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Love . Fiction . 2017 - Thanks!
Goddamned dresses.
While the item of clothing in front of her is extremely beautiful, the effort that will go into putting it on is very off-putting. Simple white, it is sleeveless - and shawl-less, Merlin's pants - and goes down to her toes, with lace and sheer work all over it, giving the impression of glacial movement when shaken.
Thankfully, the object is packed in a protective bag, else her sooty hands would have ruined the entire thing. She first heads for a bath, a shower mercifully empty. Kate tries to make it quick - there is some squabbling going on over who's first in line outside - and puts on a clean pair of pajamas as she exits the now-crowded washroom.
Back in her dormitory, the girls have pulled the curtains around their beds as they get ready. She does the same, first drying her hair properly, then changing the bandage and then taking out the dress from its bag. All right - I pull it over my head and try not to tear the sheer neck. Or anything else, for that matter.
The sleevelessness of the dress is a blessing, because she can just stick her arms out of the holes and not worry about getting tangled in another mess of fabric. But who will pull up the zip?
"Druella," she spots her fully-dressed roommate, shoes and everything done, "could you kindly pull up the zipper for this infernal dress?"
"If you could do the same here," she offers, and Kate pulls up the zipper on the former's blue gown, then turns around as she does the same for her. "You look really beautiful, Kate - seriously, I'm not joking around." The girl has a soft smile on her face as she redirects Kate to a mirror. "Look," but she can see a frown in Druella's reflection, "the hair - sit down." She pulls up a stool and pushes her down on it, pulling out a brush and an armada of black pins and rubber bands.
"Seriously, this isn't required." Her pleas fall on deaf ears as Rosier pulls and twists her hair, trying style after style.
"I suppose a standard French braid will have to do." Five minutes later, she's braided all of Kate's elbow-length hair in a French braid more complicated than she's ever seen or done for herself. "Now you look perfect," she exclaims, patting Kate's shoulders. "I'm certain a certain raven-haired Head Boy will be blown away." Kate looks back at the blonde, who winks before she goes to Walburga's aid.
Kate puts on her watch (style can go to Merlin's grave, she needs that article) and glances at the face. Twenty-eight minutes. She has no one to wait for, and goes past the corridors and up the stairs to the entrance of the Hall. Erik stands there with a few Slytherins, Gryffindors and Durmstrangs, then turns to greet her with a handshake and a smile.
"Looking charming as always, Miss Summers."
"Thank you." Ten minutes later, Abraxas, Orion, Julius and Alden emerge from the corridor into the entrance to the hall, Abraxas straightening his bowtie. Alden flashes her an encouraging smile, and they pass the time in chatter about food and music.
"Tom better not be late," she mutters, glancing at the watch, which now reads ten minutes to eight. Druella, Walburga and Diane (her fourth roommate) also greet the boys in the hall, Abraxas showering Druella with compliments as she coyly accepts them.
A minute later, Tom shows up, and after a round of handshakes with the boys, greets the girls. A curt bow to Druella and Diane (what a showman - handshakes would've done), a chaste kiss on the knuckles for Walburga (who very much enjoys the gentlemanly gesture and the flirtatious comments that accompany it) and stops in front of her. For a few seconds, he says nothing, just staring at her before he offers his arm.
"Just the first dance," she tells him, Riddle smirking at her words.
"We'll see." The Head Boys and Girls of the two schools stand behind them in pairs, and as the clock strikes eight, the doors of the hall open, and they walk in. Music is already in the air, and the students have all positioned themselves around the floor, which has been transformed from the scorched debacle that it was before.
The entire Hall looks like a winter wonderland, a large Christmas tree standing proud in a corner, the ceiling speckled with stars, snowflakes falling from it.
"Students, it is time for the commencement of the Yule Ball. Merry Christmas, and dance your hearts out!" The music changes to a waltz, and like clockwork, students begin dancing.
"I would like to open by saying you look breathtakingly beautiful." She smiles playfully at the comment, trying to keep the blood from rushing into her face.
"You don't look too shabby either." He leads the dance, swinging her around gracefully in a circle, a hand on her shoulder, the other on her waist. "Look who doesn't have two left feet."
"Ballroom lessons in the past two weeks paid off. Although I failed to see you there, so I wonder who the teacher is in your case."
