George was quietly pleased with himself. He'd managed to talk Fred into ordering some decent dressing robes from the catalogue he'd 'borrowed' from Katie Bell. The robes had arrived just in time, and Fred—never one to pass up an opportunity for a bit of self-congratulation—was now eyeing himself in a mirror with an expression of approval.
"I must admit, this wasn't a bad shout," Fred remarked, surveying himself in his new attire, his hands tugging the sleeves into place. Their youngest brother, however, was still the subject of relentless teasing. His old, worn dressing robes seemed to hang off him like a sack.
"Thank you," George replied, loosening his own collar a little for comfort.
Katie appeared in the doorway, looking rather fine in a burgundy robe that suited her well. She was flanked by Angelique, who cast a flirtatious wink in Fred's direction as she walked past him.
"Ready?" Katie asked, her voice a little breathless with anticipation.
"Of course," Fred said with a grin, offering his arm to Angelique in that ever-dramatic manner of his.
George raised an eyebrow. "Shall we, then?" he suggested, motioning toward the Fat Lady's portrait. Katie nodded and followed him.
The Great Hall was transformed, as it always was for the Yule Ball. It had been turned into a proper winter wonderland. The walls glittered with sparkling frost, and garlands of mistletoe and ivy draped across the starry-black ceiling. The long house tables were nowhere to be seen; instead, hundreds of smaller, lantern-lit tables dotted the floor, each seating a dozen or so students.
Fred, true to form, trotted Angelique off toward a table where Lee and his date, a Ravenclaw whose name George couldn't quite place, were already seated.
Katie and Angelique launched into an animated discussion about Quidditch, with Fred and Lee eagerly joining in. George, for his part, picked up the menu from his golden plate and began to examine the choices.
"Beef Wellington," George declared after a moment, his finger tracing the line on the menu.
"Oh, good choice! Beef Wellington too, please," Katie said, smiling warmly at him.
George almost returned the smile but was distracted by a sudden movement over her shoulder. His eyes followed the figure entering the Hall. It was Eleanor Seymour, and she looked... dazzling.
She was wearing a dress that looked more Muggle than witch, and it immediately caught George's attention. No witch would dare wear something so bold—at least, not in public. The velvet gown clung to her like it was enchanted to do so, leaving her shoulders and arms exposed, the colour an almost-black shade of green that shimmered under the lights. Her dark curls were artfully pulled up, a few stray tendrils framing her face, and her eyes—dark as ever—held an intensity that made them seem even larger than usual.
George wasn't the only one staring. A collective pause rippled through the Hall as the boys all looked in her direction. Even Fred was momentarily distracted from Angelique.
"Merlin's beard, that's Emil Rosier," came a hushed whisper from the table behind George. "How did she manage to get him to come with her to the Yule Ball? I thought the Rosiers had higher standards."
Emil Rosier, for anyone who hadn't noticed, was a striking figure. He stood beside Eleanor, leading her gracefully toward the Tournament staff's table, where a few other adults were seated. Eleanor flashed a smile at the group, her posture regal, as though she belonged to a different world.
A strange pang hit George's chest. Was this why Eleanor hadn't given him a second glance for weeks?
With a sinking feeling, George watched as Rosier gently wrapped his fingers around Eleanor's hand. Eleanor raised her glass, her lips barely brushing the rim.
"Doesn't it taste good, George?" Katie's voice startled him, snapping him out of his trance.
"Oh, sorry. I was just... daydreaming," George muttered, trying to focus back on his plate.
Katie, ever so perceptive, didn't press him further. Instead, she enthusiastically resumed her Quidditch conversation with Fred and Lee, though George barely heard any of it. His thoughts were elsewhere, his eyes sneaking back to that distant table.
He didn't even realise Dumbledore had asked everyone to stand up until Fred yanked him to his feet. The crowd cheered as the Weird Sisters were introduced, and the girls at their table let out a high-pitched shriek.
"Oh, I love this song!" Katie said to George, her face lighting up as she looked at him with pleading eyes.
George smiled, albeit a little stiffly. "May I have this dance, my lady?"
