Questions
Which witch? That was the question.
Leo Lestrange scanned the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. It was lunchtime, so almost the entire student body was present. The seventh-year Slytherin girls sat together, all beautiful and all rather intimidating. Leo refrained from studying them too long; although they were quite attractive, particularly his best friend Elle McKinnon, that wasn't the point of this little exercise. He passed on to the sixth-year girls, who also, conveniently, sat in a clump. But no—Honor Justinovitch was both cute and smart, but even that wasn't exactly right. Too smart could be a problem, and he wanted someone who could keep an eye on Potter.
Which brought him to the fifth-years. Pansy Parkinson? Too political—and so indiscreet. Millicent Bulstrode? His reputation would take a hit, and he suspected she was another one who was too smart for her own good. Phaedra Grant? Too weird and flaky—he would never know if she were telling the truth or making it up as she went along. Daphne Greengrass? Too cynical—she'd see through his plan eventually, and that could get very awkward.
Of course! His eyes narrowed. Tracey Davis!
Tracey Davis was Pansy Parkinson's quietest, mousiest roommate. She was smart enough that Pansy probably copied her homework, but not smart enough to be top of her class (Hermione Granger) or even second (Padma Patil). Her family was pureblood, and adequately wealthy without having pockets as deep as 'Uncle' Lucius's. Her father worked at the Ministry of Magic, her mother was a junior member of the Tanith Darnell Memorial Society for Witches of Quality…that sort of thing.
Physically, Tracey was thin and mousy, hair dark brown, eyes grey-brown, and skin light brown. She wore her hair long and straight. Her nose was straight and ordinary, and her mouth was a thin line. That mouth made Leo wonder—it seemed pinched in perpetual disapproval, somehow. Or anger. Repressed anger could be dangerous. Honestly, that mouth was the most interesting thing about Tracey.
"Davis?" Leo said casually, once he'd reached her section of the Slytherin table. Pansy Parkinson stopped mid-Potter-rant (it was always something) and stared at him, and the other girls blinked at him in a relieved sort of way. "May I have a word?"
"Sure," Tracey said, surprised. Pansy, Phaedra, Millicent, and Daphne stared as Leo led Tracey into the Entrance Hall and down a temporarily deserted corridor. "Lestrange, what's going on?" Tracey asked.
"Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the Seventh-Year Formal Wizarding Dance?" Leo asked, kissing Tracey's hand in fine dramatic style.
Tracey stared, blushed, started to giggle nervously before remembering she didn't do that sort of thing, stared, and finally said quietly, "Okay."
"You're taking Tracey Davis to the Seventh-Year Formal?" Elle asked in disbelief. It was after class, and she and Leo were walking by the lake.
"It's all part of my plan," Leo explained patiently. "We're leaving this year, right? So we need some way to keep an eye on Potter, you know, because he and Dumbledore are at the center of whatever the Dark Lord does nowadays. I know I don't have to tell you that knowledge is power."
"No, you don't," admitted Elle. "But we have Neville for that, and you don't have to date him."
"Right, right," agreed Leo distractedly. "But see, we also need the Slytherin perspective, because this war is already polarizing the two Houses. Slytherin is not, in fact, synonymous with pure evil, but try telling the Gryffindors that."
"I know," Elle said sourly. "But that doesn't mean you have to date Tracey Davis. Why don't I just vamp Draco Malfoy, if you think it's that important? If you can do it, I can do it."
"Malfoy has no clue what everyone else in the school thinks, he's much too self-involved to be a proper observer," Leo muttered. "Although, by all means, don't let me stop you. I'm sure you would make an excellent Older Witch."
"And you, how far are you going to go to convince her all you want is a little…romance?" snarled Elle.
Leo glared back. "Far enough."
Elle regretted the argument—Leo really was trying to do the right thing, she knew, or at least the smart thing—but she refused to believe Tracey Davis would prove useful in the fight against evil.
