∞ ϟ

Harry announced, plopping down next to me, "you look awful today."

A few weeks after the risky 'robe-mix-up' event, Harry finally came round and accepted that the whole thing was just a mistake—which was exactly what I wanted him to think. I was glad to have my best friend by my side again, even if he was a temperamental, jealous, and incredibly sorry jerk sometimes.

But he was right. I did look awful. Why? Because I've been staying up every night and studying facts about Moody, sneaking around with Draco after hours since I can't talk to him in public anymore, so I had a serious lack of sleep and energy.

"Morning Potter," I smiled, laughing back weakly, "you look pretty awful yourself."

He gasped, "on the usual, or just today?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

"Honestly, no," he grinned, nudging me gently, "but want to make a bet?"

"What?"

"You give me ten quid if Hermione and Ron come in here together, and I'll give you ten quid if they don't."

I rolled my eyes, turning my head towards the door of the great hall. We had been called here for some important announcement, but no one seemed to have any idea what it was.

A few moments later, a familiar set of bushy hair came storming in, books clamped tightly in their hands. Ron was nowhere in sight.

"Pay up, Potter," I smirked, holding out my hand, "looks like Weaselbee isn't here."

As Harry fumbled for quid in his pocket, he gave me a distorted look, "since when have you started calling Ron 'Weaselbee?'"

Uh.

My bad.

Draco's intolerable nicknames were apparently snaking their way into my vocabulary, and that was clearly far from a good idea. Thankfully, Hermione reached us in time, distracting us from the growing confrontation.

"Where's Ron?" I said, switching the conversation, "his class ended an hour ago."

The girl let out a huff, "he's coming."

"When?"

"Now, but apparently Fred and George's new prank pasties were more important than walking me to class."

Harry glanced at me, cocking a brow tauntingly, "classic Weaselbee, am I right, [y/n]?"

He knew something was up.

I could tell, but thankfully Professor Mcgonagall decided to stride into the great hall at the perfect time, snatching the attention towards her. She was wearing her usual pointed hat, but had more formal dress robes on this time.

Ron came slinking in after her, hoping he wasn't too late.

"There's the man," I noted, "try not to kill him, Mione'."

She narrowed her eyes, "no promises."

Mcgonagall's voice erupted through the Great Hall, her hands raised in greetings as she scanned the crowd of unenthusiastic Gryffindors. Once a silence had fallen upon us, she promptly cleared her throat to speak.

"The yule ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard tournament since its inception," she began, "on Christmas eve night we, and our guests, gather in the Great Hall for well mannered frivolity."

I blinked, leaning to my left, "Hermione what does frivolity mean?"

"It's a noun," she whispered back, " means lack of seriousness."

"Okay, thank you."

Mcgonagall was still speaking, beginning to pace around in her swishy cloaks. Ron and Harry were beginning to fall asleep, just like the rest of the boys. Sigh.

"As representatives of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward, and I mean this literally, because the yule ball is first and foremost..." The professor explained, straining out her words, "...a dance."

Before everyone had a chance to put in their reactions, the doors to the Hall swung open again, and Filch came bouncing in like a rubber duck. His cat followed discreetly behind.

He came to a skidding stop in front of the professor, lowering his voice to spread some key information, but I was able to pick a few sentences up from where we were sitting.

"Professor Snape is currently speaking to Dumbledore," the man hissed, his eyes darting around, "something of an important matter, he said."

Mcgonagall pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose, "why does this concern me?"

"Because I've got a handful of Slytherin students who are supposed to learn about the Ball, miss, and I don't know a thing about dancing."

As soon as I heard the word 'Slytherin', I had to resist the urge to smile. I used to hate the word, but now it's descriptive of one of my favorite people.

"Very well, send them in," Mcgonagall sighed, waving her hand, "I'm sure my students will be courteous to our unexpected guests."

And with that, she gave us all a stern look, her gaze sweeping across the room.

One by one, Slytherins began to filter into the great hall, some of them crouched into the shadows in embarrassment, and some of them strutting in like they owned the place—I'm sure you know which boy I'm talking about.

"Cover your eyes, Harry," Hermione noted, "Malfoy's here."

Potter snapped his head towards the door, his face turning a bright shade of red when he saw the platinum blond staring straight at him. Ron, who managed to sneak his way over by us, made an annoyed exclamation.

"I pity the girl who has to dance with him," Harry hissed, "he'd probably crush her with that fat ego of his."

