Beta: lil'hawkeye3
Tom Riddle jumped of the train into King's Cross Station, followed by an extensive cortege of students. At his side, the dark-skinned Georgiana Moon smiled to him just after he helped her out the wagon. "Thanks, Tom. I'll meet the girls now, but would you like to have lunch with us later?"
"It'd be my pleasure, Georgie."
"Oh, and bring your cousin, will you? My uncle has been speaking greatly of her; I think he would like to see her again."
"I will," He promised, keeping a frown out of his expression. He wasn't sure why he didn't like the notion. Anya shouldn't know the Minister so well – these things were supposed to be his domain. And the man shouldn't be so interest in Anya. However, many were these days. After she had partially accepted her public role, the press of the most frivolous magazines had taken a liking on her.
She hated the attention dearly.
"Now, before we part our ways on the Diagon Alley, I must review some rules. Gather around, please." Dumbledore announced. "Very well. The alleys are heavily secured, so you have no need of fear today. Nevertheless, it's essential you stick closely to the main streets – Diagon Alley, Horizont Alley and the Carkitt Market. The Hogwarts Express will leave at five o'clock, in where dinner will be served. You must all be present at the time previously schedule for you year, at the Leaky Cauldron. Now, go have fun. Pip pip!"
The crowd slowly dispersed, and Tom turned on his heels to face his companions. "Shall we visit Gringotts?" He invited them, his gaze fixed on the raven-haired witch who had just dragged a sandy-blond boy to their group, her back leaning against Dorea's body.
"As you wish, your Lordship," Ragnar drawled at his side, with a smirk on his face.
"I'll hold it upon you, Lestrange," He countered, as they walked through the barrier of the platform and out of the station.
The day was partially-sunny in London, a rare thing for a day in December such as the 9th, yet incredible fortunate. It was still a bit strange to think how they had reached that arrangement. Everything had started three days before, when the headmaster had announced that a Yule Ball would be held in honour of their visitors – the actual propose of it was rather obvious: to lift the spirits after the raid on Hogsmeade.
Because of that, the students had been brought to London – as any visit to the village had been suspended for reconstruction and ensure protections. Such idea had proved to be surprisingly effective, most students now had their heads on who would be their dance-partner or what should they wear. Many students had also taken the opportunity to meet with their parents – the reason for Tom's excitement mostly, as his friends were included in this group and had rather influential parents.
"Vault 784." Tom demanded, depositing his key on the desk of the goblin. "I wish to withdrawn a hundred Galleons from it."
Speaking with the goblin at his side, Walburga took five hundred Galleons of vault 711, to distribute among the other Blacks – the peers of being the heiress, apparently. Ragnar also took sixty Galleons of his, vault 966; and Dolohov from his, vault 837. Abraxas had no need for that, as he carried a bag which allowed him a large amount of Galleons, as did most of the others. The goblins attendees disappeared behind their desks for a moment, before bags of money landed on their desks.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you." They chanted together.
"Am I the only one who is always a bit freaked out with goblins?" Orion inquired, eyeing the guards eerily as they walked into the street.
Dorea shot her cousin a look which spoke high about her opinion of his comment. "Right. You are, probably." She snarled. "Well, why don't you boys go do your things and leave us girls to ours?"
"I won't let you alone, Dora. My father will kill me if I let girls alone with you." Abraxas argued.
"You make me sound as if I'm some kind of pervert who will jump girls, Ax." Dorea whined. "You know this isn't true – I would only jump Nastya."
The blonde Malfoy gave the look which stated how good such argument was to convince him of leaving them by their own – no good. "We will take Fang." Anya interrupted, motioning to the boy who had just left the bank. "Oh, don't give me this look, Arawn. Fang, Charlie and…Alphie? Would you like to come with us?"
