Masked
'I'm warning you, Harry,' Hermione intoned for the thirtieth time that evening, 'that these masked balls are quite sketchy. That's why they're only held for sixth and seventh years, you see.'
Hermione stopped when she realized that Harry had tuned her voice out. Instead, she reached up and put a hand on her friend's cheek. 'I don't think you understand the severity of-'
'Yes, Hermione, I do. I know it is going to be a masked ball. I know that no one will be recognizable. Guys, girls, teachers, Death Eaters. I know.'
'Well- I'm sure the teachers won't be dressed up, mate,' Ron interjected. 'But that's why I'm not going. I don't want some filthy ponce trying to dance with me.'
Hermione shoved her boyfriend for being close-minded, and Harry snorted.
In truth, the snort was covering up a cough. Ron had voiced Harry's intentions for going. But Harry could even go farther, and in two words, sum everything up. The reason for his astonishingly sexy pirate costume. The reason for leaving his friends behind. The reason he decided to forgo his preferred quiet and unassuming evening, for an exciting, loud and bright party.
Draco Malfoy.
w00t! Yeah... can you guess what I saw? A supremely, magnificently, ripped specimen of a male dressed as a pirate (random, he was on the streets of Toronto). And I said- bloody hell... Sighed, and then wished I had my camera.