A/N: A very short little something I cooked up one day... I think this was actually the first fanfic I wrote.
Disclaimer: As you already know, the characters belong to J. K. Rowling This story was originally published on a shared account I don't use anymore; this is now the only place it can be found.
The Girl Dressed All In Yellow.
He sat and watched her: the funny, beautiful girl dancing on her own in the middle of the dance floor, her long blond hair swaying with her movements. His face crinkled as he wondered, angrily, how she could be the daughter of such a man; a man who felt brave enough (or was it stupid enough?) to wear such a symbol around his neck. He contemplated going over to talk to her, but the way she moved was hypnotizing and he was reluctant to take his eyes from her for the smallest of moments, even if it meant getting closer to her. But he must speak to her; he must know her name; if only so he did not have to think of her as the daughter of that canary.
As he finally decided that he would approach her, one of the redheaded ones sat down in front of him. Here was his chance to learn her name and also to discover why her father was a supporter of such a filthy cause. But talking to this boy would mean breaking his contact with the girl. The boy stayed silent and he wondered if he was watching him watch her; he wondered if the boy could see the fascination in his eyes. And the fear: for if the man in gold was a true supporter everyone had a reason to fear.
But he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe the man had no idea of the symbol's meaning. This was a possibility, he told himself. After all, he had heard him not long ago talking to the newlyweds about the fantastical powers of gnome saliva. Everyone knew gnomes were nothing but silly garden pests. Yes, that must be it, he reassured himself. The man knew not from where the symbol around his neck originated.
Though he must be sure; he must know whether the girl now waving her arms madly around her head was in danger. Or was she the danger? He must know so he could speak to her with confidence. At last he peeled his eyes away from the girl who spun around merrily and turned to the redheaded boy sitting opposite him. He wanted to ask her name, but the more pressing matter was the man's allegiance, and his anger at the symbol sitting proudly on the lurid robes.
Thinking, for a second, that he recognised this boy, even though he was certain they had never met, he opened his mouth to discover answers that would aid him in his quest for the girl dressed all in yellow.