Chapter 8: Halloween Scare
The great hall had been transformed into a ballroom of sorts. Guests were being escorted to a grand staircase where they were introduced as whatever they were dressed up as. Each person would write down the names and identities of as many people as possible; at the end, a prize would be given to the person with the most correct matches.
The ceiling, instead of reflecting the clear night sky, held a beautiful nighttime canopy of leaves. Vines trickled down the walls onto what looked like ruins of great temples. Balls of light, perhaps fireflies, were flickering in lanterns on tables that sprouted from the ground. The scent of pikake and sandalwood filled the air and made one dizzy.
Just before Ron and Hermione were announced, Seraphim grabbed a clear marble off a display, muttered something, and handed it to Ron. The marble began to glow and would not be shooed more than eight inches from him. Ron raised an eyebrow.
"Tinker bell."
"Peter Pan and Wendy Darling," announced Madam Hooch, who was dressed like a character muggles called 'cat girl.'
Instead of walking down the stairs like normal people, Ron dragged Hermione to the banister. They let out an all mighty 'whoop!' as they slid down to the bottom.
Shaking her head, Madam Hooch turned to Harry and Seraphim. "Ah," she said, "Romeo and Juliet."
Harry took Seraphim's hand and they went to meet Ron and Hermione. They quickly settled down at a table for four. Soon they were talking and laughing while waiting for the food to be served.
Dumbledore clapped his hands. He was dressed as a jester, complete with bells on his shoes and the ridiculous hat. "Settle down, settle down. Now," he raised his wand, and a shower of silver sparks rained down on everyone, "let the ball begin!"
As at the Yule Ball, guests ordered from a menu that magically appeared on their plates. The excited chatter that could only belong to schoolchildren rang throughout the hall.
"So, part one, complete," Harry whispered to Seraphim. "Target sighted yet?"
Seraphim giggled. "We're not secret agents," she replied. "But yes, he's behind you a couple tables down."
"Do I look good enough to threaten his status as 'most attractive male'?" Harry grinned cheekily.
Seraphim looked him over appraisingly. "Yes, you are dead sexy. Now let's finish eating so we can show off those dance moves Hermione took a whole week to teach us."
"Draco, you're not eating," said Pansy Parkinson a moment later. Being the mother of the Slytherin bunch was so demanding at times. But being the only female Draco would tolerate, she accepted the position with little complaint.
"I'm aware of that," he replied tersely, glowering at a shock of distinctly red hair. He'd spotted the fantastic four when they entered; who would be so childish as to slide down the banister besides The Weasel? And the couple who followed was easily the golden boy and…well he didn't have a nickname for her yet, but he'd think of something.
"You should eat Draco, you know how your mother gets," Pansy reprimanded.
Draco picked at his food. "I'm trying to think, all right?"
Sighing and realizing defeat, Pansy turned to Blaise and attempted to initiate a conversation with the other insufferable in her charge. Being female was really not all it was cut out to be. She saw Draco sneaking glances over her shoulder. She wasn't stupid; she knew who was sitting there, the dream team. The dream team and the guardian angel, but that wasn't all; she knew what he was thinking too. 'Why is she laughing at what he says? Why won't she laugh for me?' Pansy giggled to herself, sometimes it paid to be the supporting actress. She saw everything and she knew Draco much too well.
Turning away from Blaise, Pansy pinched her friend.
"Ow! What was that for?" Draco glared.
"I'm not blind you know, and I know it's not me you keep looking at," she tossed her hair, "attractive as I am." Her message was clear.
"Leave me alone."
"What's going on here that I don't know about?" asked Blaise.
Before Pansy could give her explanation, Draco rose and stalked to the other side of the room. He would figure himself out in peace, nix Pansy's all-knowing act.
"So, what's this about?" asked Blaise again, after Draco had disappeared.
"Isn't it obvious?" Pansy replied, rolling her eyes.
"No."
"He's practically head-over-heels for McGonagall's niece. He just doesn't know it yet because he's male and a Malfoy," Pansy tut-tutted.
"I suppose you know best because you're female and a Parkinson then?"
"No, I know best because I'm female and his surrogate mother," she shot back. They were an odd couple, bickering most times and seldom agreeing.
The music in the room intensified and couples gradually gravitated to the dance floor. Harry held his hand out to Seraphim.
"Lady Juliet?"
"My Lord Romeo," she replied, accepting the offer. Harry led her to the dance floor where a neo-classical waltz was playing. From beneath the mask of Zorro, two gray-blue eyes followed the dancing couple.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine," whispered Harry, quoting the bard, "the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
Seraphim laughed. "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss," she replied as she spun just out of reach.
Catching hold of Seraphim's outstretched hand, Harry twirled her into face him, "Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
"Ay, pilgrim," Seraphim spun again so that their hands met in front of her as they both faced the ballroom entrance, "lips that they must use in prayer."
"O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do," Harry murmured into Seraphim's hair, "they pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."
Turning to look her partner in the eye Seraphim replied, "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."
