Chapter 11: V and Tom go on a date to the Yule Ball. Yes, a date date.


XI.
The Yule Ball Pt. 1
[Hogwarts, December 1943]


There's no place more beautiful than Hogwarts castle during Christmas. The halls and stairways are strung with pine garland, massive trees twinkling with enchanted candles, festive ornaments glittering in the Great Hall, and mistletoe hanging sneakily above thresholds, catching students and teachers alike off guard. This isn't any ordinary mistletoe, it's charmed mistletoe, and those caught underneath it are forced to kiss whoever they are unlucky (or lucky) enough to encounter beneath it. You can imagine what a commotion this tends to create...

It's the night of the ball and Penelope Fairchild still hasn't been asked by anybody yet. Not for lack of interest—most students consider her an unattainable goal, you know, someone best not to bother asking for fear of rejection. But she's holding out hope for Riddle to ask her. Little does she know he's not one to leave anything to the last minute, and has already asked Spektor. Lestrange, on the other hand, always leaves everything to the last minute, and runs to catch up to Spektor as she's walking up one of the moving staircases.

"V, wait!" Lestrange gasps. He jumps on the staircase she's on as it swings to the left, hands on his knees, panting slightly.

"I...uh...the Yule Ball's tonight!"

"Yes, it is." She says, knowing full well what was coming next, and not looking forward to dealing with the consequences.

"How about you go with me?" He says, casually now, standing up at full height.

"No thanks." She says.

"Come on—you can't hide in the dungeons forever! Come out and have a little fun, eh?" Lestrange says, punching her playfully in the arm.

"Someone's already asked me." She says.

"Oh." Lestrange says, his face drooping along with his playful mood. "Well then. Who you going with?"

"You should ask Penelope." She's walking up the stairs now, away from Lestrange, onto the third floor landing.

"Fairchild? Nobody's asked her yet?" Genuine surprise in Lestrange's voice.

"She might still be in the Great Hall if you get a move on." Spektor says over her shoulder, then disappears into the shadows of the third floor corridor. Lestrange bounds down the stairs, back towards the Great Hall. Fairchild is a decent second, but he's pissed that he didn't think to ask Spektor sooner. Who the hell beat him to it, he wants to know.

Penelope Fairchild breezes into the Slytherin girl's dormitory after dinner to find V. Spektor and Julie Pembroke already getting ready. Pembroke's got her dress laid out on her bed, a saucy red number, just low cut enough to really showcase her well-endowed upper half. She's asked Spektor to help her with her hair, which she's presently occupied with.

"Guess who asked me to the ball?" Fairchild says dreamily.

"Your Head Boy?" Pembroke ventures hopefully.

"Sadly, no..." Fairchild says, opening her trunk, taking out a garment wrapped carefully in tissue paper, and laying it on her bed. "His best friend, Lestrange..." She says as she unfolds the tissue paper to reveal a shimmering ice-blue gown. There's a twinge of disappointment to her voice, but it's well masked by her blissful countenance.

"Next best thing, I suppose." Pembroke offers.

"You're going with Kathleen?" Fairchild struggles to remember.

"Just as 'friends.'" Pembroke says with a wink. That's what she has to say, if she doesn't want the wrath of a castle full of bigots to come down on her. If there's one thing that most witches and wizards of the day just won't tolerate, it's homosexuality. But Julie Pembroke and Kathleen Hannigan are probably the most successful gay couple in the school at flying below the radar. They wish they didn't have to, and maybe someday they won't have to. But for now, they're just very good friends, depending on who's asking.

"And you're going too, V?" Fairchild asks, a pot-stirring grin on her sunkissed face.

"Yeah." Spektor says through her teeth, which are clamped down on a bobby pin. Her hands all up in Pembroke's hair, applying a pomade to give it more shine and hold, before she starts with the pin curls.

"She won't tell me who she's going with." Pembroke teases. "Hmmm...I bet it's...no...it couldn't be...Edward O'Connor!"

"Are you kidding?" Spektor says, still through her teeth. "He's going with McGonagall."

"Really?" Fairchild whirls around. Spektor winds a strand of Pembroke's hair and secures it in place with the pin.

