CHAPTER 48: THE CHRISTMAS BALL
"Usually, the evening of December 25th at Hogwarts turned out to be like any other: quiet, peaceful, and only occasionally disturbed by Argus Filch, the caretaker, grumbling about the unruly students populating the school. He often dreamed of testing some items lying around in his office, which might have served as immediate disciplinary instruments in another era. Moreover, during the holiday season, few students spent it at school, at least those who could afford not to. For the less fortunate students, avoiding a meal consisting of a loaf of bread, a few vegetables, and an unexpected chicken as a feast, they preferred to stay at Hogwarts to enjoy its kitchens and delicious dishes.
However, tonight, the crowd was numerous in the school hall—a noisy and nervous crowd waiting with obvious excitement for the imminent start of the festivities. Hogwarts had not organized a ball for decades, and with the Triwizard Tournament ongoing, the idea of establishing one during the Christmas period was unanimously decided by the three school heads. It was an opportunity to truly build new connections between students, to discover each other through a minuet, and to the sound of music that some might never have the chance to hear again. The pairs formed in recent weeks were diverse in their profiles, ages, skin colors, Hogwarts houses, or schools, and in the wealth or modesty reflected in their attire. However, each person took care not to mix with someone not from the same social situation. If anyone had hoped that, for one night, all students would forget each other's differences and mingle without caring about each other's wealth and heritage, they would have been disappointed. Rich or poor, the distinction was glaring in the outfits, in the couples forming, and even in the arrangement of pairs that refused to mix with those they considered beneath them, or who felt too intimidated to take a first step towards them.
Daphne, on the other hand, had no worries about these problems. Coming alone to the ball, despite multiple requests from boys in recent weeks, she had chosen to spend a quiet evening with her friends without worrying about questions of social status or wealth. After all, wasn't she friends with a peasant, a future lady, and two countesses? A relative diversity, but she liked to think that it already set her apart in some way from those self-absorbed people with no other desire than to crush the commoners under their shoes like a doormat solely due to inherent inferiority. Moreover, she couldn't help but think, with a smile on her face, that Lucie, dressed in the modest but lovely dress she had given her, might well turn the head of more than one English Lord tonight. Lucie, uncomfortable in clothes that probably cost more than her parents' hovel, kept fidgeting with the folds of her dress, looking quite worried as she observed the surroundings.
"Calm down, Lucie, he will come!" scolded Tracey, seizing her hands to make her stop.
"But... Maybe he changed his mind?" she said with a worried tone. "Perhaps he found another girl better than me to accompany him tonight? I don't even know how to dance..."
"Better than you? I don't think so," argued Daphne, looking absentmindedly at the people bustling around them. "You look very beautiful tonight, and Neville will have eyes only for you. As for the dance, I think that in four years at Beauxbâtons, you must have assimilated the basics of the minuet."
Slightly reassured, Lucie smiled faintly as her cheeks blushed slightly. However, Marie and Aglaé preferred to observe the surroundings with a detached air, neither having a partner for the evening. Officially, like Tracey, the reason stemmed from an act of pure solidarity towards Daphne, alone for this ball in the absence of her fiancé, from whom she still had no news. But unofficially, the reason was quite different and concerned, above all, the categorical rejection each suitor had faced as soon as he was deemed unworthy of them. In the end, only Lucie had found a suitable match, but Neville's shyness led him to make the request just days before the ball, while she was starting to despair of not having any proposals, especially from the Longbottom heir she found to her liking.
"If there is one tonight who is likely to attract all the attention, it is Fleur," declared Tracey, casting a glance at the said lady in the center of the hall.
