wolf's tail ₍ ♡ ₎ g. weasley [1]

08 ㅡ FLUSTERED

₍ ♡ ₎ ㅡ E. THOMPSON

"I thought we were supposed to be doing this in houses, not year groups."

Elizabeth leans away from George's ear to take a look at the other students in the room. The entire sixth year class looks extremely uncomfortable as Professor McGonagall strides in, a wide smile on her lips.

George turns to her, eyebrows raised, "If they did it by house, you'd have your head of house. You'd have Snape teaching you how to dance."

There's a moment of pondering silence before Elizabeth nods, "This is fine."

"Quieten down, if you will," Professor McGonagall calls. "The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament since its inception. On Christmas Eve night, we and our guests gather in the Great Hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity."

"Lovely," both Fred and George whisper, sarcasm dripping from their every syllable.

"As representatives of the host, I expect every single one of you to put your best foot forward and I mean this literally because the Yule Ball is, first and foremost, a dance."

The students around the room groan loudly, visibly deflating. Elizabeth, Fred and George (who found out from Ron, who had his class earlier in the day) chuckle.

"Silence!" McGonagall calls. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you, in the course of a single evening, besmirching that name! by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons!"

George smirks, "Try saying that ten times faster."

He and Fred lean in over Elizabeth, mumbling 'babbling, bumbling band of baboons' over and over. She nudges them both in the ribs when McGonagall sends them a pointed glare and they both cry out quietly after the impact of her elbow.

"Now, to dance is to let the body-" she takes a deep breath, "-breathe. Inside every girl, a secret swan slumbers, longing to take flight. Inside each boy, a lordly lion, prepared to prance."

The gormless faces around the room don't seem too convinced. Elizabeth pulls her own animated face, murmuring to the twins, "Okay, Professor."

George looks down to her, "Are you not feeling like a swan, El? I'm feeling like-" he holds up his hands in claw-like shapes, "-a lion!" He moves his mouth to make a silent roar. Fred and Elizabeth giggle.

"George Weasley," Professor McGonagall announces. "You appear to be so enthusiastic, I must ask you to join me, please."

George gapes at her, turning around to look at his brother and Elizabeth's smirking faces before walking forward to join his head of house.

"Now then, if you will, put your left hand on my waist-"

George's draw drops, "Where?"

"My waist, Mr Weasley."

Fred and Elizabeth both crease, grabbing onto each other's arms as they howl with laughter. George's hand drops,  begrudgingly, into McGonagall's and Elizabeth has to hide her face in Fred's shoulder to stop herself from cackling out loud.

Mr Filch plays some traditional music on a record player and McGonagall begins to lead the poor Weasley boy in a dance, counting along with her steps as George looks absolutely traumatised. After a few counts of eight, she stops. "Now, let's pair everyone up. Mr Weasely," she looks to George, "With... Miss Johnson, please."