❝ MERLIN'S GHOST! ❞
❝ I MEAN, YOU'RE NOT WRONG. ❞
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Albany Bronwen was no Chosen One by any means, but being haunted by the ghosts of the greatest sorcerer of all time and a former king had to count for something, right?
❃ in which a lone...
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IN THE FOLLOWING DAYS it soon became clear what exactly Filch was preparing, and the reason why the Weasleys and various others had been told they were staying at school for Christmas.
The Yule Ball.
Albany dreaded nothing more. Given the choice, she would have seriously considered taking on another dragon before attending a dance; especially one that she and the other champions and their dates would be leading. She had enough problems with the traditional ball to write up on parchment and nail to the staffroom door, but had been assured that the dance was—
"Very much mandatory," Snape explained, words painfully slow.
Albany stood between Viola and Zoe in the hall. The Slytherin students of fourth year and up had been summoned by their head of house for an important announcement, though as they all stood in silence, watching Snape stroll back and forth at a snail's pace, all she could feel was the dread gathering in the pit of her stomach.
Snape seemed less than amused to be the one informing them all of the event, dark beady eyes glaring from face to face.
"It is a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament to attend this ball with a partner," the greasy-haired professor drawled. "I expect each and every one of you to represent Slytherin House adequately. Should there be any disruptive or inappropriate behaviour, Mr Evercreech, I will deal with you personally."
Curtis Evercreech swallowed heavily, straightening his back after having leaned in to Miles Bletchley beside him to whisper.
Albany exhaled through her teeth. A partner. A date. She needed a date to not only attend the ball with, but to dance with. In front of the whole school. She could practically feel the excitement buzzing from the girls to either side of her, but she rather felt like vomiting.
"As I have the misfortune of instructing you all in formal dance, I will require a volunteer," Snape stated with a tense jaw.
He didn't seem at all enthusiastic about the concept, nostrils flaring as he glanced about the room, waiting for someone to raise their hand. Naturally, nobody did.
"Miss Bronwen," he called, dark eyes darting to her face. She felt her stomach drop — she certainly hadn't volunteered. "If you would join me in the centre here."
Yeah, I would take a fucking dragon, Albany thought, stepping towards the professor like a stiff plank of wood. I thought McGonagall was supposed to tell him no further discipline was needed?
"Good luck," she heard Zoe whisper sympathetically, and she took another painful step forward.
The eyes of every Slytherin in the room were on her, and she felt her skin crawl as she approached Snape, discomfort prickling her spine like needles. Faith's probably getting a kick out of this, she thought bitterly, though the anxious realisation that the actual ball would have five times the number of people watching became a far more pressing thought.