Alphard agreed easily, while Dorea moaned in false pain. Anya completely ignored her friend's protests and linked her arms with the two Gryffindor boys' whom she had just summoned. Brianna entwined hers on Clemency's and Vittoria', while Dorea was left with Mab-Anne and Walburga. Callidora eyed Harfang for a while, but decided to walk away with her sisters.
Tom wasn't extremely satisfied with this arrangement, but he supposed that between Anya and him, they would be able to meet a great number of Lords with the shopping-spree. Besides, while he surely appreciated a well-tailored robe, the thought of watching several witches choosing them wasn't very pleasant for him – at least, an all-male group would be faster and they would soon move to other matters.
One hour and a half later, Tom would have been rethinking his logic. After fifty minutes in Twillfitt and Tattings buying simple garments – such as silk shirts, wool and linen trousers, pointed hats, top hats and bowler hats – they had rushed to Knockturn Alley, for Tom's great satisfaction, only to stop close to its entrance, at Msaw Ætare – a tailor shop where each of them demanded an specific robe to be confectioned.
Tom could actually appreciate the finesse of each vestment, and mainly, the prestige of those who wore those robes. What he didn't enjoy was the time such activity wasted. And the fuss the five assistants made running around the five soapboxes, in which some of them stood to be measured.
In the middle of them, were Abraxas and the tailor, Monsieur Justaucorps, in a fierce discussion about what suited each one of the Slytherins the best. Abraxas, he had learnt, was as vain as peacock and louder than one in his opinions regarding fashion.
"Green is his colour, Armand. No, not so bright." Abraxas informed the tailor, who held a heavy cloth in front of Ragnar. "I like this texture, though. There isn't something more sober?"
"Artichoke, young master? I have a beautiful velveteen, paisley designed. Artichoke, carmine and midnight blue. Splendid." The man offered.
Abraxas beamed as well. "Why didn't you mention it before? Now, the sleeves. Cuffed."
"But, Master Malfoy, the tendencies…" The older wizard protested.
"Suck the tendencies, trumpet sleeves don't suit him. Now, talking about suiting someone…let's get started on my friend Tom here."
"I will hear black." Tom stated.
"But Tom, your indigo eyes would be highlighted by light blue or golden!"
"Then, they can be black. But I will wear black."
"Very well, hanged sleeves to him, Armand, and a fitting cut. The neckline must be high, and the texture…Order Narbonne to weave a dark samite, threaded with silver. Is that acceptable, Your Highness?" Abraxas looked to Tom, mockingly bowing to him.
They had made a habit of those things, and now, he was constantly bowed to, every time he got a little too bossy. None of them comprehended how much the orphan was satisfied by this.
Tom stepped out of the soapbox, and elegantly dressed his tyrian purple (according to a certain blonde snake) outer-robes over his shirt and trousers, leaving it open. "I'm going to take a look around." He announced, taking his homburg hat out of the hatstand. "Shall we meet for lunch?"
"Of course, my father wishes to meet us in the afternoon. Do you know where the White Wyvern is?"
"I do. Up Markus Scarrs." He said, swinging the door open. "Send me the bill later, Monsieur Justaucorps. Don't let young master Malfoy pay it."
Knockturn Alley was, by all means, a dangerous place. Hence, it fitted him just fine, as he was a dangerous wizard. People didn't look twice at him there, as his fighting posture indicated strength and annulled any idea one could have glancing at his rich attire. The fact that the hat hid part of his face also helped, not indicating how young he was.
However, Tom wasn't wandering aimlessly through the street as he had months before; he had two purposes that day. He had overheard Ferbus Burke and Maxwell Goyle once speaking about a little shop in Knockturn Alley, full of the most perverse books you could find. Of course, when he had demonstrated his interest in it, the two seventh-years had been eager to share its location.
The owner of the bookstore had had his property destroyed by some ministry Aurors five years ago, but it was a common hearsay in the alley that the man had managed to save part of his collection. Nobody had ever been able to put their hands in it for these five years, unfortunately, as the man was paranoid with the knowledge they held. But, the students had admitted that some good persuasion should be able to soothe his worries for enough time to take a peek on the books.