"My father," she smiles a little at the memory, "till I was 12, I used to stand on his toes and he'd swing me around. After that he taught me proper waltzing." They change partners, and she now dances with Erik, him with his assigned date.
"Glad to see you are enjoying the evening."
"I hope you can say the same - it has just been the first dance though." They discuss dances and F Scott Fitzgerald (turns out, Erik's pureblood parents love reading Muggle literature, a well kept secret from others), stopping in between to have a light dinner.
"We have such a dance every year at Durmstrang - students in their fifth year and above get to participate in it."
"It has been a hundred and fifty years since Hogwarts has held a dance." They danced around the hall, passing friends - she could see Professor Dumbledore engaging Madame Aguillard in a rather stately waltz.
"I suppose I should return you - your partner seems to be growing impatient." He twirls her outwards straight into the arms of the boy beside her, Tom Riddle's dark eyes looking down on her.
"Enjoying yourself?"
"Well, this is quite fun, but I cannot imagine myself doing this on a regular basis." He laughs lightly, a hand now on the small of her back.
"You are not a lady who belongs solely in ballrooms - they could never contain you in one of those." She raises an eyebrow at the statement.
"This doesn't feel cage-like."
He drops his mouth down to her ear, voice a low whisper. "Well, see yourself doing this thrice a week." She draws up the image - dancing and champagne and inane chatter and Merlin, does it not feel claustrophobic.
"You are a fair judge of character." He looks around, that infamous smirk settling down on his face.
"You know, it feels terribly nice to not be the reason why everyone envies me right now." It takes a while to process that veiled compliment, and Kate struggles to keep down that blush. I will not be reduced to an airhead by a string of pretty words. "I bet you ten Galleons any boy in this hall would be more than willing to trade places with me."
"I'm afraid I'll be a terrible bore," she quips. "I'll drive any of them away with chatter of spells and homework and NEWTS." Tom laughs again, shaking his head.
"I don't mean to be sexist, Kate, but no amount of boring drivel will be able to keep a man away from someone as divine as the dress she is clad in."
This time she fails, and blood rushes into her face. "I hope people have told you that you are a terrible flirt." He pulls her hand towards him.
"What will I have to do to get the next few dances from you?"
"Well, I have a favour to ask, which we will discuss over the next dance." She takes his leave, and while he begins to dance with Walburga, she stands by the sides, taking a reprieve from all the moving and twirling. How can people do just this day after day?
"So, having fun?" It's Alden, smiling at Anastasia Prewett, who waves at him from afar, chatting to a Ravenclaw.
"Been an interesting night for the past ninety or so minutes."
"With the authority of a best friend, I can safely say that Erik and Riddle have been the luckiest boys of the night."
"Not you as well," Kate groans, "I've already heard a similar comment from the latter."
"He isn't wrong on that account," Alden shrugs. "Care for a dance?"
"Well, as a best friend, I do owe you one." She takes his hand and the two step into the crowd of dancing couples, moving around the hall. "What did you think of the play today?"
"In all candor, hilarious. It was certainly a tragic, hot mess, but you cannot discount the fact that the scene with Beery stuck between Walburga and Atkinson was worth laughing at."
"I doubt Hogwarts will be hosting a play of any sorts in the near future."
"I would say the far future - Kettleburn looks like he's contemplating retirement."
"And he should! He's old enough as is - better retire with his remaining limbs." They share a chuckle, and she looks around the place. "So, Anastasia Prewett? She is a sweet person. Not to mention smart and plucky as well."
"With a terrific sense of humour," he adds in with an approving look, "That girl is a riot."
"Makes for a good partner, doesn't she?"
"Splendid dancing partner." Kate fixes him with a look.
"You know I wasn't alluding to that." His face loses a bit of its previous vivacity, but he smiles at her softly.
"Let's just say she isn't the individual I have in mind." Merlin, please let Riddle be wrong. He's about to add to his sentence, but Tom cuts in, and she's thankful for him interrupting them.
"I hope you'll let me steal her away for a while."
"Well," Alden looks between her and Riddle, "if she allows it."
"I'll get back to you," she replies brightly (the relief well hidden) and moves far away from the spot. "Thank you."
"I could tell by your facial expressions that the conversation would be taking an unwanted turn. As a gentleman, I feel it is my duty to rescue you from such situations."