Uncontrollably, a loud laugh escaped my lips, and I clamped my hand over my mouth as quickly as I could.

Everyone turned their heads at the commotion, confused as to why I was laughing so abruptly. Especially Draco. The disgusted look on his face made it clear he didn't like the thought of Potter making me laugh.

"Miss [l/n]," Mcgonagall snapped, "it is incredibly insensitive of you to laugh at your fellow classmates, apologize at once."

My life flashed before my eyes for the millionth time.

"No, professor," I panicked, waving my hands wildly, "I wasn't laughing at them, I was laughing at—"

I cut myself off.

I couldn't say what I was laughing at, because the boy it concerned was staring at me from across the room. Not to mention he was my (very secretive, but very important) boyfriend, and I feel incredibly bad for laughing.

I wasn't making fun of him, I promise, I was only laughing because as soon as Harry said that, an image of Malfoy waltzing around a room, blown up like a giant balloon, and knocking other dancers over like bowling pins appeared in my mind.

It was quite hilarious.

"Spit it out then," Mcgonagall pressed, her voice sharp, "tell us what you were laughing at."

I winced, staring at the floor, "nothing."

"Very well then, five points from Gryffindor for blatant immaturity."

There was a groan around the room, and I slumped my head into my lap. This was embarrassing, and a small joke cost us house points. Remind me to kill Potter for that.

"Now if you would all pair up," Mcgonagall continued, gesturing to both the Gryffindors and Slytherins, "we shall begin to dance."

Nooooooooooo.

I didn't want to dance, because I didn't know how to dance, and dancing around a bunch of staring students was enough to make me want to get crushed by the Whomping Willow. Unfortunately, I had no choice.

I felt Harry's arm wrap around my shoulder, pulling me into an awkward side hug.

"Shall we?" The boy offered.

I laughed, "Harry, you can't dance."

"Neither can you, so it works perfectly."

"Right..." I nodded, glancing off to the side. I noticed a flash of blond hair slip out of the Great Hall, and my eyes widened in interest. I turned back to Harry, "I'm going to get some water, I'll be back."

I didn't wait for a response, before I went stalking off towards the hallway outside.

Draco was leaning up against the tiled wall, twisting the ring on his fingers as he waited for me to approach. Thankfully, no one was in the hallway, and everyone in the Hall was too distracted to walk outside.

"Malfoy," I smiled, "what are you doing out here?"

He grinned, snapping his head up to meet my gaze, "luring you out for a conversation."

"It seems to have worked."

"It always does," He smirked, cocking a brow, "I don't suppose you'd want to dance with me?"

Yes.

But no.

"Rule number twenty-two," I sighed, "we can't be seen in public."

Draco ignored that.

"You see, I planned it all out," he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement, "we wait for everyone else to find partners, and then look all moody about not having anyone to dance with, so Mcgonagall has to pair us up together because we're the only people left!"

"Draco..."

"And then it doesn't look suspicious, and we can dance together, and pretend we hate it, but really don't—"

"Draco," I said, cutting him off, "Harry's already asked me."

The boy stopped mid sentence, his smile snapping away in a split second. He knew the rule, and no matter how much he tried to steer away from them, they were set in stone. Whatever Potter wants, Potter gets, because Potter isn't hiding.

And since Potter wanted to dance with me, I had to.

"Right," the boy said softly, staring at the ground.

I gave him a sympathetic smile, "next time, Draco."

"That better be a promise," he said, turning away, "don't get carried away, [l/n]."

I wasn't planning on it, and I didn't. A few moments later, I found myself staggering around the hall, my arms around Harry's neck, and his arms on my waist in an awkward ballroom dance position. We nearly crashed into Ron and Hermione twelve times, which left the red-head reeling in confusion.

"You okay?" Harry asked, steering me clear of Neville and Ginny, "you seem distracted."

I was very distracted.

"I'm not," I lied, "I just don't know how to dance"

But that couldn't be further from the truth.

Even with Harry in front of me, I couldn't help but look across his shoulder to get a glimpse of Draco dancing about the room.

Because of our rendezvous in the hallway, he missed out on the pairings and was left to dance with Goyle. They were fumbling about, hissing at each other to stop stepping on each other's toes, but occasionally they'd laugh it off and purposely ram into other Gryffindor pairings.

I've never thought I'd ever be jealous of Goyle.