Or better, Tom had thought, to steal them.
His thoughts on the bookshop were dragged away when his eyes found the second reason for his stroll. The façade of a store, the words Noggin and Bounce engraved on it.
"Miss Anboar, I believe I have something to order."
][][][][][][][]
"You are the girl from Hogsmeade, aren't you? Anastasia Donbyre." The shop attendee questioned Anya, the eighth time someone said something like that to her – in thirty minutes. The twelve years old witch nodded sadly, because really – how were you supposed to react when you got your fame from the death of others? Like a Dark Lord, perhaps.
"Oh, I cried when I read your speech! Poor dears, poor children!" Madam Freleng, the owner of Boot and Shoemaker for Witches and Wizards confessed, as her spell finished sewing a new pair of slippers, custom made.
Thankfully, Dorea noticed Anya's discomfort and intervened. "I think that's all, Madam Freleng. How much do we owe you?"
"Well, each slipper costs three Galleons and twelve Sickles; and the boots are four Galleons." The woman explained. "But I must give a discount to Hestia and her friends! Three Galleons everything, dears!"
They all paid for their shoes, and then their packages vanished into the purses with extension charms they had bought at Stowe and Packers Magical Bags. Well, the purses had been the Christmas present from Harfang to all of them, when he had noticed he, Charlus and Alphard would be the ones to carry the packages if he did nothing. As it was, all of them were satisfied with their ball purses and the boys weren't carrying any weight.
"We must visit Spindelwrap Wool Shop now!" Clemency announced. "I know a tailor – the best in Britain, descendant of the Delfina Crimp. Nobody knows where, because she lives isolated at Horizont Alley – she isn't open to public, you see – but she is incredible! But we must buy the fabrics of our choice before going there."
Anya muffled her groan on Harfang's shirt. "I hate shopping." She confided lowly to him, making him snigger.
"You are not the only one."
"Why did you give them purses? If they had to feel the weight of their acquirements, they would buy less."
"But they would view more – to be sure of what they wanted." He countered, and she had to agree with his point.
Regardless of her reluctance, Anya found herself being pinned and measured an hour later. She was trying to find a way of amble with the tailed robes she wore, which was pretty difficult. She had asked if the tail could be removed and had also been harshly informed that the tail was essential in ball robes, otherwise, they would be evening robes – more adequate for feasts, banquets, receptions or gala. Which, it seemed, weren't synonyms for balls. Who would have thought?
She was almost killing Brianna, Clemency and Dorea when she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, holding them in the gripping manner only one person used. "Arawn, save me from here." She requested.
"Gladly." He secreted in response, speaking his next words for everyone to hear. "We have a minister awaiting to lunch. Dora, may I return Anya to you after noon?"
"We will eat at the Carkitt Market, Nastya. Meet with us there." Dorea instructed and watched her friend being led out of illuminated house, her periwinkle lacy robes contrasting heavily with the masculine attire of her companion, a wide-brimmed creamy-coloured straw hat on her head – extremely feminine.
Dorea nodded in satisfaction. She always did a good job dressing Anya – she couldn't forgive herself for ignoring the girl's lack of hats for that year and a half. Frankly, didn't people use hats in Austria?
"So, when was I invited to have lunch with the Minister?" Anya questioned the wizard, as they strutted in Diagon Alley direction. "Am I supposed to greet him warmly or will your friend introduce us?"
"There is no need to act as if you don't know him, although I hope you are not that friendly with the minister." He gave her a look. "In times of war, it's not that good to be part of an intimate circle. Georgie sent me an origami bird, we are to meet them at no. 23. There is a small restaurant there which will provide all the privacy the minister requires to have a dinner with his niece and some friends of her."
