" McGonagall's voice rings out through the Hall, and Harry glances over at Ara, almost nervously.

"That's us," he says, shrugging. "You, er, ready?"

Ara slips her hand into his again and walks with him over to the doors where Professor McGonagall is standing. "You look nice, Professor," she says, nodding appreciatively to McGonagall's festive tartan robes.

"Why, thank you." Professor McGonagall's lips curve into the smallest of smiles. "Now, if all the champions and their partners would please stand here–No, Miss Delacour, this side of the doors, please–and wait until the rest of the students have sat down before going in."

Fleur and Roger are closest to the doors–Fleur seems to be almost shimmering in her silvery gown–and Cedric is just behind them, his hand resting gently on Cho Chang's back. Viktor Krum stays slightly off to the side, seemingly uncomfortable in his dress robes, and his date looks eerily familiar...

And then she turns to face Ara and Harry, and Ara realizes: It's Hermione.

"Hi, Harry!" Hermione says, smiling widely. "Hi, Ara! Wow, your dress is–Just–Wow."

"You look incredible, Hermione," Ara replies, still in shock. And it's true. Hermione's straightened her hair and pulled it up, away from her face, and she's wearing the most stunning blue dress. There's something about her smile, too, that's different. She almost doesn't look like herself.

As the doors to the Great Hall open, Ara joins Harry at the back of the line and watches as the rest of the students file into the hall. Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson walk past, both gaping at Hermione, while Ron yanks Padma Patil along without even a glance in Hermione's direction.

Somebody's jealous.

Lee and Katie walk past, and Lee gives Ara a dramatic wink. George, however, mouths, "Help me," and Ara covers her mouth to keep from laughing. His date does not look pleased whatsoever.

And then Fred and Angelina pass by. Angelina looks stunning in purple, and Fred... Ara feels as though she can't breathe. He looks perfect.

Fred glances over at her, just in passing, and his eyes widen just a little. His lips part slightly. And in that moment, Ara is terrified. What she's feeling right now might truly be the only thing that scares her.

But then he is gone, and Professor McGonagall is shepherding the champions into the doorway, quietly instructing them to follow her and to walk in line up to the top table. Ara feels like a circus freak, paraded around for all the other students to gawk at. But she is here for Harry. She sees the way he looks at Cho, who has eyes only for Cedric. And if tonight is just about distracting him, Ara is happy to do that.

As long as Fred doesn't distract her.

And the probability of that continues to rise as Ara feels his gaze boring into her back with every step she takes.

So she chooses to look at the table ahead of them: small and round, as opposed to the regular staff table, and small enough to seat only the champions, Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Ludo Bagman, and–Percy?

The universe hates her, Ara decides. There is no reason for this. She's the date of a Triwizard champion, which means she's got to open the ball with a dance she is woefully unprepared for. One of her best friends hates her because she's not going with him. And now she's got to sit next to the man she friendzoned three months ago for the entirety of dinner.

Just kill me now.

Percy's staring at her like he's seen a ghost, and when the champions finally reach the table, he snaps out of his trance and yanks out the chair next to him, nearly tumbling out of his own chair in the process.

However, Harry misreads the situation and drops into the chair next to Percy, leaving Ara to sit between him and Cedric. Percy deflates like a sad balloon, forced to change courses and talk to Harry instead of Ara.

"I've been promoted," Ara hears him say, attempting to recover himself. "I'm now Mr. Crouch's personal assistant, and I'm here representing him."

"Why didn't he come?" Harry asks.

"I'm afraid to say Mr. Crouch isn't well, not well at all..." Percy's voice fades into the background as Ara turns away from him, expecting a lengthy ramble. She instead chooses to look at Dumbledore, who is inspecting a menu carefully, and then she realizes there isn't any food on their plates. There's no food on the table at all. Just small menus, lying on their plates.

Dumbledore pauses, adjusting his glasses, and then looks down at his plate and says, "Pork chops!"

