𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖋𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖊 ⋆ hermione granger

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

          "I could go with a gorgeous Beauxbatons girl."

          "Oh, now, are you saying I'm not as pretty as a Beauxbatons girl?" Sage gasps, a hand on her chest in fake shock.

          He grins. "You're much, much prettier than any of the Beauxbatons girls, Sage. I promise."

          "Good," says Sage. "You're damn right I am."

          So here we are now, midway through December, and Sage is staring at Hermione while the girl talks about something to do with Charms. They're meant to be writing essays, but they haven't got much done.

          "Hmm," hums Sage in agreement, though she's not really listening and mostly watching the girl's lips move as she talks.

          "Sage, you aren't even listening," says Hermione. "I've just told you that I'm Dumbledore in disguise, asking to see if you'll be recruited to my lawn bowls team."

          "Oh, wicked," says Sage, a shit-eating grin on her face, "Sign me up."

          Hermione rolls her eyes and pushes back her mass of hair. "What are you wearing to the ball?"

          "Dunno. Not a fan of dresses. I'd much rather wear trousers. What about you?"

          Hermione smiles. "Yeah, I know the sort. I've looking at this really pretty blue one in a magazine, I think I can get it delivered here in time for Christmas. And I'm sure nobody will tell you off if you wear a suit."

          "Oh, I don't know about that," says Sage. "McGonagall seemed pretty serious about girls wearing dresses and dresses only."

          "Don't be silly. You've never worn your school uniform skirt once in four years and she's never had anything to say! Nobody's going to scold you for being different."

          Sage looks up to meet Hermione's eyes. They both smile at each other and Sage feels her cheeks go a bit pink.

          "Has anybody asked you to go with them yet?" Sage asks after a moment, breaking the thick silence between them.

          Hermione smiles and looks down at her quill, scrawls a few words, then says, "I don't know. I've kind of been holding out for someone, but I'm not sure if they'll ask me."

          "They'd be stupid not to." Hermione looks up at her, and Sage continues, "God, Hermione, look at you! You're the brightest of the bunch, prettiest flower in the garden, blah, blah, blah. I'm surprised you haven't had boys lining up at the Fat Lady to ask for your hand!"

          Hermione's cheeks turn petal pink and she purses her lips. "Shut up."

          Sage snickers and pushes Hermione's shoulder. "Honestly, 'Mione, I'd ask you myself if I didn't know any better."

          Hermione's eyes snap up to Sage, who turns a furious red and folds her arms tightly. "I mean— plenty of girls will be going together— it's not a romantic thing, obviously— all just as friends."

          The frizzy girls nods sharply and sweeps her things into her rucksack. "Okay, um, we've got Astronomy in a little while and— um, I've got things to do before then. Bye Sage."

          "Bye," echoes Sage as Hermione bustles out. "You've really cocked that up, haven't you, Sophia?"

          Things are going a bit tits up for Stevie, too, down in the Slytherin dungeon. Since her and Draco sort of became official in the summertime (see: a forbidden kiss by the well in the forest behind his house), she sort of just assumed she was going to the ball with him, which she thought was a normal thing to assume of the boy who you'd snogged. Apparently not, though, because Pansy comes flouncing into the common room with the biggest smile on her face.

          "Guess what, Stevie?"

          Stevie dips her quill into the ink pot beside her. "What?"

          "No, guess!"

          "You've hexed a first year and now he's stuck to the underside of a moving staircase?"

          Pansy grumbles, "You're sick. Guess again."

          "Brooke Shields walked into the castle?"

          "Brooke who?"

          Stevie misses Sage, a little bit. She's bored of not being friends with her, but also she really likes her Slytherin pals. And it's one or the other, so said Draco. "What am I guessing, then?"

          "Draco's just asked me to the Yule Ball!" She cries out, falling backwards onto one of the sofas with an arm over her head, like a dramatic princess in a romance movie.

        "Draco's just what?"

          "Asked me to the Yule Ball?"

          "Why?"

          "Um, because he fancies me, probably?"

          Stevie frowns. "I thought he fancied me."

          Pansy sits up and looks at her, blank faced. "Really? That's a shame, I suppose he doesn't."

          So Stevie goes up to her bed, draws the curtains, and cries into her pillow. Because she's a teenage girl, and that's what should be done in times of crisis.

          Ripley Koh doesn't have a Yule Ball date. She doesn't particularly want one. She's been too busy recently studying books she steals from the Restricted Section of the library, books with awful spells and dark magic that should never be touched.