And indeed, the restaurant should be extremely private, as no. 23 was nothing more than a tiny greenhouse at the side of a bigger one – the second belonged to Noltie's Botanical Novelties, a plant shop. The former had no board, though, and only when they opened the door of it, they were able to see the tree tables in the middle of a garden, and a blackboard announcing the menu. The dark-skinned witch looked up to see the newcomers, but the adult wizard didn't.
"Tom, Ms. Donbyre." Georgiana Moon greeted them with a wave, motioning for them sit down.
"Georgie, Minister Spencer-Moon." Tom intoned, nearing the pair and taking notice of the aurors strategically positioned – circling them. "It's an honour to be invited."
"Don't waste your time with flattery, Mr. Riddle, this is to be an enjoyable lunch." The man said, smiling a little to both of them. "It's good to see you again, Ms. Donbyre, the December airs did well to your spirits."
"You accuse my friend of being overly-formal, minister, yet you stick your own words to fanciness." Anya commented, grinning as she sat on her chair. "Call me Anastasia, both of you, and let's calm our garish souls."
Georgiana giggled at her side. "Call me Georgiana, Anastasia."
The young Slytherin in their group made a face. "I suppose you should use Tom to address me, if that's so."
"He hates his name." Anya explained to the two others. "And hates colloquialisms as well. Oh, I'm already loving this meal!" The two family-members chuckled at her comment, but it was obvious that the minister was a bit uncertain how he should be addressed. "We will call you Mr. Moon, minister. Is that alright?"
The man agreed, and Tom snickered. "We wouldn't want to be accused in excess of informality after all. So, Mr. Moon, is there something you recommend from the menu?"
"Their squid is delicious. But if you want something more British, the pheasant and the salmon are very satisfying as well." The man answered, and they soon ordered their lunches from an extremely old man. It was, Anya had to admit, pretty interesting to watch as the man cut the plants around them, which according to him were mostly spices, and carried bunches of them in basket, to the kitchen at the greenhouse backs.
"So Tom, Georgie has been telling you are a great love advisor. I hope you haven't influenced her to seek for a boyfriend."
"Of course not, I have advised her to stay away from boys until she reaches the age of thirty."
"Unfortunately, she is a bit independent on her choices," Said girl declared. "Don't worry too much, uncle, Hogwarts's options of lovers is narrow. Most are taken, or engaged like Tom."
"You are engaged?"
"With Anya." Tom replied, nodding to her – who just gave him a look of disbelief. Seriously, since when he had accepted that misconception?
"There is no kind of contract signed." She explained, because really, there was the small possibility the minister resolved to take a look on engagement contracts (all submitted to a department of his government) and he would find none with their names in it. "Nevertheless, I wouldn't deny the veracity of it."
"Old traditionalisms, isn't it?" The man assumed. "My mother's family used to be like this, a century ago. But that was before my grandmother married a muggle, of course." The man commented. "Hence, the Spencer – which my older half-brother doesn't have." Anya had to be a bit surprised by the man's openness on the subject, but neither Georgiana nor him seemed much worried about it.
"There is muggle politician, I think. Winston Leonard Spencer-Churchill? Any relations?" Tom couldn't help to be a bit curious about the relations between the Minister for Magic and the man who had been Chancellor of the Exchequer, and was now, First Lord of the Admiralty.
"My cousin." The wizard revealed. "He is double my age, but we get along pretty well."
"Well enough to lead the United Kingdom – magical and muggle – through war?" Anya asked bluntly, making Georgiana choke on her lemonade. Tom was thankfully checking his nails, otherwise his reaction would have been similar to the Ravenclaw, and he would have murdered the emerald-eyed witch.
"It's our hope, Anastasia." Leonard Spencer-Moon agreed with a smirk.
"Unfortunately, the muggles have a bureaucracy even more tedious than the wizardkind." Tom drawled, quickly recuperating from the shock at hearing her words. "Well, there is still hope for us all, at least."