And immediately, pork chops appear.

So Ara glances at her own menu and then orders roast turkey and mash, which appear instantaneously on her plate. She tucks in, choosing to listen to the conversations around her, rather than attempt to join in.

Krum and Hermione are deep in conversation about Durmstrang, and just as Krum is describing the weather, Karkaroff butts in nervously. "Now, now, Viktor! Don't go giving away anything else, now, or your charming friend will know exactly where to find us!"

"Igor, all this secrecy," Dumbledore says quietly, with a small smile. "One would almost think you didn't want visitors."

Karkaroff bares his teeth in a smile that's almost more like a snarl, and as he launches into his reply, Ara turns her attention to Fleur and Roger. Fleur is also describing her school, but in a much more pompous way than Krum. As she dismisses the decorations in the Great Hall and lauds Beauxbatons, Roger hangs on her every word, his mouth gaping stupidly.

Ara stifles a laugh. She definitely dodged a bullet.

"This is all rather a lot, isn't it?" mutters a voice to her left.

Ara looks over at Cedric, who's looking at her over the rim of his glass, eyebrows raised. She nods, grinning. "I feel like I'm in over my head."

"Try being a champion," Cedric replies quietly, shaking his head. "Bloody hell."

When everyone has finished eating, the plates clear once again, and Dumbledore rises to his feet. "Excuse me," he says, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "Would everyone please stand?"

Once everyone is standing, Dumbledore waves his wand, and all the tables and chairs line themselves up along the walls, and then a stage appears to their right. A group of men Ara assumes are the Weird Sisters leap up onto the stage, pick up their instruments, and begin to play a waltz.

"That's our cue," she whispers to Harry, who nods.

Ara takes his hand and pulls him out onto the dance floor, guiding one of his hands to her waist and stepping close to him, letting her free hand rest gently on his shoulder. "There you go," she whispers encouragingly. "Now step. One...two...three...four... Back and forth a little."

Harry is not a bad dancer, and he relaxes a little once other people start to join them on the floor and stop staring at them.

"See, this isn't so bad." Ara grins. "You've got the hang of it now."

"Thank you," Harry says, smiling back at her. "I know you didn't really want to come with me–"

"Bullshit, of course I did!" Ara exclaims. "I asked you, remember?"

Harry flushes embarrassedly, but he's grinning all the same.

When the song ends, Harry hastily steps back, obviously not wanting to hold onto Ara longer than he needs to, and says, "Erm–you want to sit down?"

Ara opens her mouth to answer, but then Lee appears out of nowhere, hand outstretched dramatically. "May I have this dance, milady?"

"Is that alright, Harry?"

Harry nods fervently. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just gonna go–" His eyes drift to where Cedric and Cho are dancing, standing much closer than he and Ara were, and Ara takes that as her cue to leave.

"Having fun?" Lee asks, as the Weird Sisters strike up a faster, more upbeat song.

"I suppose so." Ara shrugs. "Seems like the universe hates me, though."

"Oh, do tell." Lee's eyes twinkle curiously.

"Well, my date's not interested in me at all, I've pissed off one of my best friends, and I got sat next to Percy during dinner," Ara says with a sigh.

Lee grimaces. "Blimey. S'pose the universe might hate you a bit."

"Where's Katie? Shouldn't you be dancing with her?"

"Bathroom," Lee replies simply. "Said she'd be back in a minute, so I thought I'd rescue you from wee Potter."

"You know, he's not a bad dancer."

"Not as good as me." And to prove his point, Lee spins her effortlessly, pulling her back into his chest.

Ara laughs, righting herself and slipping her arms back around his neck. "I'm not sure anyone's as good as you."

They move toward the edge of the dance floor as the song ends, and just as Ara spots Harry, sitting next to Ron and Padma, George swoops in, hair tousled and eyes wide. "Mine next," he gasps, taking Ara's hand and pulling her back into the crowd.

