Clara looked . . . nice. Really nice.
As soon as she'd sent an owl to her mother, warning her about the upcoming Yule Ball and her last-minute need for a gown, her mother's response was painfully enthusiastic. She must've gotten the wrong idea and assumed that Clara was breaking out of her shell and becoming a social being. An easy mistake to make.
She was sent a dress only a day after the announcement. It was much more difficult to slip on alone than she'd anticipated, so much so that she'd spent about 15 minutes in the bathroom aiming her wand at the zip until it finally sealed her inside the garment. It was comfortable too, satin lining protecting her skin from the abrasive tulle fabrics that covered the skirt.
Sometimes it paid off to have a seamstress for a mother, because she could decisively say that her dress was better than any of her roommates' dresses. It draped against the floor, bounced around her hips in just the right amounts, and covered her arms fully. The skirt was decorated with pearls bewitched to glow — usually a detail her mother charged clients extra for.
If only the bodice wasn't quite so unnecessarily revealing.
"Stop messing with your dress." Hannah yanked Clara's wand from her hand and continued to style her hair. Clara had been trying to conjure up a charm that would cover up her chest more. "You look fine. I didn't think you were going to go to the ball anyway. What happened to your plan of staying around here on your own?"
"I wasn't going to," Clara agreed. She tugged on the sleeves and manoeuvred the bodice upwards, much to Hannah's impatience. "Maybe I shouldn't go."
"Do you have a date?" Hannah asked.
With a sigh, Clara nodded.
"Exactly," Hannah said. She held the tip of a braid to Clara's hair and started to spray it in place. "There's no point in quitting now. Who is it?"
Clara admired her manicured nails. "Ron Weasley."
"Oh, Harry Potter's friend? He seems . . . friendly," Hannah replied, standing back. "Well, you're done. If your hair falls out of the braid I did, you could always try a Sticking Charm," she suggested. "I'll see you downstairs."
Hannah softly closed the door behind her. Clara stared at her reflection. She didn't match the style she'd gone for. She felt too lanky for the dress, her face too long for the hairstyle, her height too tall for her heels. Her eyes were too far apart and her front teeth stuck out too much. Her shoulders were too bony.
Clara turned away from the mirror with a huff. Shoving her hands in her pockets, allowed Lilia to rub herself against her legs one last time before taking a deep breath and opening the door.
Clara walked down the staircase slowly. One wrong step and she could go flying. In heels like these, it would be all too easy.
She was glad to find that Ron was waiting for her at the bottom. The hand he offered saved her from decking it on the last few steps.
"Bloody hell," Ron whispered. He was eyeing her up and down. "I mean . . . you look nice."
Clara had never received this kind of reaction about her appearance before. And behind her bashful reaction, she wanted to reciprocate, but instead she stifled a squeal when she saw his dress robes. They were . . . traditional. Feminine with a touch of whimsy. And they smelled like her old grandmother's curtains.
"Thank you," she said, forcefully relaxing her furrowed brows. "Um . . . you too."
She was so distracted by the exchange that she hadn't noticed Harry Potter and his date standing opposite them, so when he inevitably extended his hand in greeting she jumped like a startled deer.
"I don't think we've properly met before. I'm Harry by the way," he introduced with a friendly smile. "Oh, and, er, this is Parvati."
He motioned to the girl beside her. Parvati was so effortlessly attractive that Clara wanted to turn around and leave. She couldn't exist in her presence. She wanted to apologise for looking at her.
Instead, she hesitantly shook Harry's hand, and then Parvati's. "Clara."
McGonagall bustled over, pushing through the dense crowd. "Oh, there you are, Potter. Are you and Miss Patil ready?"
A crease formed between Harry's eyebrows. "Ready, Professor?"
"To dance," McGonagall clarified. "It's traditional that the three champions — well, in this case, four — are the first to dance. Surely I told you that?"
He looked at her blankly. "No."
"Oh, well now you know." McGonagall pulled a face at Ron's dress robes. "Oh, and as for you, Mr Weasley, you may proceed into the Great Hall with Miss Davies."
Disappointed that he was unable to stick around Harry, Ron took Clara's arm and began to lead her towards the hall. "Come on then."
The room was already packed. A cluster of tables had been arranged to one corner of the hall, but the rest of the space was left free for the event to take place. Clara would've been lying if she said she hadn't been dreading this moment.
The main doors soon opened and the four champions and their partners entered the hall. The room broke into applause. She removed her arm from Ron's and clapped at the couples as they passed.
And then in a gap between Krum with Hermione and Fleur with Roger — one of her cousins, coincidentally — she caught a glimpse of Malfoy and Astoria. Astoria looked beautiful. Her dress was a dainty shade of periwinkle. Her eyes popped with thick black lashes over soft pink makeup. Then she looked at Malfoy, and Malfoy was looking straight back at her.
Clara looked down. She didn't lift her eyes again until the dancing began — mostly because she couldn't tear her gaze away from Harry and his atrocious dancing abilities. He stumbled around a few times, mistaking which direction to turn. Beneath a mask of enthusiasm, Parvati looked furious.
Other couples in the room began to join them, including Malfoy and Astoria. Clara was drawn to them this time. Malfoy led her in what could be the cleanest waltz in the room. And the way he looked at her . . .
It made Clara want to take her shoe off and throw it at them.
"Want to dance?" Ron offered.
Clara shook her head sharply.
"Me neither," Ron said.
A band joined the stage later in the evening. The dance floor became a mosh pit. Everyone was having the time of their lives. Ron, Clara, Harry, and Parvati were stuck on the sidelines.
"Ruddy pumpkin head, isn't he?" Ron muttered.
