(Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire—Chapter 16: The Goblet of Fire)
Verity leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring absently at the flickering blue flames in the Goblet of Fire. Students milled in and out, but she hadn't seen anyone yet put their name in.
Earlier, Draco had wavered for fifteen minutes an inch outside the Age Line, in two minds whether to brave whatever consequences it had for underage applicants. In the end he lost his nerve and slinked away, muttering to Crabbe and Goyle: "Dumbledore, that old Muggle-loving fool, wait until my father hears about this, my father knows Cornelius Fudge, he'll make Fudge take off the Age Line, then we'll see..."
She couldn't see why Draco was so worked up. If he'd like to risk life and limb for fame and money, let him whine to his father. All eyes on her for the whole year, danger at every turn...it wasn't worth it. Let the brainless and muscle-bound enter.
Loud laughter erupted from the staircase. Three Gryffindor boys rushed down the stairs. Two of them were identical, and had the fiery red hair that marked them as Weasleys, while the third was darker and wore his long hair in dreadlocks. All three burst with pride. The typical Gryffindor emotion.
Harry Potter stood near Verity with Ron Weasley and that Hermione Granger girl Draco hated so much. The three older boys stopped and whispered to them. "The Aging Potion, dung brains," she heard one of the Weasley twins say.
She rolled her eyes. Speaking of the brainless.
She hoped they didn't think an Aging Potion would get them across. Even idiots should know that was one of the first things Dumbledore protected against when he made the Age Line. On the other hand, that did explain why the horsehair was missing from Snape's cupboards.
Curious, she watched one of the twins step over the line, a slip of parchment in his hand. Nothing happened to him, so his brother followed with a joyous yell. The crowd shouted appreciatively, but cheers turned to gasps as, with a sizzle, both twins were ejected from the circle, landing heavily ten feet away. With a pop, long white beards to rival Dumbledore's sprouted on both their faces.
Verity raised her eyebrows as they and the rest of the hall dissolved into laughter. Idiots.
"I did warn you." Dumbledore stood in the door from the Great Hall, deep amusement on his face. He sent the twins and their ridiculous beards to the hospital wing, and they set off with their uproariously cackling friend.
As they passed, one of the twins saw the disdain on her face. He grinned at her. She rolled her eyes again. Gryffindors, honestly.
(Chapter 22: The Unexpected Task)
"Verity, I want a word." Draco's voice echoed in the deserted common room, but it wasn't his usual commanding. She kept her back to him.
"Yes?" She set her books on the oak desk, voice deceptively level. He hadn't called her by her first name since they came to Hogwarts.
"You've heard about the Yule Ball," he began, strolling across the room toward her. That was the height of understatement, but she knew better than to say so. The school had buzzed with nothing but dresses and dates for weeks. "I assume you don't have a date." He'd hit the nail on the head again, but again she said nothing. Thanks mostly to him, she didn't exist the other Houses, and the Slytherin boys solidly hated her. Of course she didn't have a date. He put his hands on the table around her, pinning her there. "Neither do I."
This stopped Verity's sarcastic inner monologue in its tracks. Draco Malfoy, with pretty girls fawning over him wherever he went, hadn't found a date? How high were his standards?
A shiver raced up her spine as he touched her hair. "I couldn't help but notice," he said in a greasy voice, "you've grown up rather well."
Verity shivered again. Was he asking her to the dance? Images flashed through her mind. Gliding into the Great Hall on his arm, the boys' double-takes, Pansy's horror. They followed Draco's lead; if she was in his good graces, surely they would accept her too. She tried to imagine having them as friends, but couldn't quite visualize it. She'd never had proper friends. It sounded nice.
On the edge of saying yes, memories replaced fantasies. Years of taunts and insults, training his classmates to ignore her at best and torment her at worst. He expected to erase that? She felt like someone had slapped her awake, and she was glad they had.
"No," she whispered.
He stepped back. "Pardon?" He smirked like it was funny.
"No," she repeated, only slightly louder, and she finally faced him, though she still couldn't meet his eyes. "I...I can't go to the dance. Not with you."
Draco laughed. "Don't play hard to get, MacLaren. I doubt you'll get another offer."
"I know," she said. "I'm not playing. I don't—" Her resolve stiffened, though she couldn't force out her last words above a whisper. "I'm sorry, but...no. And please stop acting like you're grown up and seductive because you're fourteen and greasy and your voice isn't done changing—"
Draco frowned. "Fine." He swept to his dormitory without another word.
Alone again, Verity sank into an armchair and stared unseeing into the greenish-black water outside the window. This explained why Draco had been uncommonly decent lately, and why he looked at her strangely when he thought she couldn't see. She expected things would be business as usual in the morning.
That night, Pansy burst into the fourth-year dormitory, gloating to anyone who would listen—and everyone who wouldn't—about how she was Draco's date to the Yule Ball, how he was paying for her to send away for a new dress, how wonderful he was, and how sorry she felt for anyone foolish enough to turn him down. Verity tugged the green silk hangings around her bed and blocked out Pansy's gushing.
(Chapter 23: The Yule Ball)
"MacLaren, the ball's started." Verity whirled around to see Daphne Greengrass, stunning in a sparkling navy dress, her hair cascading down her back in dark curls.
"I'm not going."
"Not looking like that, you aren't," Daphne said with a disgusted glance over her roommate. Verity's blue-grey dress, with its stained sleeves and high lace collar, looked even shabbier compared to Daphne's gown than it had in the mirror. "That style was popular...last century?"
Verity muttered about second-hand, all she could afford, no options, didn't care anyway, as Daphne circled her appraisingly. Verity felt her sharp eyes catch every flaw, and she blushed.
"This is disgusting." Daphne lifted the edge of Verity's skirt with her wand and picked at the moldering grey lace on the hem. She whispered an incantation. Verity cried out in surprise as the lace fell in a heap on the ground and her skirt hemmed itself neatly.
"How much did it cost you? Or did you find it in a rubbish pile?" Daphne traced her wand around the hem of Verity's left sleeve, and that lace fell too. Verity stood in confused silence while Daphne removed the lace from her other sleeve.
Finally, she had to ask. "Why are you helping me?"
Daphne didn't answer right away. Her attention had moved to the snagged lace collar that filled the neckline of Verity's dress and hugged her pale throat. With a disgusted sneer, she said, "We're hosting two prestigious academies attended by dignified people. You'd have them believe British wizards are impoverished and awkward. Besides," she went on, softer, "there may be extra boys tonight. Anything could happen."
She touched her wand to the edge of Verity's neckline. "Turn," she commanded, and she traced her wand all the way around, then cut the lace off. With a wave of her wand, stains and dust were siphoned off the dress and into the tip of her wand. "Well?"
Verity turned to the mirror, and she breathed "Oh!" Her dress no longer looked like a nineteenth-century nightgown. It no longer looked like any sort of nightgown, as a matter of fact. It was beautiful. The pale blue-grey shimmered in the candlelight as she revolved.
"Thanks, Daphne," she murmured, running her hands over her skirt.
"Don't steal any Durmstrang boys until I've had my pick," the other girl said, "and brush your hair before you go downstairs. You must have slept on it." There, Verity thought as Daphne swept out of the dormitory, there was the Daphne Greengrass she knew.