"Goodness," Ara laughs, nearly tripping over her dress as he tugs her into the very center of the dance floor. "What's the hurry?"

"I've just lost Marietta and I'd rather not find her again," George says, deliberately positioning them behind Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, who are both surprisingly good dancers.

"That bad?"

"She spent most of dinner trying to figure out my star sign, and then she got mad when I told her I didn't care about the O.W.L.s, and now she hates me."

"How'd you make it out?" asks Ara, doing her utmost to keep a straight face.

"Told her I was going to get punch." George glances over his shoulder nervously. "Lee really is terrible at this."

"Don't tell him that."

George spins them toward the doors, and then lowers his voice to almost a whisper. "Fred's looking for you."

Ara's heartbeat quickens, thrumming against her chest loudly. "He is?"

"Yeah. Says it's time to clear the air," George says. "He's tired of not talking, A. He misses you."

Ara is speechless as they spin to a stop next to the doors, and George says something about dancing with Alicia, before hurrying back into the crowd.

The idea of talking about her feelings, here, now... She's not ready. She hasn't even said anything out loud, let alone to anyone else. And especially not Fred. He's the last person she'd tell.

Especially if he's planning to tell her he just wants to be friends.

Which, ironically, is what she wants.

But she doesn't want to be friendzoned.

She wants things to go back to the way they were, when she never felt these stupid butterflies, and she didn't notice Fred's hands shaking nervously, and she didn't think he was so handsome all the time.

What she really needs is a Time Turner. That way, she could go back to a week ago and not ask Harry to the ball, and then everything would be fine.

If Hermione were here, she'd say that Ara's plan wouldn't work, because you can't be anywhere your past self was, otherwise you'll ruin the way things are supposed to be. But she's not here, and anyway, Ara doesn't regret asking Harry. It was worth it, being here for him.

She glances over at the table where he was sitting, and neither he, Ron, nor Padma are sitting there anymore. They must've gotten up to dance again. Good. Ara hopes he's relaxing a little.

The Great Hall is incredibly warm, filled with hundreds of people dancing all at once, and Ara is suddenly burning up. I need air.

So she slips out the doors to the entrance hall, which is infinitely cooler. The front doors are open, revealing the rose garden Professor Sprout magicked into existence a few days ago. The bushes are strung with glittering fairy lights, there are statues at every corner, and distantly, Ara can hear what sounds like a fountain.

Still feeling warm, she steps out into the cool night air and immediately regrets it. Scotland is rather cold in December, and on top of the chilly breeze, it's drizzling just a little. And of course, Ara is wearing a dress and not her cloak.

But if she goes back in, she'll have to face Fred.

So Ara stays beneath the edge of the roof, hugging her arms to her chest, and finds a stone bench just to the right of the doors, with a perfect view of the lake, glittering deep and black in the darkness.

Despite the cold, it's peaceful out here, with no sound other than the gentle trickle of water and the rustling of the bushes in the slight breeze. Ara leans back against the wall, closing her eyes and relishing a moment of quiet. She hadn't realized how overstimulated she was until now.

But of course, the universe hates her, so it wouldn't allow her a moment of peace tonight.

"Hey."

The one person she didn't want to see.

But her heart warms just the same.

Traitorous heart.

Ara opens her eyes and looks up at Fred, who's holding two mugs of butterbeer and looking down at her expectantly. "Can I?" he asks, gesturing to the bench.

Ara nods reluctantly, and Fred sits next to her, passing her one of the mugs. "Lee said he saw you come out here, and I figured you might want something warm."

"It's not spiked, is it?"

"'Course not." Fred shakes his head. "Well, yours isn't. Can't vouch for anyone else's."

"Thank you," Ara says quietly, sipping the butterbeer and feeling it immediately warm her insides.

"You must actually be freezing." Fred's mouth creases into a frown and he shrugs off his jacket, passing it to her.