Katie grinned, her smile wide and warm. "I thought you'd never ask."
George felt his heart give a strange flutter. Her words echoed in his mind as they made their way toward the dance floor. But before he could savour the moment, he felt an unmistakable, sharp gaze burning into his back.
His stomach twisted. He wanted to be here, on this dance floor, with Katie.
Across the room, Eleanor's eyes tracked George and Katie's every movement, her expression unreadable.
"Care to dance, Eleanor?" Emil Rosier's cool voice brought her back to the present. His hand lightly touched her forearm, sending a strange shiver through her.
Eleanor looked up into his ice-blue eyes, her voice soft as she replied, "Yes."
Emil's hand was firm around her waist as they stepped onto the dance floor. He led her into the rhythm of the music, pulling her close—perhaps a little closer than Eleanor would have liked. His other hand took hers, and he whispered into her ear, "You look stunning tonight. Better than when I saw you a few days ago."
Eleanor forced a smile. "Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself. Are those robes from Zurich?"
"A connoisseur's eye," Emil replied, clearly pleased. "I told you that you needed a diversion."
"Is that so? I recall it differently," Eleanor said lightly, her eyes briefly meeting his before she looked away, focusing on the swirl of dancers.
Emil's fingers brushed the fabric of her dress, sending an unexpected warmth through her, making her shiver involuntarily.
From the other side of the floor, Eleanor caught sight of Berenice, radiant in her ice-white robes, but her eyes were stormy. The look Berenice shot Eleanor could have frozen water.
Eleanor couldn't help but remember their earlier conversation:
"You know you should stay out of the line of fire, but here you are, right in the thick of it," Berenice had said sharply, her voice cold. "I don't trust him."
"I know," Eleanor had replied, feeling the weight of her words. "But what's the alternative? My mother will make my life unbearable if I don't play along."
Berenice had sighed, a long, deep sigh. "I feel like a puppet on strings."
Eleanor shuddered as the memory crept into her mind. Emil's jaw was resting against her crown, his presence solid, real.
The music quickened, and Eleanor—feeling an overwhelming need to get away—tried to steer Emil back toward their table.
"Shall I fetch you a drink?" Emil asked, rising from the chair and pushing it back with a flourish.
"Gladly," Eleanor replied, forcing a smile that barely reached her eyes.
She watched him leave, and almost immediately, Adrian slid into the chair across from her.
"I really don't understand you and Berenice," Adrian muttered, watching her with a peculiar expression. "What on earth are you playing at with your 'partners'?"
Eleanor arched a brow. "I haven't the foggiest. He asked me. Berenice and I have been trying to figure out his game for days, but we're no closer to an answer."
Adrian's gaze softened slightly. "Be careful, Eleanor. Rosier was a brilliant chess player. He thinks three moves ahead, always."
"Is that a warning or an insult, Pucey?" Eleanor asked, her voice smooth but laced with curiosity.
"A warning," Adrian replied, his tone serious.
Before Eleanor could respond, Emil returned, holding a glass of champagne.
"Thank you," Eleanor said politely, taking a careful sip as she glanced at Adrian, whose sudden departure left her momentarily confused.
Adrian stood and turned toward Emil. "Will you allow me to ask your date for a dance?" he asked with a polite smile.
Emil's gaze shifted to Eleanor, an unreadable expression crossing his face. "It is for the lady to decide," he said smoothly. "I have no say in the matter."
Eleanor fought to keep her face neutral, replying with a forced smile, "For once, Adrian."
Adrian took her hand and spun her onto the dance floor in one smooth motion. As they danced, the conversation drifted to lighter matters.
"Where is Greengrass?" Eleanor asked after a few moments.
"No idea," Adrian replied. "Someone asked her to dance. She gave me a nod before she left."
Eleanor shook her head, rolling her eyes. "I don't understand you and Berenice."
"You don't need to," Adrian said lightly, his hand guiding her expertly through the dance.
"Do you have news from the Ministry?" she asked, her voice dropping low.