"For which I thank you - also, the favour I have to ask of you is a trivial one."
"Which I shall fulfil willingly."
"Just tell Slughorn you will change your career track to the Ministry's. There is a rather lucrative reward in store for us. You see, I require the assistance of a gifted student to aid me in a rather difficult potion I'm brewing. And since it is out of curriculum, the process must go undetected."
"Consider the task done," he led them to the Potions master, approaching the man with a smile and a glass of firewhisky. After a few quick words, he walked back to her, nodding slightly. "He would like to speak to you."
Slughorn was beaming at them, glass drained. "Well done, Miss Summers. If I had known that the task would come so easy to you, I would have set a lesser prize for you to win."
"Surely you wouldn't renege on your words, Professor?"
"Absolutely not, my dear." Slughorn wanders away to speak to the Durmstrang headmaster, and Tom takes her uninjured hand, pulling her out into the snowy night, the two of them the only ones out under the open sky.
"I supposed this made for a better ambience," he commented, hands placed on the small of her back as they swayed to the soft music coming from the hall. "After all, discussions such as this should never be held in the glare of the public."
"Such as what, Tom?" He inched closer, a hand now skimming across her face, brushing away errant strands of hair.
"Would you not let me kiss you, Kate?" The question stuns her, and she answers by staring at him with a mixture of trepidation and confusion. She can hear her breath, blood raging in her ears like a hailstorm. "You are intelligent and brave, imperfect in most perfect of ways. Please, my dear - will you not let me kiss you?" So she does, with a jerky nod.
And it's the strangest feeling.
There's sparks across her body and fire dancing in her veins, and her stomach plummets as she smells the pine and tea tree smell emanating off him. Love and passion make people do things their rational selves will never allow - that level of unbridled passion and madness is nothing but destructive. And they were on the first step of that rocky road.
His fingers grip her chin as he gently but needily kisses her - she is no better; arms around his neck, the chill of the snow pushing them closer. His other hand runs down from her hair to her waist, slowly coiling itself around her, and for a moment, it feels like her mind ceases to function.
Neither says a word as he pulls away - eyes drunk with desire, taking in her face, lips ghosting over her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, her neck. "What are you so afraid of?" His voice is quiet and reassuring, trying to soothe her raging heartbeat. Hands clasp her face, and Tom leans in perilously close, his warm breath fogging her mind and drugging her veins. "Tell me."
She doesn't know where to look, what to say - it's a rather difficult thing to explain, and I really haven't the foggiest how to. So Kate does the next logical thing - she runs.
In a twist on Cinderella from the proverbial ball, she heads straight for the castle, deliberating between heading for the dormitory or the Head Boy & Girl's Common Room. Her dormitory is a minefield, her roommates the mines - besides, they never made for good barriers against Tom, who could waltz in with a smile and a flattering word if he wished to.
Their Common Room was no better, but at least there was no audience. The Common Room it is. She runs up the stairs to the seventh floor, quickly providing the password as she sits
down on the sofa, ballet sandals off.
She knows her face is on fire, blood rushing in, and puts her cold arms against them to soothe the heat. Why did I run away? I shouldn't have run away - that was silly and horribly cowardly and so, so idiotic. I looked like some silly girl who can't even handle a school infatuation.
It was just a kiss, stop getting so worked up about it.
She picks up a book, absently staring at the pages of… which is it? Macbeth. Coherent thoughts jumble up with a maelstrom of panic and confusion and some form of elation, and after what seems like an hour later, the door opens. She tosses the book aside, rubbing a hand across her face.
"I'm sorry if I did anything to cause you any form of hurt." He sits beside her at a respectable distance, all limbs pulled in to himself.
"No - I'm being ridiculous over a trifle." The two sit in complete silence under the lamplight for a while, and he places his coat over her as he notices her rub cold hands over freezing arms.
"I fully understand if you harbor no such affections towards me - people make mistakes in the heat of the moment, and if you consider this as such, I will put it behind myself and ignore it as an emotion-fueled folly of mine."
"And if I say that I was fully willing to do what I did, yet I am terrified of my actions?" He inches closer, encasing her bandaged hand in both of his, pressing a slow kiss on her exposed fingers.
"Then maybe I can ease your fear." So she leans in, letting him kiss her again.
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