"I had a promise with Anastasia. She was the one supposed to provide hope." Mr. Moon joked.
"I will leave that for people of age, Mr. Moon." Anya retorted. "Unless my presence becomes exceedingly necessary."
"Can we return to a conversation which won't give me a heart-attack every moment?" Georgiana begged.
"But Georgie, you are the fiercest speaker I know." Tom extolled.
"I prefer not showing all my fierceness in front of my uncle, Tom. He stills gives me gifts at Christmas." Georgiana answered. "I can't be the grown-up adult in front of him."
"You are really a snake in raven's skin, Georgiana." Anya commented with snicker. "Feel free to wear green, it suits you." The younger witch praised a small notice of the other's jacket-styled robes as well.
The girl smiled at her. "And you could be a raven, Anastasia. Blue is perfect for you." The girl said, at the same moment the elderly waiter placed a plate of bandoffee tart in front of them, and treacle fudges, a French tea set accompanying the dessert. "You must taste the fudges, they are wonderful."
Tom served the tea to all of them, adding a spoon of honey to Anya's, and to cinnamon his. The older wizard preferred his with lemon juice, and his niece, with milk. All of sudden, one of the Aurors approached the minister, whispering into his ear. The two orphans continued to converse with his niece, secretly paying attention to the signals between the other Aurors – as the silencing ward just erected between the official and his ruler didn't englobe them.
"Temnov." Was the word repeated several times.
Both of them recognised the name. Kahlila Temnov, the Russian Czar – a wizard, obviously, as the muggles had finished with their royal family two decades before. The nation lived in an unique situation – in which the wizarding state structure shared very few similarities with its muggle counterpart. Perhaps that could be explained by the fact wizardkind had stabilised their main community in the northwest – the farthest one could be from muggle civilization without leaving the country.
Those wizards had developed fourteen centuries ago weather-adjusting charms, and there they had created one of the darkest regimes the wizarding would hear about. They lived in complete isolation, in castles of ice which reached the sky and further on. Their ruler was a rumoured fearless and unmerciful man. Tom barely contained a shiver. If His Imperial Highness was involved in something, whatever it was, it was big.
"It seems I will have to leave you." The man announced, making Tom snap of his thoughts. "It was nice to meet you, Tom, and to see you again, Anastasia." The man added, shaking both of their hands assuredly, and kissing his niece goodbye.
Anya didn't stick around to watch Tom charm the Ravenclaw. She didn't know exactly how to feel about the girl – truly. The younger witch resented the older a bit, because these last weeks, Tom's days had been dedicated to her, which was weird to someone who had grown used to have his watchful eyes on her back 24/7. Because of that reason as well, the Slytherin welcomed the Georgiana – it was much easier to wander around the school.
Then, she pitied the girl slightly. The witch was intelligent – clever even – and down-to-earth enough to recognise a friendship of benefits; but she was incredible susceptible to manipulation. There were two particular flaws that could be found in any Ravenclaw without fault: pride and desire for recognition. Two characteristics that could be found in at least half of mankind as well, which usually fitted well together. Neither Anya nor Georgiana were safe from them, and Tom knew how to take advantage of it in others.
Anya'd liked to think those weren't in exceed in herself, but she knew the opposite. Nevertheless, she spent a great deal of time controlling them – even more than her partner in crime. Tom was incredible proud. But he didn't need to be recognised. In his opinion, fooling everyone to think less of him would be immensely funny – but it wasn't always useful.
All those thoughts passed through the Slytherin girl's head as she tasted one treacle tart before leaving, paying two Galleons and sixteen Sickles for her meal, and left to Carkitt Market. Tom would take care of his friend – she was the favourite family member of the minister, after all.
