(Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire—Chapter 23: The Yule Ball)
Verity sat alone in the Great Hall, watching the couples dance. All was back to normal. Her dress wasn't the embarrassment she'd expected, but no one gave her a second glance anyway. She waited for midnight.
Pansy hung on Draco's every word and giggled like a fool. He deserved a girl like her, a stupid, self-centered, bullying…a female version of himself. After all, he liked himself best. What did they talk about between their two empty brains?
Despite these thoughts, she couldn't help but enjoy herself a little. The Great Hall was unrecognizable. The frost on the walls shimmered in the light from the starry ceiling, and holly and mistletoe hung everywhere. It was pleasant to see her usually black-robed classmates so colorfully attired. She soon forgot her troubles in the swirling dance floor.
After a few minutes, she caught herself watching one couple with particular interest, or at least the boy: one of those idiotic Weasley twins who'd tried to use the Aging Potion. His dress robes, she noted critically, were too short, but that didn't bother him. He grinned as if he couldn't have more fun anywhere else, although, as Verity reflected on other times she'd seen him, his face knew that expression well.
He and his partner (a dark, attractive girl who might play Quidditch) laughed and danced so wildly that nearby couples glared at them, but they either didn't see or didn't care. She couldn't look away. After a few minutes, he caught her staring and winked. Her face burned. Still, she kept glancing back.
When she bored of the dancers, she tugged a parchment and pencil from her pocket. After a few minutes' sketching, the picture emerged, and Verity started at what, or rather who it was.
"Hello then, miss." Crumpling the page in her fist, she glanced up to see that Weasley boy standing over her.
"Hi," she breathed, blushing furiously red. Oh Merlin, a boy is talking to me.
"What's that you're drawing?" He dropped into the seat next to her.
"Oh." She gave a little laugh. "Nothing." She willed him to go away without more awkward questions. Oh Merlin, it's a handsome boy. Why is he talking to me? Unfortunately, he was intrigued.
"Can I see?" he asked, unaware of the torment he caused her. She handed over the parchment, wishing her fingers were all broken and she couldn't hold a pencil. The half-finished sketch showed him dancing with a girl nothing like his real partner, though it looked suspiciously like Verity. She had captured his cocky grin and untidy hair, and though he'd never seen it, her shy smile was perfect.
When she looked up, dreading his disgust, Verity found he wasn't mad a strange girl had been drawing pictures of him. "That's great," he said, smiling warmly. "Really. I wish I could draw."
"Thanks."
"Hey, Angelina is off with George—she forgot we're two people again—but—do you dance?"
"A little."
"Would you want to?"
"Sure." Taking his hand, Verity allowed herself to be pulled onto the dance floor, and she smiled for the first time that night. "I'm Verity. You're a Weasley, but..."
"How'd you tell?" he asked with a grin, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm Fred. Not to be confused with George, though that's easy to do. Our own mother mixes us up, helped along by the fact we like to switch clothes at home." Verity laughed shyly. "What House are you in? You're not Gryffindor."
The smile faded from her face. "Slytherin," she said, waiting again for the disgust.
"And you're not too high-and-mighty to associate with a dirt-poor blood traitor like me?" Fred's laugh put her at ease. "Either there are good Slytherins, or that slimy Malfoy hasn't got around to brainwashing you. Either way, it's a pleasant surprise."
"He couldn't brainwash me," Verity warmed up to full sentences. "I've known him too long—ugh, disgusting—" she broke off with a shudder that made Fred laugh harder. The music swelled, and he spun her around until she was giddy, laughing and gasping for breath at the same time.
They spent the rest of that dance and the next one sharing stories about Draco and laughing together. When their insults were exhausted, Fred asked her about her family, and she explained her situation in Malfoy Manor. "So you'd be perfectly placed to spy on them, eh?"
"I guess," Verity shrugged. "Mr. Malfoy doesn't share secrets with the kitchen girl, but I keep my eyes open. The things hidden in that old house..."
Draco and Pansy swaggered by. "Look at you," Draco said. "You found someone of your own station now." He sneered. "I'm not sure which of you is lower. The boy who lives in a barn, or the girl who lives off my charity. Be careful, MacLaren. He's only interested because he wants to work for me too. It'd be the highest achievement of his miserable life." He swept away, and it was all Verity could do to stop Fred jumping him.
"With the teachers trying to impress the other schools? Professor McGonagall will hang you from the chandelier!"
"I don't care," Fred growled, pulling faces at Draco's back. "How do you take that so calmly?"
"Practice," she said as she tugged him toward the drinks. "I've learned that failing to get me in trouble makes Draco madder than any insult." Fred calmed, though he still shot murderous glares at Draco every time he came near.
"So," he asked after one such moment, "Malfoy said now you found someone of your own station in life. Were you with a rich guy before?"
"He asked me to the ball," she confessed. "I told him no, so he's sore."
"No kidding!" he snorted. "No wonder he was mad. How'd he ask? It's too much to expect civility out of a Malfoy." Verity reenacted her and Draco's conversation, and Fred shuddered in all the right places. "Creepy thing, isn't he?"
The clock struck midnight and the dancers filtered out of the Great Hall. Verity was alone again, but she didn't mind this time. She wove through the crowd, humming one of the songs she and Fred had danced to.