Malfoy's Moon

trust

The end-of-year ball arrives, slithering in around the month of May and the corridors are flurrying with conversation about who's taking who, who's wearing what, etc. 

Standing at the top of the stairs looking down, the Great Hall is immersed with vivid decorations, elaborate, scintillating chandeliers hanging from the the enchanted ceiling, this time charmed to be a starry sky. 

She's wearing a deep scarlet dress, ornate with lace. He's at the bottom of the steps, wearing a white buttoned up shirt and black dress pants, watching as she moves down them. His eyes are fanning her up and down, gaze fixated on first her face and then her dress. It sends rich flames to the pit of her stomach as she reaches him. 

His hand glides around her waist, pulling her briefly to the corner of the hall, where no one can see them. With a sharp intake of breath, his other hand slides under her dress to her inner thigh, rings plunging into her skin. 

Pressing his lips close to her ear, he whispers, "Just checking for a knife." 

Her lips curl upwards into a smirk. "It could be anywhere in my dress."

"Yeah?" He says, pressing his lips to the side of her throat. "No worries, I can check later."

Rolling her eyes and chortling, she pulls at his hand, leading them back towards the dance floor. Sweet, melodic notes of piano music stream through their ears, trickling through the other sounds of laughter and chatter. 

He pulls her close, wrapping his cold hands around her waist and she can feel the chill of his rings labour through her skin.

She's confined by his hold, although it felt anything but restricted. All captured, a prisoner of his eyes, yes those eyes. She could almost trace the azure tinges permeating among the silver hues. 

Grey. Like that silver sphere whirring in the night sky. 

She's reminded of the last time they danced like this, among all the other students. Her averted gaze and fingertips humming with nervousness. She could hardly look him in the eye then, afraid of the grey in his eyes. And now, she's never been more locked upon his gaze, searching for the cerulean color, a comfort to her soul. 

"Look at me."

"I'd rather not."

"It pains my eyes to do so too, Hawkings. But when you dance with someone, you look them in the eyes. Or do you not know how to dance?"

She's not even aware of her beam at the recollection as she reminisces, until he gives her a  smirk, as though he's aware of what she's thinking about. 

They pass by other students and she becomes uncomfortably conscious that people are watching them, their eyes occasionally flitting from their partner to her and Draco. 

More whispers. She desperately focuses on the piano music, on him, but her mind traitorously returns to those hushed words and the unspoken words that halt on the faces of many. 

"The death eater's son and that Slytherin failure?"

Marcus Flint. His partner, wearing a dark purple gown, lets out a snicker, causing heads to turn and requesting Flint to repeat his taunt. 

She can tell that Draco had heard him, can tell by the way his fingers dig into the silk material of her dress, the way his eyes darken slightly, and his eyebrows furrow together. 

She feels an unsettling warmth edge its way across her face and the faces around her begin to blur. Was it just her or had the piano music begun to adopt a more ominous tone? One that causes her heart to thud and her breath to jerk away from her throat.