"What do you care? You dumped him." Spektor says. One more pin to go, then she waves her wand over Pembroke's hair and the whole thing sets in seconds flat. She then turns her attention to her own hair, taking it down out of the towel sitting atop her head like a turban. Fairchild turns on the radio, and teenage heartthrob Ronnie Warbler's dulcet tones serenade them as they continue to get ready.

All done up, Fairchild looks like a fairy. The dress lends an ethereal quality to her already uncommon beauty, her golden hair cascading around her shoulders, her eyes shining brightly, cheeks delicately rouged.

"Gotta run, see you ladies there!" She says happily as she exits the dormitories. Pembroke's just finished as well, and quickly scoots out the door to meet up with Kathleen in front of the Ravenclaw common room. Spektor's hair is perfect—big dark loose curls resting like clouds on her shoulders, soft and weightless. She's applying her signature lipstick, a deep rose, and carefully traces around the rims of her eyes with thick black eyeliner, drawing it up into wings at the corners. Unlike the other two girls, Spektor's opted for more subtle attire—a deep green floor-length velvet dress, long sleeves, a slight train in the back where the hem drags along the floor. Very regal. Practically ancient. The neck is cut in a deep v, although it doesn't seem as revealing as Pembroke's because, quite honestly, Spektor doesn't have much to show off. On her bedside table is a necklace, a green eye framed in silver, on a delicate silver chain, which she fastens around her neck. She slips on a pair of black heels, takes a long swig from her flask, and exits the dormitories, walking carefully down hallway to the common room, where a tall, dark figure waits in front of the fireplace, studying the flames impatiently, trying hard not to pace, to fidget, and instead standing still as stone.


Tom Riddle turns around abruptly as Victoria Spektor approaches. The whiff of rosemary and lavender he catches is unexpected, but he knows it has to be her. She is the one he's waiting for, after all. But he isn't prepared for this moment. She's the same person, of course, and he knows full well what she looks like—how could he forget? But seeing her there, walking towards him, in clothing not only different from her school uniform but also incredibly elegant, he feels his heart picking up the pace inside the cage of his chest.

Drawing closer, the warm light from the fireplace is casting Riddle in a golden glow, softening the features of his face somewhat. He's wearing a simple black suit, black shirt, and, interestingly, no tie. God damn... She takes a deep breath, steadies herself, tries to keep her head level, her pulse steady.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." She says, a nervous edge to her voice that she wished she didn't let slip through.

"I was starting to worry you'd changed your mind..." He says, a small smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. "Shall we?" He holds out his hand. She hesitates for a split second, then takes it, her own hand feeling small and cold inside his. As he escorts her out of the common room his palms are sweating and there's nothing he can do about it. They walk down the corridors, both quietly shut up in their own minds, until a nagging thought prompts Spektor to speak up.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" she asks her silent companion.

"What?"

"Why did you ask me to come with you to this? It was rather...unexpected."

"Well, since I'm Head Boy, I'm obligated to go...and I needed a date. Besides, everyone's bringing dates to this."

"Since when do you care about what everyone else is doing?"

"Since when do you care so much about my decisions?"

"Fine. But why me?"

"I dunno, Spektor. I guess I...don't really mind spending time with you..."

"Yeah sure. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer..."

"We're enemies?" Tom stops abruptly.

"You tell me."

"If you were my enemy, you would know."

"Ok..."

"What do you actually want to ask me?"

"Well...Is this a date? A real date?"

"What else would it be?" He snaps.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, Spektor...This is a date." Riddle says after a long pause.

"A date date?"

"Bloody hell—yes, Victoria Spektor. I asked you on a date. And may I remind you that you said yes, so I don't have the slightest idea what you're confused about. If you don't want to be my date, then you can go back to the common room."

"No—no, it's fine. Good. Yes. Good. Not a problem. Glad we cleared that up." Spektor fights back a smile. Riddle rolls his eyes. They continue the rest of the way in silence.


A/N: The Yule Ball chapter became a bit too unwieldy so I broke it up into three parts because...well...I guess I'm just averse to long chapters... Anyways, as always, thanks for the reviews!