verity || d.m.

09 - dance with her

Draco scoffs at their display of affection, to which Pansy laughs and swats at his cheek. "Pretty Boy is upset nobody will tell him he looks nice?"

"Don't call me that, Pansy." Draco rolls his eyes before grinning, "or should I whip out my second year nickname for you?"

Pansy screeches at him and pinches him hard, knowing he wouldn't dare utter his schoolyard teases. Shreya watches on in confusion as she pours herself a shot of rum, taking the glass between her fingers that have been painted a metallic black to match Pansy's gown. Similarly, Pansy's nails are painted nude with a periwinkle tip.

"What has caused this uproar?" Somewhere in the chaos of teenage memories, Anastasiya has arrived on the first floor.

She's dressed in deep grape, thin puffy sleeves covering down her whole arm. The bodice is delicately laced, hugging her tight before the skirt flows freely in an A-line style. Her left leg peeks out through the slit that sits low on her thigh.

Draco stares up at her before glancing down at his own purple ensemble, pursing his lips.

Pansy seems to be thinking exactly the same as him, because she exclaims, "you two are matching!"

"This was not planned," Anastasiya says quickly, gesturing with her thumb and pinky finger at herself and at Draco as she scans his matching suit and dress pants from head to toe.

"Purple is a rare color to be coincidentally matching in," Shreya eggs on, her wife cackling next to her. Although the two women had seen Anastasiya getting ready and sat with Draco before she came downstairs, the similarities between the shades of their clothing did not become apparent until they stood next to each other

Draco protests, "it's just like you said, Pansy; purple is a common Halloween color!" He begins pouring a shot for Anastasiya when he sees her eying the bottle, and he considers pouring a second for himself. She quickly throws the dark liquid down her throat, but no one ever could have noticed from the way her face remains expressionless the entire time.

"Remember the last time we danced like this, Draco?" Pansy says loudly as she checks on her lipstick one last time in the mirror above the fireplace.

Draco laughs as he recalls the ridiculous white bow tie his mother sent him just before winter began that year. "The Yule Ball — what an eventful evening."

"I'm still upset that the age cutoff was fourth years," Shreya says, standing up and leading the other three towards the door. She whips her head around to look at Pansy before asking, "why didn't you invite me? We would've had so much fun!"

"Well first of all, I didn't know you back then," Pansy says in playful defense. "Second of all, I don't know if I could've gotten away with inviting someone from another house. Oh, and I didn't realize I was allowed to like girls back then."

Draco turns to look at Anastasiya, who looks back at him mischievously before slipping a silver mask over the top half of her face.

—

25 DECEMBER, 1994

Pansy is picking enchanted snowflakes off of her blush pink dress when Draco comes back with fruit punch. Having both grown up taking ballroom dancing lessons per strict pureblood tradition, they stayed waltzing for much longer than many other students. Now, as some sixth and seventh years have taken over and requested more upbeat wizard rock songs, they sit on the sidelines, unsure of how to dance to this new sound.

As they sit sipping on plastic cups, Draco and Pansy watch the rowdy crowd of students, knowing their parents would rebuke the hellish chaos that Hogwarts has permitted. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices two girls coming towards him. The one with dark hair wears an Aegean blue dress whose top gives an illusion of stars from her chest to the base of her neck, and the one with strawberry blonde hair wears a burnt orange dress with straps that rest slightly off her shoulders. Draco hears them laughing loudly as they approach, perhaps also in search of a refreshing drink. The few years of French lessons have allowed him to eavesdrop a little, hearing something about the lead singer of the band on stage having hair like a mop.