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HEAVY FEET STUMBLED AND STUBBED the raven haired girls toes, leaving them sore and hesitant to continue. His calloused hands were rough against hers; ivory to mahogany. He hummed with a voice like thunder to the song, and she could see the lump on his neck bob up and down as he mimicked different notes. His baritone voice was not as stark as one would expect in comparison to hers. Her voice was coarse like fragmented rock in a hessian sack, moving and grinding against each other, somehow it compliments her flawless complexion and emerald green eyes. It blended together in a harmony so beautiful she made boys who claimed to be strong like their fathers, who fought in wars they dare not talk about, cry. Her Spanish ancestry gave it a nice ring, and sometimes you wondered if she was an aristocrat of some sort. The way she composed herself convinced everyone she was a royal to rival the finest. Her mouth as foul as a sailors and tongue quicker than a non-verbal spell proved her otherwise. She was bred pure and clean, with parents who believed mud ridden blood was just as disgusting as the grime on the concrete floors of Kings Cross Station. Too cowardly to follow Voldemort, too prideful to give others respect where it was deserved. A Slytherin through and through; cunning, resourceful, and would do anything to get her way. At least, that was the facade she wore like a mask for others to see. She knew she didn't belong anywhere else, and she didn't despise her house as much as she did the people in it. Words that could kill were spoken out of mouths who kissed the asses of those above them, and whose gangly legs kicked those below. Pointed faces and thin lips shot daggers and anyone who dared to argue over equality, and occasionally, a smack would ring through the halls like a dog whistle, and thirty points would be taken from Gryffindor. Slytherins were despised because they had shot themselves in the leg.
The greenest fields of Ireland met the darkest catacombs of Paris, and Waverly already felt nauseous. Blaise Zabini was the embodiment of Slytherin; a quick and clever boy with chocolate skin, with a rich ancestry and eyes so black someone would need to say lumos maxima in order to pierce the darkness. The younger girl felt like she was drowning, until his dark voice scraped the surface and she clawed her way towards the top. His robes were an indication of an opulent lifestyle, a one that many craved. They were the envy of the ball, yet either of them wanted to be there even less than the other. The song faded out, the seconds ticking achingly slow, and all Waverly wanted to do was throw up onto Blaise's crisp, pressed robes and ruin his evening.
Some would call it a pity date, although who's commiseration was acted upon remained rumored still. Waverly waded elegantly while she danced, and it was a blissful sight to anyone who witnessed it. Contrasted to Blaise's unsteady paces, it was an embarrassment to the Zabini family — as lavish a lifestyle they lived, the very least they could afford were dancing lessons. He muttered profanities as he tripped, and Waverly swore she saw Professor McGonagall swiftly connect voice to face and almost strike him, yet as much as she wished it to be true, she ignored it as quick as she heard it.
The symphonic music faded out, and Waverly detached herself from Blaise in an effort to get lost in the crowd. Successful and triumphant, she left the Great Hall and took time to appreciate the felicity of the setting. Over her head she saw that an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights — meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, making a beautiful setting of efflorescence. The fairies also seemed to be fluttering peacefully over the statues of Father Christmas and his reindeer. It was pleasing to the eye, and a nice change of tone from Blaise and the crowd.
She found herself in a courtyard; her skin hypothermic and raw. Falling snow dotted her thick locks, lacing into the black tresses and giving her an appearance of a snow queen. She heard whimpering coming from behind a lush shrub, and she could almost make out a figure behind it. Solicitude overcame her, and her curiosity won the inner battle between whether it was right to intervene or not, and Waverly moved over to where she was able to recognize the crying girl's face: Pansy Parkinson. A girl with features like a bulldog, yet fetching in her own. She felt eyes on her and looked up with a shameful face, an indication that she believed she would not be discovered.
"Whats wrong?" spoke Waverly, after an uncomfortable silence. Stupid question, she thought to herself in the solitude of her own mind.
"Dont pretend to care," Pansy scoffed.
At a loss, Waverly spoke in a low voice, for she wasn't sure how the other girl would respond. "Can I do anything to help?"
Pansy rolled her eyes, those indigo darts — sharp yet still full of emotion. They weren't heavy or blunt, just apparent. Time froze and Pansy couldn't move. "My date left me," she said, barely above a whisper. She felt chagrined as those words spilled out of her mouth like poison. Pansy Parkinson, the girl who felt no shame, radiated it like a flood light, and Waverly pitied her.
"I left mine," Waverly offered, trying to lighten the mood. She was awarded with a grin from Pansy, and Waverly knew she struck gold.
"Do you wanna dance?" asked the younger girl. It was an open question, and she didn't expect a yes. Even so, she was granted one.
"Whatever helps me feel better I guess."
She stood up slowly, like an old man with bad knees. Waverly put her hand on Pansy's waist, and intertwined her fingers with the older girl's. Waverly couldn't hear herself think, she just maintained steady eye contact with Pansy. As she breathed out, her breath crystalized instantly and created evanescent clouds. They lilted at a continuous pace, in complete sync with the others movements. Minutes felt like hours, and Pansy rested her head on Waverly's shoulder. The green eyed girl froze, and Pansy pulled away.
"Whats wrong?" she pondered. Waverley's eyes were wide, and she was just about to escape from a potentially horrible situation, Pansy pressed her lips against Waverly's. The moment lasted mere seconds. It was chaste, and neither of them knew if it meant anything. Pansy pulled back first, and when Waverly was unresponsive, a hurt look gleamed across her blue orbs and she carried herself away as fast as she could.
Waverly remained, feeling everything and nothing all at once.