She thought about going through with her threat and taking Draco Malfoy to the dance, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do so. He was good-looking enough, she supposed, but fifteen-year-old boys were so immature. Really, she, Cho Chang, Angelina Johnson, and Brianna Bibble had definitely had the right idea when they had expressly forbidden (or diplomatically advised against) their respective seventh-year girls from asking Harry Potter to the dance. It simply wouldn't have been fair to the poor child—not to mention all the seventh-year boys his reputation alone would be showing up.
Instead, Elle went with Adrian Pucey, just as friends. He was in love with Laurabeth Mulciber, the only girl allowed to even sub for the Slytherin Quidditch team. She was small, fast, and muscular—and totally uninterested in the Seeker position, which was lucky because she was in the year below Draco Malfoy and he wasn't giving it up as long as Potter was Seeker for Gryffindor. Laurabeth was interested in Chaser, but versatile enough to play Beater or Keeper if necessary. Elle thought it was just sexism that prevented Lloyd Montague, who'd been on the team for five years now and Captain for two of them, from bumping either Charles Warrington or Adrian down to alternate so Laurabeth could have a spot on the team. Leo was playing Keeper this year, after Miles Bletchley had graduated, so Adrian had his old position back. Montague refused to get rid of Crabbe and Goyle, neither of whom seemed to know one end of a broom from the other. Elle had never gone out for the Quidditch team because it was so clearly an old boys' group. First Flint, then Montague…she hoped whoever was Captain next gave Laurabeth a proper chance.
Adrian had two topics of conversation: Laurabeth, and Quidditch. The two were related, so Elle had an even harder time getting a word in edgewise. She wore a deep red dress that would have looked sophisticated on a witch in her thirties, and pulled her long black hair up in an elegant twist. It took her hardly any time at all to get ready, and Adrian's eyes still widened when he saw her. Then he segued directly into how gorgeous Laurabeth was and how tragic it was that she wasn't coming to the dance. He would have asked her, Elle knew, if Laurabeth hadn't told him, in full earshot of the entire Quidditch team and everyone who'd come out to watch the practice, that she would never, ever, EVER sleep with him. She finished by calling his overworked hairstyle stupid, thus adding insult to injury. Adrian steered clear of this embarrassing topic, but only just.
The dance was held in the Great Hall, of course, quite late. It was not, strictly speaking, a faculty-condoned event, although Dumbledore would probably have said a few flowery words to begin the dancing if he had been present. As it was, Umbridge simpered and said how lovely it was to see young people enjoying themselves, as though she'd never heard of love triangles or secret trysts. Then, thank Salazar, she left.
Elle saw Leo and Tracey, who wore black, and immediately dragged Adrian onto the dance floor. He performed the steps of the dance with ease, she with elegance and grace. Elle hoped Leo was watching every minute.
She danced with all the other seventh-year Slytherin boys, and also David Stebbins and Hildebrandt Bradley, the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw seventh-year prefects. She did not dance with Freddie-Mack.
Her cousin spent his time ogling all the Gryffindor girls present, and quite a few of the Ravenclaws (he wasn't quite brave enough to approach any of Elle's roommates) before withdrawing to a secluded corner with a giggling Hufflepuff. Elle watched him leave the dance floor with a strange mix of disdain and relief.
"May I have this dance, fair lady Elle?" Leo asked, bowing. Adrian got out of the way, and went to confer with Tracey about Laurabeth and what sort of gift she might possibly refrain from throwing back in his face.
Elle didn't say anything, just looked back at Leo. Sometimes, he was entirely unfathomable.
He took her in his arms, and they swayed and stepped to the gently mournful music. Elle, still looking into those mysterious dark eyes, decided that maybe it didn't really matter who went to the dance with who. They were together, that was the important thing.
Still, as a couple (which they most emphatically were not) they clearly had bad luck with school-sponsored dances.