Daphne didn't need to be told to know that Tracey was probably right, given the hungry looks of the male population toward the French veela. Dressed in an empire-style blue dress adorned with matching golden embroideries on her hair, wrists, and neck, Fleur could only attract the gaze of all the students. Her escort for the evening, a Ravenclaw boy named Roger Davies, couldn't stop looking at her, almost hypnotized by the beauty of his companion. Not at all jealous of all this attention, Daphne could almost feel pity for her rival, at least if she focused solely on the power Fleur could have over men due to her unique gift derived from her veela genes, which could be a real curse in certain situations. But almost was indeed the appropriate word because, upon closer inspection, she could easily see that Fleur enjoyed being the center of attention for the entire assembly. For her part, Daphne had opted for restraint and discretion by wearing an empire dress in bottle green, intentionally resembling the eyes of her fiancé. Pessimistic now about seeing him arrive tonight despite the invitation she had sent to Lamballe a few weeks earlier, she still hoped that this small touch of fantasy might find an echo in Harry. Otherwise, she probably wouldn't linger more than a few hours in the great hall of Hogwarts and even less to dance.
"I've never worn gloves before," Lucie declared, slightly pulling on the ones she wore, which reached up to her elbow. "Well, except for the ones at school, but they don't cover as much! It's so strange; I feel like I have a second skin!"
"If you keep pulling on them, you risk wearing out the seams!" scolded Tracey, who immediately stopped her gesture, ignoring Aglaé's giggles at their friend's comment. "I might end up giving you a hand; you'll stop using them unnecessarily like that!"
"Besides working the land, a peasant like her knows nothing else with her ten little fingers," argued Cordelia, passing by their group on the arm of a Slytherin named Gregory Goyle."
The French girl scrutinized Lucie's attire with a single glance before smirking unpleasantly at the entire group. Her partner, probably not understanding a single word of their language, contented himself with looking at them with an intrigued expression that, on his crude features, made him appear even more foolish than usual. Internally, Daphné complimented Cordelia on her ability to find a partner who resembled her so much that they could have been mistaken for cousins. But compared to him, she would prefer to remain alone for the evening rather than be seen with such a boy. Moreover, as he usually served as a sidekick for Draco Malfoy, this added another negative point for him. His conversation mostly consisted of beastly grunts and flexing muscles to intimidate anyone who got too close to Draco or mocked him. In short, he simply had nothing appealing.
"Besides stirring up trouble, a coward like you can't do anything else with your tongue," retorted Tracey immediately.
A silence settled in their small group, with some shocked by her frankness, like Aglaé and Marie. Daphné and Lucie, on the other hand, restrained the urge to sigh or laugh at Cordelia's furious expression.
"What a catch you've got there," she added, looking at Goyle for a few seconds, who seemed totally lost in their conversation. "What an idiot! I didn't think to invite a family member to keep me company tonight! There's such an air of familiarity between you two that I can't tell if he's a cousin or a brother..."
"And where is your escort, Davis?" Cordelia asked, noticing the total absence of any boy among them. "Oh, wait... No one wanted to show up on the arm of a louse like you, is that it? Some are luckier than others in this game..."
"On the contrary, I apply the friendly saying that it's better to be alone than in bad company. In this case, I wonder which of you two is more poorly accompanied," she replied with a satisfied smile when her interlocutor began to blush furiously from her face to her chest.
Stung, Cordelia was about to respond, but movement behind her interrupted her when Draco, Vincent Crabbe, and Pansy Parkinson, acting as a companion for the Malfoy heir, appeared. All three were coming from the dungeons where their common room was located, and judging by Pansy's sulky expression, a little quarrel had probably erupted during their journey here. However, as soon as she saw the Beauxbatons students, she changed her attitude radically, smiling blissfully and clinging even more firmly to Draco's arm, as if she had laid hands on a huge treasure and was defending access to anyone.
"There you are," Draco said, looking at Goyle and Cordelia. "The least politeness would have been to wait for me before going up, Goyle, and I remind you that you must always present yourself by my side, not in front of me. Have you ever seen a servant precede his lord, Goyle? You certainly are not one, but to illustrate the point, do you know your place..."
"It was she who wanted to go up," he replied, glancing briefly at Cordelia, who in turn only understood part of their conversation. "I told her to wait, but she was pulling on my arm!"