He was still going on about Viktor Krum. Clara's patience was wearing thin. She wished he'd shut up and stop grovelling. She'd gotten over Malfoy hours ago, and she certainly hadn't bothered him about it. It was just common decency.
"I don't think it was the books that had him going to the library," Harry added.
Clara rolled her empty Butterbeer glass around between her palms. She'd only taken tiny sips, so the fact that the glass was empty was a testament to how long they'd been sitting there for.
A Durmstrang boy approached. Clara glanced up curiously, but then looked back down again when he asked Parvati to dance.
And just like that, Clara was overlooked again, and balance in the universe was restored.
Clara finally relented. She couldn't keep sitting here and longing for an evening she just wasn't going to get. She stood up and placed her glass down on the table. Her appearance was untouched, no hair tousled from the party, or dress creased from dancing in circles around the hall.
"Where are you off to?" Ron asked flippantly.
"I'm going to go back to my dorm," Clara responded. Her tone came off sharper than intended. "Goodnight."
Ron didn't pretend to look upset. He could've at least said goodbye. But instead he inclined his head at her with the briefest of glances as she left. She hoped his evening would continue on that miserable note. He'd deserve it.
She crossed her arms over her chest, happy to leave the deafening music behind her. She didn't know why she was so upset anyway. Just days ago, she hadn't wanted to attend in the first place. She shouldn't have cared now.
Hoisting up her skirt, Clara began the trek back up the stairs and along the darkened corridors that led to the Hufflepuff basement. It was quiet at this time of night. No one would see the glisten of tears in her eyes and the look of pure frustration on her face.
"Oh, it's Clara!"
Clara stopped in her tracks and winced. That voice was all too familiar. It was grating in that horrible way that made her want to slice her own ears off at the best of times.
With a deep breath, Clara started forward again. She wouldn't entertain them today, not after the night she'd just endured. She could outpace them all the way to the Hufflepuff common room and shut the door on them. It could be that easy.
"Hey Clara, why are you ignoring us?" Stanmore snorted. "I thought we were friends, don't you like us-?"
"Back off, Stanmore."
Malfoy?
Clara turned around this time. She witnessed the heated conversation between Stanmore and Malfoy, but she didn't wait for long. She started to leave as soon as they stopped sparing her glances. She could thank Malfoy later, maybe the next day once she was no longer emotionally volatile and tearful.
She was close enough to hear Stanmore and her friends leave in a huff. Clara kept walking. She didn't give them the satisfaction of her acknowledgement.
But then Malfoy was standing in front of her, and she realised she wouldn't be able to get away so easily. He looked about as dishevelled as he was capable of getting, his tie undone and his crystal white shirt creased, and yet he looked just as sharp and handsome as ever. The small flaws in his dress robes gave him more of a human touch.
Merlin, up close they looked expensive. That material must've cost a fortune.
He was looking at her again — she needed to stop being so surprised by that — with a small look of victory on his face, like he was still relishing in the high of having talked down Stanmore. She was too annoyed still to appreciate how much the look suited him.
"What are you doing out here, Davies? What happened to your date?" he asked, and for once he genuinely looked interested. "Weasel-Bee, was it?"
She shrugged. "I don't really want to talk about it," she said honestly.
He was openly amused by her response. She was not. "Did he even dance with you?" he asked.
Clara shook her head.
"So what are you doing here?" he pressed.
"I'm going back to my dorm," she replied. "I don't feel like dancing."
"And how would you know if you haven't even tried? Come."
Malfoy took her open hands without warning. And then, as if her pink, flustered face wasn't enough, he tugged her towards the centre of the room with a mischievous grin on his face. He must've been drunk.
"What are you doing?" she asked him, bewildered.
He laughed under his breath — maybe it was her tiredness, but she really liked that sound — and slid an arm around her waist. He held her closer than she would usually ever find comfortable. She couldn't smell alcohol on his breath.
"What do you think we're doing?" he remarked. "We're dancing."
"Now?" Clara felt panic rise up her chest. It was lucky he was a good dancer, because as he spun her around the corridor, she could barely move. "Where's Astoria?"
"You want to get rid of me that desperately, do you?" he teased. His mocking tone was gone, replaced with something akin to fondness. "This is me proving I'm better than Weasel-Bee in every respect."
She could give him that credit. He was better than Ron, at least in this instance. To be honest, this was the first time she'd been made to feel even normal all night long. It made a little piece of her heart swell.
It was quiet too. So quiet that she could sort of appreciate the closeness. Draco Malfoy was a better date, and he wasn't even her date. He didn't make her feel worthless, or unwanted, or like an awkward back-up plan purely chosen out of last-minute panic. He didn't need to. He was just being uncharacteristically nice.
"He wanted to go with Hermione Granger," Clara said. "Ron Weasley."
"He did?" Malfoy asked. "And he made it that obvious too?"
Clara nodded. "He kept staring at Hermione the entire time. He wouldn't stop talking about her. He ignored me the whole night–!" Clara cut herself off before she could get too heated. ". . . It got awkward."
"I can imagine," he agreed. "The stupid blood-traitor doesn't even know how to take a girl to a dance. Luckily for you–,"
He picked her up and spun her around. He was better at this than even Cedric was. When he placed her back down, his grip on her waist was firm enough to keep her from losing her balance as she found her footing.
Her jealousy of Astoria — not jealousy, she was never jealous — had increased tenfold in the space of a few minutes.
"–I'm an incredible dancer."
She felt a smile twitch at her lips. "You are?"
He hummed a laugh that vibrated through his torso against her own. "Of course I am."
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Author's note: In honour of the prom I never got (covid year lolz).
[Edited 23/06/2024]