Of Balls and Bouncing Bulbs
Anthony smoothed down his robes and took a deep breath. Herbology class was busy enough with everyone trying to avoid assault from the Bouncing Bulbs; it was the perfect time to ask Lavender Brown to the Yule Ball.
"Pssst, Lavender," he said quietly, sidling over to her table. Parvati Patil gave him an odd look, but was apparently too preoccupied with the bulb in her hand to say anything, and Anthony was grateful for that. Lavender, meanwhile, fixed her brown eyes on him, and he swallowed nervously. She looked beautiful even with grime on her face and her hair thrown into a messy bun. "Uh...hi."
"Hi," Lavender said. She looked confused, and Anthony couldn't blame her. It wasn't as if they'd spoken much over the years. "Did you need help with something?"
He wiped his sweaty palms on his robes and tried to smile, but he thought it might have come out looking more like a grimace. "Er, sort of. The Yule Ball. That's...coming up, isn't it?"
Lavender giggled, and Anthony immediately tensed up, hoping that she wasn't laughing out of pity for him. "It is," she said at last, "but I'm sure you're well aware of that or you wouldn't have come over here."
Parvati snickered; when Anthony's gaze flicked over to her, she hastily turned it into a cough.
"Yeah, that's... that's why I'm here." Anthony pressed on despite the voice in his head telling him to turn around and forget that this exchange ever happened. "I need a date, and I was wondering if you might like to go with me."
Lavender eyed him critically. "How tall are you?"
"164 centimeters," Anthony replied, his throat dry. He had heard a few fifth-year Ravenclaws discussing the importance of finding a tall-enough date just the other day; he hoped that Lavender would find his height sufficient.
"Hmm." She gave him another excruciating once-over before nodding decisively. "I suppose that'll do."
Anthony ducked to avoid a bulb that had flown dangerously close to his head, then let out the breath that he had been holding. "So...is that a yes?"
"Not so fast, Goldstein," Lavender said, wagging a finger at him. "I expect my dates to be well-groomed. Showered. Hair combed. If you want me on your arm at the ball, you'd better clean up nice."
"I can do that," he promised.
As he headed back to his own table, a small but satisfied grin on his face, he started to make a mental list of everything he needed to do to get ready for the ball. He wasn't going to let Lavender down.
WC: 436