"And you let yourself be foolishly led here by... Her?" he argued, casting a decidedly unsympathetic look at his companion. "It's the man who leads the woman, not the other way around, whether in love, friendship, or professional relationships, although I have never seen a woman have a part in a society or engage in negotiations with my father."
Drago's misogyny furrowed the brows of more than one girl present, but ignoring their reactions, he then turned to them, his gaze lingering for a few moments on Daphné, whom he stared at intensely. She held his gaze, not at all impressed by the dominant figure he seemed to be among his friends, or at least his partners, as he did not seem to have any real sympathy for them. In truth, Daphné didn't know how to deal with him. Drago, disparaging, haughty, contemptuous, and vindictive, had nothing to appeal to her. To be honest, only his wealth allowed him to attract some alliances in the school, if not real friendships. But the heir Malfoy did not seem to want to connect with anyone at Hogwarts, except perhaps with the most influential Slytherins. From the numerous times she had seen him in the corridors or during meal hours, Daphné had only seen the most negative aspects of his personality, and according to general opinion, that seemed to be all there was to him.
However, and just when she thought he would take advantage of the fact that he had known her for a long time, he had never attempted any approach. Never had he tried to talk to her or communicate in any way. The few times their eyes had met could be counted on one hand. No intimidation, threat, mockery, or warning towards her in over three months now. Remembering the unpleasant little boy he used to be, Daphné had expected something else from him—a cold indifference towards her, ranging from comments on the potential interest their parents might have in a financial partnership to a connection between the Greengrass and Malfoy families at the Wizengamot.
A Malfoy remained a Malfoy through thick and thin, and wherever an opportunity for a significant advantage on the political or economic front could be found, this family was capable of anything to achieve it. So, thinking until now about what Drago's attempts at reconciliation might have been like from the moment she set foot at Hogwarts, she was somewhat surprised by his cold indifference. Perhaps he did not feel the slightest interest in her, or maybe he was hiding his intentions well.
"To have professional relationships with a woman, he would first need the courage to approach one," argued Tracey, still in her cutting tone.
"True, your father did like to approach women," he replied with a sneaky air. "It seems he particularly liked Muggles, especially when, after he had taken advantage of them, he would put them back in their place with a simple spell before burying them in isolated places after shortening them... I wonder what he would say seeing his daughter hanging out with scum?"
Turned pale by Draco's comment, Tracey was, for the first time in a long time, unable to respond to the barb aimed at her. This detail did not escape Draco, whose smile widened even more as the seconds passed. Faced with her best friend's disconcerted look and unable to stand it, Daphné decided to take control of the situation.
"That is low, Heir Malfoy. Not everyone had the opportunity to escape justice by bribing the political authorities of this country, and Tracey doesn't have to answer for the actions of a father she never knew and whose name she abhors. But coming from a little ferret as good at stirring up other people's dirty laundry as he is at jumping in the air at the end of a wand, nothing should surprise me. And when I say stirring up dirty laundry, I should especially think of your companion, whom you saw very closely, if I'm not mistaken..."
Drago's satisfied smile disappeared the moment Daphné recalled that little scene a few weeks ago when Malfoy had been the victim of a Metamorphosis spell by Professor Moody. The origin was unclear and officially stemmed from an altercation between Malfoy and Matthew Potter. However, beyond the students of Hogwarts, everyone knew the details even beyond the circle of Poudlard's students: Attacking Potter from behind, Draco had been the target of the professor, who, in addition to transforming him into a ferret, had made him fly in the air before slipping him into Crabbe's underwear. It took Professor McGonagall's intervention to remedy the situation, but the story had nevertheless leaked, and Draco had since been the target of particularly mocking jests.
"Keep your little comments to yourself, Greengrass," he retorted, losing some of his arrogance. "Here, you're not at Beauxbatons where everyone swoons over you at the slightest gesture you make. The other French girl informed us well about what happens in your school, and if you claim to be the princess of Beauxbatons, here you're nothing more than a foreigner who should keep a low profile in the presence of those who tread on Hogwarts grounds every year. You chose France at the expense of your homeland; you chose Muggle-borns over pure-bloods to which you belong; you chose mediocrity over excellence... Good for you, but here you're not at home, and people like you, we crush with our fist."