][][][][][][][][]
The White Wyvern was an ill-famed place to be in, and that wasn't a surprising consideration – even if one wouldn't think this as a first impression. The walls were covered by panels of red wood, carved in detail. The white marble tables were separated by heavy dark curtains, forming niches. The floor was black stone, with crimson and jade veins. Only a more discerning look would reveal that the panels depicted pictures of ancient dragons burning villages. That what looked like marble was actually bones. That curtains had powerful silencing spells around them. That the red beneath their feet was actually dried blood.
Hence, ill-famed.
When they arrived, a gorgeous woman dressed in a dragon-hide armour motioned to the larger niche, whose curtains were entirely closed. She had startling amber eyes, and behind all of that prettiness, Tom could almost identify a huge wart at the point of her nose. Abraxas was the one who got through the curtains, as it was supposedly his father behind them.
Moments later, a man with pale skin a dark-grey hair opened the fabric barriers, walking past them with a nod. At his ear, Ragnar informed him his name was Doireaan Prince; the Princes were a common pureblood family – Tom knew – almost extinct by a tragic story of infertility, miscarries and death of children. Some even wondered if someone had cursed them.
The two men sitting around the table were different in everything. Octavius Malfoy had a sleek silver blonde hair and wore dark regal robes, a walking stick in his hands – he had a calculating glint on his eyes, and his whole demeanour called for respect. Reimond Lestrange had a darker hair than his son, brunet curls trimming down his face in a luxurious way, the same chiselled of his son – he wore gaudy robes and his whole demeanour was whimsical. At his side, there was a woman of red hair and large downturned eyes, a coy sphere surrounding her: Ambrosia Lestrange née Selwyn. Beside her, a dark-haired woman sat, a pretentious expression her face: Alexia Malfoy née Black.
"Abraxas." The blond man breathed.
"Father, may I introduce you Tom Riddle?"
][][][][][][][][]
"My father, Henry Potter, my mother, Anemone Potter, and my brother, Fleamont." Charlus had introduced them to Anya, when she had found the table with her fellow students at the market, in a restaurant called the Hopping Pot. "Brother will be joining us at Hogwarts next year."
"And then I will be left alone without my two boys around!" The mother had complaint. "Perhaps I should give the two of you a little sister, so you won't abandon me anymore!"
The husband had chuckled then. "You complain, ma chèrrie, but you find the peacefulness in the house quite satisfying."
"Not reason for abandoning me just after lunch!" The woman had retorted.
Now, hours later, as they all sat in one of the cafes of Diagon Alley, Anya was finally able to identify her feelings about the Potter Family – she felt envy. They were all very happy, and it was obvious to her that Charlus was greatly loved by his family. They would miss him if he was gone.
Anya sighed, leaning against Harfang's chest. She had never known how a family felt like, but it was supposedly good. And perhaps, it truly was. Seeing the smile on brunet Gryffindor as he rambled about his brother to them, she could believe in it.
The Slytherin witch had asked if the blonde Gryffindor family would meet with him as he had previously mentioned. Harfang shrugged. "It depends on my mother, mainly."
"You don't resemble Iris Longbottom at all, Harfang." Brianna pointed out. "Except for the blond hair…I never saw a picture of Lord Longbottom, you must be identical."
"I don't have any blood-ties to Iris, Brianna." He explained something that Anya already knew. "My mother died when I was five. Her name was Edessa. I suppose you wouldn't know her, she wasn't much of socialite."
The Longbottoms never came. Anya wondered if the stepmother of her friend didn't miss him greatly and she barely contained her disgust with herself when she felt something pleasant at the thought of a kindred soul. And it was disgusting: good people didn't wish for their friends to be neglected so they could understand them.
That wasn't a shortened version of her wishes, Anya didn't wish her childhood for anyone…but she sorta wished.
That night she dreamt of a mirror, her hand reaching for the hand of a woman, her hair red as the petal of a rose, a man at her side, glasses resting on his nose and some wrinkles of laughter starting to appear in his young skin. Around her, two young men, who were supposed to be older she knew, smiled at her. Neither ghost or truly flesh.
