Relationship Issues

Elle didn't know whose idea it had been not to go to the Yule Ball together—hers or Leo's—but she was fast reaching the conclusion that they were both idiots.

At least she had the consolation of being well dressed. Her roommates, Serena Carey, Lorraine Rosier, Carmela Carlow, and Brianna Yaxley, had oohed and aahed over her elegant green dress robes and elaborately curled and coiffed black locks (although, of course, Serena was the most stunning—as a Carey, she had both beauty and good fashion sense). Too bad Leo would never notice—her, not Serena. All boys noticed Serena.

There he was now, dancing with his date for this farce, Lucrèce Lapointe. Elle narrowed her eyes, studying the French girl. Her hair was pale gold, her features delicate, her dress gauzy silver…Honestly, she looked like a slightly faded, frailer facsimile of Fleur Delacour—which she was, in a way. Elle rolled her eyes, remembering Leo's casual, throwaway explanation: "Lucrèce's just really broken-hearted about not being chosen for the Tournament. She needs me. I'm taking her to the Ball, just as friends, of course."

Boys (even Slytherin ones) could be so clueless.

Did Leo really think Lucrèce was so 'broken-hearted' that she needed the 'comfort' of her childhood friend's escort? Their dance was hardly platonic. Elle refrained from overanalyzing her concern for her best friend—a rarity for her. She supposed she ought not to be upset at all—Lucrèce had known Leo before she had. She just hated to see him taken in. It was true they had never actually said they were going to the Ball together…but it had been an understood thing. Just as friends, of course. The last thing either of them needed was romance.

Seen that way, Elle admitted to herself, her own conduct in accepting Basile Favre's escort (in a moment of insanity) did seem perverse. She didn't even like him!

Basile, another of Leo's old friends who'd gone to Beauxbatons, was undeniably handsome. He had a great deal of charm. But something unpleasant lurked beneath his flattery, Elle knew. She wondered if Leo was aware of it, or if he'd failed to notice during the holidays he spent with these people—surely, not all his French friends could have decided to enter the Triwizard Tournament.

There was Lucrèce, of course, and Basile; and then the scholarly Anatole Caron, the comic Eudes Garcon, and the entertaining Fiacre D'Aramitz. Elle, who stayed at Hogwarts every holiday she possibly could, had never been to France—her Cousin Sarah-Louise would never permit it—but she judged Leo's friends to be near the top at Beauxbatons (after Fleur Delacour, of course).

"Sweet lady, may I offer you some liquid refreshment?" Basile's voice intruded on her chaotic thoughts. "You shine brighter than the stars tonight, beautiful Elle. Your name is French—it becomes you. You are the perennial lady tonight."

"Thank you," said Elle politely, not specifying whether she meant for the drink or the compliment.

"It is hot in here; you are fatigued—you will join me in the so-charming gardens?" he asked, holding out his arm. She meant to say no, but, happening to glance over at the dance floor, she saw Lucrèce laugh (broken-hearted—hah!) and whisper in Leo's ear.

"Certainly," she said coolly, taking his proffered arm and sipping her Butterbeer.

Once outside in the cool garden, doubt assailed her. What did she know of Basile Favre, anyway? Sure, he was an old friend of Leo's, but Leo seemed on far more intimate terms with Fiacre, Eudes, and (unfortunately) Lucrèce. Also, for all his overblown charm (or perhaps because of it) she couldn't trust Basile. They walked, and she waited, wand inches from her manicured fingers.

Before Basile could do anything untoward, however, they passed Professors Snape and Karkaroff going in the opposite direction. They appeared to be arguing.

"Miss McKinnon! Mr. Favre, is it? What are you doing?" asked Professor Snape furiously.

"Walking, cher professeur," said Basile, raising one eyebrow superciliously.

Elle had a sinking feeling. So he too had noticed. Professor Snape might consider smiling the eighth deadly sin, but he rarely rebuked his own students with the same venom he expended on (for instance) Harry Potter. Clearly, whatever Karkaroff had to say was unwelcome news. Uncertain of the precise relationship between two such disparate people (unctuous Karkaroff and icy Snape) Elle had done her homework: they had both been tried as Death Eaters, but Dumbledore had vouched for Snape, and Karkaroff had betrayed his erstwhile comrades in exchange for liberty. She failed to see how this 'ancient history' could be at all interesting to Basile, whose nationality removed him from personal concern, but she couldn't suppress a faint feeling of alarm. Basile was no Death Eater, of course…His family rarely visited England, even…She was sure it was nothing.