"It's funny, I thought attacking from behind was a cowardly act that could precisely be likened to mediocrity," she said, feigning surprise. "Ultimately, you would have fit in quite well at Beauxbatons, Heir Malfoy, but I'm not sure that petticoats and heels would suit you so well."
Turning as red as a tomato, Draco hurriedly stepped away, his frustration seeping from every pore of his body, while Pansy, surprised by his speed, struggled to keep up with him. The rest of his small group on his heels, he made his way through the middle of the crowd, with Cordelia casting one last hateful glance at Daphné before disappearing behind a group of students she rudely pushed aside.
"Well, if the evening continues in the same way as it has so far, I feel we're going to have a lot of fun!" commented Tracey, having regained her cheerful attitude.
"That's the last thing we need," retorted Marie, immediately frowning. "Making a scene before a ball is one thing, reproducing it during the ball is another, and I don't want to be part of it."
"You weren't exactly quick to react when Draco attacked Tracey, Daphné, or myself," she replied without wanting to be mean.
Marie was about to counter her argument again, but the sight of Matthew Potter descending the steps of the Grand Staircase in the hall interrupted her, as did most of the students present in the room. Dressed in a dark suit, white breeches, and stockings of a similar color ending in buckle shoes, he descended the steps calmly, head held high and chin raised in an attitude so solemn that it became almost grotesque. Thinking himself the master of the place, he cast a few scornful glances at everyone he met eyes with, especially those he disliked, with Slytherins topping the list. Next to her, Daphné could easily hear Tracey burst into laughter at the sight of the Heir Potter's attitude, and even she, if she cared less about propriety, could have joined in a hearty laugh at the spectacle Matthew was offering them. At his side was Ginny Weasley, a girl one year younger than him and the sister of his best friend, who, like him, must have felt like the luckiest girl in the whole school at that moment. The brazen girl was, in fact, throwing a glance at all the girls that spoke volumes about her thoughts for the evening: Hands off, or I'll bite. Strangely, she lingered for a long time on Daphné, her eyebrows furrowing as she observed the Greengrass heiress as if she saw a rival in her. Unlucky for her, Daphné had no intention of stealing her escort, and she would rather spend the evening dancing with the gamekeeper Hagrid than stay a single second in the company of that boy for whom she felt only contempt.
"What an outfit, it's downright hilarious!" exclaimed Aglaé, judging Ginny's dress.
"I'm not even sure they wore that back in the time of Louis XIV; that's how out of time it is!" added Marie, joining Aglaé in her laughter.
Rags, outfits, and appearance, these were three subjects on which these two could find joy all day long, but for once, Daphné couldn't help but agree with them. It was indeed challenging to say whether Ginny's dress was truly a dress or if it was a pile of rags of varying shades of pink roughly juxtaposed on top of each other. Putting it down to the legendary poverty of the Weasleys, she preferred not to make any comments on it. As long as the young Weasley liked it, who could blame her? She was radiant, although it was challenging to know if the reason was being Matthew's partner and feeling for the first time above others, or simply the fact of attending a ball, an experience that might never be repeated for her.
