Trigger warning: Racism
Of Negros and White Boys
The next time they crossed paths is at the town hall on a Friday night. A dance night for the youth, so that they can forget about school and worrying.
Her hair is pulled up fashionably (he can't help but miss her curls) and she's got a frock on, in white with bright red polka dots and someone has painted her lips to match. She's uncharacteristically pretty, pretty in the way of models and the girls in magazines and on T.V., pretty in the dolled up way of his peers, and (considering the gasps that come in with her) his friends and acquaintances think the same. (That or they are shocked at the fact that coloured people have the audacity to show).
She walks in with Potter, who had attempted to look decent, but his hair still sticks up all over the place. Weasley and his sister have joined them, seeming not to care of notice the hisses from Millicent and Pansy about foolish whites, who throw all of their grace and civility away.
Then there's Lovegood, looking out of place with her hair hanging down her back and wearing a dress that he is pretty sure his mother would of worn when she was his age.
And seeming not to care that more than a couple of glares are being directed her way, she puts her hand on the oaf Weasley's shoulder and in his hand and spins them both into the centre of the dance floor.
She is a good dancer, in a whirl of skirts and dots that turn into red lines in her speed. He's not sure who taught her. Maybe she taught herself. She's that sort of person, who could teach herself to play the accordion if she tried hard enough.
He must of been staring because Blaise comes up to him and cocks an eyebrow.
Blaise was, no is lucky. His parents are friends with his own and he was, well, adopted. Seen as better than others, simply because he had been raised by whites. He was allowed at events like this, because he was seen as being 'civil'. That and nobody would refuse his mother.
"Granger?" Blaise asked in surprise, his eyes joining his friends in staring at the dark girl, who was laughing loudly as Longbottom of all people twirled her around. "Draco you can't."
He flinched, and turned away, fixing his eyes on Tracy and Daphne, who were talking quietly in the corner. "I'm not," he placed his drink on a nearby table and stalked over to ask Tracy for a dance.
Sorry if this offends anyone - do let me know. The majority of my knowledge of the 60s comes from my grandma and mum, and Hairspray, so you know I hope that this doesn't offend anyone, and is politically correct. If you like this you might like my other dramione AU, 'The Prince and the Pauper', which if you are into AU's you might like. One chapter left of this little series, so I hope you like. Xx Louisa