"Cover-up operation," Adrian muttered, so quietly no one else could hear. "They've closed the investigation into the Dark Mark. Black's the culprit, but it won't be made public."
Eleanor's eyes widened. Adrian immediately spun her, bringing her back into his arms.
"Control your face," he warned. "Don't let anyone see your surprise."
She quickly composed herself, pulling off a perfect 'O' with her lips and smiling again.
"Nothing can be allowed to jeopardise this Tournament. The second task is coming soon," Adrian continued, his voice filled with an unspoken tension.
"So the culprit's still out there?" Eleanor asked, her voice low but insistent.
Adrian's smile was thin. "Let's hope that at the World Cup, the culprit had too much to drink and can't remember a thing. A storm in a teacup."
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "You know I don't do optimism."
"Then you'd better start," Adrian replied, giving her a slight push toward Emil, who immediately took her back into his arms.
The slow melody filled the space between them as Emil led Eleanor across the floor, his grip firm yet possessive.
"So, what exactly does a delegate to the International Confederation of Wizards do here?" Eleanor asked, her tone light, trying to hide her tension behind an innocent question.
Emil smiled. "They were looking for someone familiar with Hogwarts. I volunteered. It helps that it's a prestigious project, and a good opportunity for promotion. My sister still goes here, after all."
"Thea," Eleanor replied, her lips curving upward slightly.
"Exactly." Emil smiled back, his eyes sparkling.
"But you still haven't answered my question. What areyoudoing here?" Eleanor pressed gently.
Emil launched into a long explanation about his work, but Eleanor's mind wasn't entirely on him. She had learned the art of listening—thanks to her mother's insistence—so she nodded at the right moments, giving just enough attention to keep him talking.
But all the while, her eyes kept drifting back to the dance floor, seeking out a familiar face.
Through the sea of dancers, she spotted a flash of red. It wasn't who she thought it was. It was Ginny Weasley.
Her heart sank as she turned away, her gaze immediately going back to Emil.
As he led her past the bar, she took another glass of champagne from him, trying to mask the turmoil inside.
Emil noticed her discomfort but said nothing. He suggested, "Shall we get some fresh air?"
Eleanor agreed, eager to escape the noise and the confusion, even if just for a moment.
They stepped outside, the cool night air a welcome change from the heat of the ballroom. Emil's warming spell wrapped around them both as they walked, past rose bushes arranged decoratively along the path.
Eleanor placed her hand on his arm as they strolled, feeling the warmth of his touch against her skin.
"What are your plans for the next few years?" Emil asked, his voice soft.
Eleanor hesitated. "I haven't decided yet. I've recorded ten N.E.W.T.s, mostly to keep my options open."
"Ten?" Emil raised an eyebrow. "No wonder you nearly collapsed from exhaustion."
Eleanor smiled faintly. "Snape called me a fool."
Emil chuckled. "Most Slytherins take eight or nine. You've surpassed them."
She smiled, but it faded when she caught sight of a familiar figure in the far corner of the hall. A sudden, bitter feeling gripped her chest.
It was George, in a tight embrace with Angelique, one of the Chasers from the Gryffindor team.
Her heart fluttered—unwelcome and confused—and her vision blurred as she looked away.
Emil's hand lifted her chin gently. "Hey, I meant it as a compliment," Emil's voice was soft, though Eleanor could barely hear him over the pounding in her ears. He gently tilted her chin upwards, his ice-blue eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. For a moment, she felt as if he were peering into her very soul, before his face began to inch closer, so slowly, as though giving her a chance to retreat.
But Eleanor didn't pull away. She closed her eyes instead, a flutter of tension in her chest. His arms encircled her, pulling her against him, and she could feel the heat of his body through the fine fabric of her dress. His lips brushed against hers, tentative at first.
Her heart lurched in her chest, sinking deeper with every passing second, yet she opened her mouth to meet his, feeling a strange, desperate pull. Her hand moved instinctively to his neck, her fingers curling into the back of his robes as she pulled him closer.
She needed this—needed him to hold her. If he held her tightly enough, perhaps he could keep her from shattering completely.