As for Matthew, aside from trying to appear intimidating to others, it couldn't be said that he was thrilled to attend this evening. A forced smile on his lips, drawn features, and above all, an almost manifest ignorance of the person clinging to his arm gave more the impression that he had come here reluctantly, without truly wanting to and, as far as possible, with the firm intention of not lingering. Perhaps he feared the inaugural dance? Daphné thought, imagining him perfectly incapable of making a single dance step without falling to the ground. Or perhaps he simply moderately appreciated once again playing the fool in a tournament that, for a few months now, seemed to truly spoil his life. If she were honest with herself, Daphné couldn't blame him, and the various scenes she had witnessed since his name was drawn from the Goblet of Fire, where he played the lead role, were enough to understand that he had gone through tough times since then. Between accusations of cheating, malice from the majority of Hogwarts students, continuous mockery every time he walked in a corridor, the marked indifference of the teaching staff to his fate, but perhaps even more so, the distancing of his best friend, joining the constant flow of students doubting his word when he claimed not to be responsible for his participation in the tournament, all of this had transformed him, and it was difficult to know for better or for worse. Distant, introverted, or even solitary, it could certainly not be said that he shone with the society he kept. But like the weather vanes they were, the students' opinion had radically changed from the moment Matthew managed to successfully pass the first task of the tournament: Stealing a dragon's egg in an overcrowded arena had the potential to impress more than one person, at least if one argued that his curse, cast directly into the reptile's eye, had the opposite effect than expected when the monster screamed in pain, trampling half of its eggs in the process. Without even trying to calm the beast, Matthew simply pocketed the egg and came out of the arena, leaving the dragon keepers the daunting task of calming it. The Heir Potter had thus emerged unscathed, but the loss of a good portion of the dragon's brood had considerably made him lose points, finishing in fourth place.
Since then? Nothing to report about him, except perhaps that the gossip surrounding him had made him much more cautious and less eager to have someone he could trust or even just discuss various subjects with. As for the second task, where the key was the infamous fake dragon egg, nothing had leaked about his research, although generally, no champion had left any clues that could guide people on what might unfold.
But even if she could have some semblance of pity for Matthew, Daphné didn't forget the multiple times when, by chance, her fiancé's half-brother and she found themselves in the same room, in the same corridor, or simply their glances briefly crossing during a meal. Every time, Daphné felt like Matthew was probing her soul, weighing the pros and cons of a confrontation or simply what he could gain from the fact that he knew more about her than anyone else at Hogwarts. Matthew had never tried to talk to her again since that fateful evening when she set foot in Hogwarts for the first time, but she felt that it was only a matter of time before he struck again, and to be honest, this situation scared her somewhat. Did he even remember that she was his brother's fiancée? Would he make the connection between her and the members of his missing family? Would he report the results of his observations to Dumbledore or his father? So far, he had done absolutely nothing that could put her in danger, but his constant gazes at her, that little smug smile that she could occasionally see on his face, this sword of Damocles hanging over her head waiting to fall like a guillotine on her the moment Matthew mentioned something to the headmaster... For a moment, she almost wished to pack her bags and return to finish her year at Beauxbatons, but the allure of the tournament and especially the presence of her friends immediately changed her mind. Above all, she could well imagine Harry running here at the slightest danger, fighting with the energy of a gallant knight for his beloved against those he hated, and threatening her integrity... Surely, a confrontation with his father, his brother, and Dumbledore would almost please him, but she wasn't sure that the three of them would leave in one piece at the end of their little duel.
"... as a partner for tonight."
Lost in her thoughts, Harry's fiancée was astonished to find that Neville had finally arrived in the meantime, and judging by the blush that spread across Lucie's entire face, he had obviously set his mind on courting her. Like most of the other boys, Neville had opted for a classic outfit consisting of black breeches reaching below the knees, pristine stockings, and a white shirt under a taupe silk jacket adorned with golden floral compositions sewn on it.
"I... I hope I'm not causing you any embarrassment tonight," his timid partner stammered, while Tracey rolled her eyes.
"I should say the same, I'm not a very good dancer," Neville admitted, blushing in turn.
Seeing these two indecisive individuals together gave the scene a slightly comical aspect, but at the same time, Daphné couldn't help but find them cute together. Perhaps opposites attract, yes, but the opposite could be possible, and these two perfectly illustrated it.
Her vision was suddenly obscured by a pair of hands sliding over her face, and as she was about to reach for her wand discreetly hidden in one of her gloves to move away from this intruder, a voice that she could recognize among a thousand others, a voice she despaired of hearing again, a voice whose owner stood behind her and slowly approached his head to her ear, sounded:
"I'm looking for the most beautiful rose in this school, the one who stole my heart many years ago, and whom I would like to find to tell her how much I love her... Do you happen to know where I could find her?" The newcomer asked in a tone so sweet that it made Daphné shiver.
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