"We were so proud of you."
][][][][An Extra because-a-certain-someone-asked-for-more-interaction-Tom/Anya-and-I-didn't -think-there-was-enoguh][][][][]
It was a starry night that Tuesday – the coldest night of the season until now. A class of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins shivered in the cold weather and Tom Riddle did his hardest to not snicker at them, his clothes deeply warmed by charms. Any other professor would have cast the same charm he had used on his students, but Madam Black believed in learning from experience, even though Charms weren't her subject to teach. Dorea had once mentioned that her blood-adopted cousin had inherited the Black sadist streak, and he could appreciate that in the woman.
The wind ran through the walls of the Astronomy Tower, while the students answered the question with battering teeth – most of them, at least, from his side Anya rolled her eyes, not a bit bothered by the cold, and neither her disgusting Hufflepuff friends were, warmed by her spells. They hadn't cast those in their Slytherin companions though – they were too proud to ask, and they had enough drive to learn by themselves, or enough money to buy warmed robes. Except Dorea, but she loved to use the excuse of the weather to wear her fur cloaks.
The bells rang twelve times, signalling the midnight – and the end of the class. Madam Black shooed them out quickly – she was supposed to walk them to the dorms, but she had too many lovers to waste her time with children. That Hufflepuff prefect, Lucian Abbot, would lead his housemates to the Badger's Burrow. Meanwhile, the Slytherin prefects trusted them to fend for themselves.
Tom knew that some older students used such liberty to take their time – to stray a little from the path, usually carrying some Galleons to gift Carpe (never Knuts, unless you wished to discover the usefulness of the canes the caretaker keep in his belt). But none of his classmates had tried to do it until now – usually too tired to even think of it. So, it was surprising when he felt someone tug his sleeve, dragging him to one of corridors leading to the Armoury.
"Anya?"
"Yes?" She said, turning on her heels to lean against the wall. She wasn't wearing the school robes, but none of them were, it was midnight. Instead she had opted for a fitting tartan gown, very Scottish of her. She took a cigarette of the chest pocket of his own robes, and settled it on the tip of her lips, no gesture to light it.
"I'm a bit tired to do whatever you have in mind. Release me, this robes are too valuable to be subject to a tug war."
"Really? I only wanted to avoid Ragnar – he has been pestering me to go with him to the ball." She snickered before pouting. "I've heard you are going with Georgie, did you match your robes? I was refusing to go with Ragnar, our robes will clash horribly – but he has spoken of a pair of silver robes he has – it will look good with his hair, don't you think? Perhaps I can convince him."
"Moon? Lestrange? What makes you think you are allowed to go with him?" He snarled.
"I'm allowed to do what I want, Arawn. But then, you might be right, Abraxas must be a much better dance partner. Dorea had obliged him to go with her, but I can match her with someone she will find romance with."
"Malfoy? He is peacock, you will choke on his feathers in the first waltz. And why are you even considering this? You know with whom you will be going."
"I have no idea." The witch answered with a coy smile, a flame on the tip of her wand as the cigarette started to burn. Oh, she wanted him to ask her. Typical. Anya had those things – those urges to assure herself she still could stand up against him. Rather foolish of her, annoying even. But he almost couldn't repress a smile at her banter.
He huffed instead and rolled his eyes. "Would you go with me to the Yule Ball, Anya dear?"
She smiled and moved away her place. "It would be an honour, Tom." A peck on his cheek, and then she skipped past him, a laughter on her lips as she left a puff of smoke behind.
Maybe annoying was a new synonym for endearing.
And cut! That's it - a nice chapter for you in exchange of reviews... as you can see, demands are accepted.
Three reviews for last chapter...not wanting to sound pedant, but ouch, that's a bit disappointing. If you have suggestions, send me those - and critics and praises and whatever you want.
Anyway, thanks for reading!