Snape glared at Basile. Elle, sensing that he wanted someone on whom to vent his spleen, yanked Basile's sleeve forcefully. He might not be wary of provoking the Potions professor (believing his guest status to protect him from detention), but she was not so unwise.

"Excuse us, Professor Snape," she said respectfully, and pulled Basile past the two quarreling professors.

"What was that all about?" he asked curiously.

She shrugged, not wanting to waste time coming up with appropriate lies. Instead, she decided on the truth—or part of it. "I don't know."

Basile glanced at her stern profile, and decided not to push it. The English and their strange professors were no concern of his, after all. "Your beauty puts the stars to shame," he said, meaning it. How Leo could have missed what was right in front of him like this, he would never know. He stopped, and pulled her closer.

Elle didn't move, not sure where she wanted this to go. In her experience, boys like Basile were usually far more interested in girls like Lucrèce, or Serena, or Fleur Delacour. Still, he looked pretty interested, gazing down at her like he'd never heard of Lucrèce or Serena. She blushed.

Basile bent down toward her, and then his lips met hers. It was Elle's first kiss, and she wasn't sure she liked it. His hold tightened on her shoulders, and she felt smothered.

Elle struggled gently at first, and when Basile didn't let go, she hit him with a Banishing Charm, and the two of them were thrown apart.

"Cherie—" he began, annoyed.

"What's going on?" a new voice asked. Elle closed her eyes for a moment, gathering strength. It was Leo. Of course, it was Leo. Relief warred with embarrassment and anger. Pride won.

"Where's Lucrèce?" asked Basile, taking the words out of Elle's mouth—though she rather suspected their reasons were widely divergent.

Leo looked from one to the other, knowing he had interrupted something. Elle's face was flushed, and her eyes flashed daggers. Basile was glowering, and tapping his foot impatiently. If he thought Leo was going to leave Elle alone with him after this—! Well, it didn't take a Legilimens to guess what had been going on. Leo's fingers itched to hex Basile, but he mastered the impulse. Elle was quite capable of fighting her own battles, no matter how much he would have liked to fight them for her.

Leo caught Elle's eyes with his. She raised her chin proudly, but the dagger-glint in her eyes seemed to simmer down slightly.

"May I have this dance?" Leo asked, bowing slightly.

Elle felt confused. Now what was Leo doing? He had definitely asked Lucrèce to the dance…where was she? Was he ignoring Basile's question because he didn't know, or was Lucrèce dancing with someone else? And why ignore Basile? They were friends, weren't they? Or did he guess what had happened between her and Basile?

As she looked into Leo's eyes, her anger seemed to subside. In the end, what difference did it make that he'd asked Lucrèce to this ridiculous attempt at overcoming 'cultural barriers'? Or that she had gone with Basile, who needed a lesson in civility? Why wasn't Leo challenging Basile? But did she really want them to fight over her? Sure, it sounded romantic on paper, but it would inevitably bring Professor Snape down upon them, and she and Leo would get detention, while Basile, 'our guest,' got off scot-free. And she hoped she wasn't some sniveling, swooning, helpless damsel in distress, like Lucrèce—even if that was what Leo wanted, she couldn't bring herself to even fake something so mawkish.

So she sank into a small curtsey, and said, with a tiny smile for Leo alone, "Thank you, kind sir, I would love to dance." She took his proffered arm, and they walked back toward the Great Hall and the dance floor.

Basile glowered at them, and muttered to Leo as he passed, "So you've finally caught on, eh? You're an idiot, Lestrange—on both counts."

Leo frowned, but dismissed his old friend's words. What could he have meant but to spoil the rest of the evening for Leo and Elle? Leo suspected he'd already offended and upset Elle more than she cared to admit. Pulling Elle slightly closer to him protectively, Leo dismissed Basile (and clingy, simpering Lucrèce—who seemed to have changed a great deal and now wanted him to buy her expensive jewelry—it wasn't that he couldn't afford it, but he hated her sense of entitlement) from his mind. He was going to enjoy the rest of this provoking ball—and so was Elle! Leo was determined.

Elle grinned when Leo pulled her closer, deciding to give up on weighty politics and irritating dates who took liberties without permission. She was a sixteen-year-old girl at a ball, and she was going to enjoy herself. The night was fine, she loved to dance, and the stars themselves seemed to shine more brightly than usual. She hoped Basile found simpering Lucrèce—those two deserved each other. Besides, it served as an excellent method for removing Lucrèce from Leo's orbit.

For his own sake, of course. Elle had only her best friend's interests at heart.

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