Harry rose an eyebrow, " Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged." So saying, he spun Seraphim again so that they faced each other. Keeping an eye on the shadow that was Malfoy, they swayed.
After hesitating a moment, Seraphim whispered the next line, "Then have my lips the sin that they have took."
"Sin from thy lips?" asked Harry. "Oh trespass sweetly urged…"
Seraphim felt the eyes on her back, the mercury eyes. But blinking to look up into bottle green, she tilted her head to allow a fleeting kiss.
"Give me my sin again," was Romeo's request. Harry allowed a small, lopsided smile to grace his lips.
They spun again, Seraphim met the gaze of a masked man she immediately knew to be Malfoy. His intense stare startled her. The way he watched her, glaring at them. Perhaps Hermione was wrong and he had no interest in her whatsoever.
Harry was looking at her questioningly again. With a smirk, she pecked him on the cheek.
"You missed," he told her.
Giggling, Seraphim pouted, "Aw, poor baby. Did you want it on the lips?"
Without waiting for an answer, Seraphim tiptoed up to brush his lips with hers. "Better?"
A cheeky grin assured her all was well, their fuming spectator notwithstanding.
When the song ended, Harry led Seraphim back to the table where Ron and Hermione applauded softly.
"Very good dancing," said Ron. "I knew you two would get it right eventually, what with all the teaching Hermione gave you."
"When did you ever have the time to memorize 'Romeo and Juliet'?" asked Hermione, ignoring Ron and looking at Harry amusedly.
"Oh, we thought it would be fun to, um, you know and that it would help with…other things," Seraphim threw Harry a conspiratorial glance.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "And did it help with those other things?"
Seraphim averted her gaze, "I don't think so."
Hermione chanced a look and rolled her eyes. "You're so naïve," she turned to face Seraphim again, patting her on the head like an obedient dog, "he's fuming at the fact that you gave Harry a couple of kisses."
Ron looked over in the direction that had previously held Hermione's gaze. One could almost see the wheels in his head turning and reaching the inevitable conclusion. "You're trying to make Malfoy jealous?" he asked finally.
Seraphim nodded and bit her lip.
"Why?" Ron raised an eyebrow, what was the point of making Malfoy jealous? Unless she wanted to lord it over him but, he'd already found out, she wasn't the 'point and laugh' type; Seraphim was more the 'bad karma happens and when it does you'll know it was because of this' type.
"Now Ron," said Hermione briskly, "don't get irritated and don't do anything stupid when we tell you."
"I don't do that kind of stuff," he defended, crossing his arms in a child-like manner.
"You're overprotective, get used to it," Hermione replied. "And," she leaned down to whisper in his ear.
"Seraphim…what…Malfoy…?" Ron was at a loss for words when Hermione straightened up.
"Restrain him before he fully comprehends," Hermione advised, helping Harry and Seraphim to get a firm hold on the redhead's wrists.
"She fancies him?" Ron's eyes were wide with disbelief and obvious distaste. He struggled to escape the hands clamped around his wrists. "I'm going to wring his neck."
"Yes, she fancies him, you promised not to overreact," Hermione reminded him sternly.
"I'm not overreacting, I'm under reacting," was his reply as Ron continued to struggle against his friends.
Sighing, Harry looked his best friend in the eye. "You're happy with Fleur, aren't you? And, no offense, but she was a snob when we met her. Let Seraphim try to be happy. Please."
Coming from anyone else, Ron would have said they were off their rocker. But, apparently, his best friend seemed to hold more sway over him and, a few moments later, he settled for crossing his arms and 'hmph'ing every ten seconds.
Just then someone walked up behind them. "Potter," came the familiar drawl. The four friends turned around. There stood Malfoy, dressed to kill, all in black, swishing his cloak obnoxiously and balancing his mask on the fingertips of his right hand.
"Malfoy," Harry replied.
Reacting quickly, and following the 'strategy' she'd mapped out with Harry's help, Seraphim shifted a bit closer to Harry, partially shielding herself from view. A muscle in Malfoy's jaw twitched.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" asked Ron, still unhappy about his newfound discovery.
"I wasn't talking to you Weasley," was the terse reply. He turned back to Harry. "Well, well, well Potter. We have to get in with McGonagall's niece to pass, now do we?" He met Seraphim's gaze. A chill ran down her spine and she could feel the heat creeping up her neck.
"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron interjected, his arm moving convulsively under Hermione's grip.
"I was not talking to you, for the second time," Malfoy spat, rolling his eyes. "Well, Potter?"
"Malfoy, please leave Harry alone," Seraphim requested softly, looking up at him.
Hermione could tell that a snappy remark was on the tip of his tongue; then he looked at Seraphim. Hermione had to give the older girl credit; her puppy dog eyes were perfect; she could almost see the internal debate raging in Malfoy's eyes. Should he give in to those eyes and possibly make Seraphim happy or enjoy the satisfaction of a good insult? His growing distaste for Harry, as he was obviously higher up in her favor than Malfoy, was also evident.
After a moment's deliberation, the blonde shot them a glare, turned, and stalked furiously away.