"No, you'll–"

"I'll be fine," Fred says firmly, draping the jacket over Ara's shoulders gently. "Besides, I always say you look better in my clothes than I do."

And the butterflies arise again, despite Ara's best attempts to keep them away, and flutter gently as she pulls Fred's jacket tighter around herself, holding the mug of butterbeer a little tighter.

They sit there in silence for a moment, staring out at the lake, listening to the soft pattering of rain against the castle walls. Ara feels Fred's searing gaze on her again and resists the urge to look over at him, keeping her eyes fixed on the castle grounds.

"I've really been a git," Fred says finally. "To you and George."

Something like a dam seems to break inside Ara, and she turns to him, shaking her head fervently. "No, no, it's my fault–"

"I should've been more–"

"–might've thought before I asked–"

"–and you've the right to–"

"Stop, stop." Ara holds up her hand with a sigh. "Maybe we talk one at a time."

"Right, right." Fred grins sheepishly. "Ladies first."

Ara takes a deep breath, feeling almost like she might vomit. "I–I wasn't thinking, when I asked Harry to the ball. He'd just been turned down, and I felt bad for him, so I just–I didn't even imagine you'd want to–" She pauses, swallowing hard– "And I've had this idea, but then you asked Angelina, and so I–"

"Angelina and I went as friends," Fred replies hastily, before Ara can continue. "I know George fancies her, so I made sure she knew I didn't–"

"You–you don't...fancy her?" Ara's throat is incredibly dry all of a sudden.

"No." Fred shakes his head, grinning. "I mean, she's great, but–but no."

"So why did you...?"

"Because the girl I really wanted to ask was going with someone else," Fred says softly, his dark eyes boring into hers. "I'm sorry, love. I just–I thought for a moment you might actually–"

"Fancy Harry?" Ara snorts involuntarily, covering her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. "Merlin, no. I mean, he's great, but absolutely not. And anyway, he's in love with Cho Chang."

"The Seeker from Ravenclaw?" Fred raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Wow. Have to say, I didn't really see that coming." He looks back at her, eyes impossibly dark, every breath visible in the chilly night air. "So...are we okay?"

Ara meets his eyes, her breath catching in her throat as it dawns on her that he does not, in fact, fancy Angelina. And that he did want to ask her.

And that she is getting dangerously close to admitting the one secret she has kept from him.

But for some reason, now that he's sitting here, so close to her, it's not quite as terrifying as before.

So she nods, smiling. "We're okay."

Fred's lips curl into a wide smile, and he stands up, offering his hand to her. "Ara Sayer, will you do me the honor of being my dance partner for the rest of the evening?"

"What about Angelina?"

"Dancing with George," Fred replies with a sly grin.

So 

Ara nods, taking his hand and letting him lead her back into the castle. The ball is still going strong, although there are more students sitting at tables along the wall, and the teachers have returned to the top table.

The Weird Sisters are playing a particularly slow song, and after Ara has returned his jacket, Fred pulls her flush against him, sliding his free hand around her waist and sending a shock of electricity up her spine.

Ara closes her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of him, feeling the warmth of his hand against her back as they sway gently to the music.

"You look beautiful tonight," Fred whispers against her hair. "Just like a field of wildflowers."

In answer, Ara slides her arm up around his neck, moving even closer, pressing her face into his shoulder. Fred presses a kiss to the top of her head, his hand tightening around hers, and even when the song ends and the crowd begins to move toward the entrance hall, they stay like that, neither one of them wanting to ruin the moment.

There are some kinds of magic that cannot be captured with a spell or a potion, and as Ara lies in bed that night, staring at the ceiling above her, she wonders if this feeling might be one of them.

.・。.・゜✭・.

you would not believe how frustrating this chapter was. it took forever to get right.

but i did it!! (after a month) i hope it was worth the wait :)

edit: i'm such an idiot, i forgot to link the reference i used for ara's dress lmao. but here it is anyway: 

https://pin.it/27y00bC5g