A/N: I'm so sorry for the late update! (hi Joey)It's been like 26 days. Lots of things happened: I wrote this chapter from the end to the beginning (because my mind works strangely) and procrastinated with a oneshot.
The chapter I was originally going to post was twice as long, but it actually got too long, so I'll post the other sometime this week when that half is edited (probably). So basically, the next update wont take me a month.
Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews, they means so much, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
-Laura
Chilled Legacy XV
"Ron, close your mouth. You'll catch flies."
Hermione's dress was an eggshell white, reaching just above her knees, embroidered with a black forest pattern on the side and a black sash tied around the middle. Her mask covered only the single eye and matched the pattern on the dress. She reminded Harry of some extravagant porcelain doll from the dark winter forest collection, especially with the white rose entwined in her purposefully messy hair.
While she looked beautiful, Hermione didn't particularly stand out. This ball was comprised of colorful gowns, each like something out of old, forgettable Victorian film. Even the men dressed in colorful dress robes, Harry's a dark silver, matching his last minute mask. Ron's were completely white, coordinating perfectly with his date. It made his red hair stand out like a bright orange flame.
Hermione ruffled it, and Harry noticed she wore a sort of glove with the same black forest pattern, covering everything but her fingers. It was almost like a fancy shield of silk armor.
She closed Ron's gaping mouth by kissing him slowly.
Harry coughed. "Shall we go then?"
It was times like these that he missed Ginny the most. He wasn't a fan of balls, but if she were here, maybe the whole thing wouldn't seem so ridiculous. Harry never did have the chance to dance with her in any of Hogwarts balls—not that either of them were good at dancing, but if he was going to look like an idiot, he may as well do it with Ginny.
The only word to describe the Great Hall was wow.
The starry night celling was cloudless without a snowflake in sight, the moonlight glow more powerful than ever, reflecting on the sparkling streamers which gradually changed color ever other minute. Light danced off the walls and on the faces of the shimmering ball gowns and masks.
Everything felt alive, as if the walls themselves were radiating gold. Somehow all this light wasn't too much, but just perfect. It made Harry want to dance—that is if his common sense suddenly left him and if the music wasn't so torturously slow.
All the dances started off this way. It wasn't until an hour into the party that the actual band arrived and everyone—including Ron and Harry—joined people on the dance floor. For now it was couples only while the staff played some old instruments and the majority lounged around the snack tables.
Harry spotted Luna and Neville slow dancing near the middle of the floor and grinned. Hannah Abbott was glaring daggers at the couple, something quite unlike her. Neville truly was clueless. Everyone knew she'd had a thing for him since the D.A had started training.
Next, he saw Astoria. To his embarrassment, his jaw dropped slightly. Given his infatuation with Ginny, the fact that he'd mainly encountered her in the worst of occasions while she wore plain black robes with her hair tied tightly back, Harry had never taken notice of how beautiful the younger slytherin was.
Her dark, wine purple dress and matching lips brought out her fair skin and honey brown hair. Maybe she wasn't traffic stopping like her sister, her short stature hardly aided by the hidden heels under her ridiculously long dress, but she had caught the eye of more than one lone dancer in the room.
Still, no one approached her.
Though she made them look twice, Astoria had never looked worse.
Her eyes weren't wide, curious, or twinkling like usual. They danced around the room in search of something more, partially dead, and partially on the verge of tears that Harry knew she wouldn't let fall. Not here anyway. While Harry was sure her lips looked tempting to any number of boys in the room, no one wanted to kiss a frowning face.
Ron and Hermione took notice of where he was staring.
"You should ask her to dance," Hermione said. "It would take her mind off things."
While he wasn't fond of the idea—mainly because he was sure Astoria hated his guts—Harry nodded, reluctantly, not wanting to appear heartless.
Hermione stopped him, grabbing his shoulder. "Try to be sensitive. Try."
He sensed what she was thinking about: Cho.
Harry wasn't the best with girls—or anyone with evident emotion for that matter. He'd never received sympathy, comfort, or even a simple hug when he'd cry himself to sleep as a child, let alone as a teenager. The Dursleys had made sure of that. He'd seen Dudley receive plenty of attention for the smallest, most absurd tantrums, but even then Petunia had treated her son more like a whining puppy than an actual grieving person. This was probably because Dudley wasn't actually grieving, and in some ways, he had resembled a dog. After he got what he wanted, the tears stopped.
He hadn't the faintest clue how to handle people crying, so he and Cho hadn't exactly hit it off after she started sobbing in front of him.
Ginny wasn't they crying type. She showed her pain through anger, something Harry could relate to. He was emotionally useless. Of course, Astoria wasn't crying, but she looked devastated nonetheless.
Astoria only looked up when he was a foot in front of her.
"Greengrass," he greeted, confused as to why he hadn't used her first name. Did he ever talk to any slytherins using their first name?
Harry only felt more stupid when she raised an eyebrow and said, "Harry..."
"Care to dance?"
"You dance?"
"Not really."
Astoria smiled slightly and looked around the room again. "I'm waiting for someone."
"Is that a no?" Harry asked, hoping it was.
She sighed and grabbed his hand. "No, but it's not a yes either."
When minute 2 struck, Astoria's mood had already begun to lighten, mainly because Harry was a terrible dancer.
"Ow."
"Sorry."
"Stop looking at your feet, look at me. Merlin, people are staring."
And people were. Harry wasn't sure if it was due to the fact that Astoria was finally smiling, or because he was writing his own death sentence by dancing with Draco's girl. "I am the chosen one."
"I don't think that's it—Ow—too late, you already missed the spin. Seriously, why on earth did you think this was a good idea?"
Harry was glad she wasn't as upset as Parvati had been when their dance turned out to be a train wreck. Astoria found his awful attempts at matching her pace hilarious, instantly making her forget her sadness, even if just for that brief moment. She seemed like the type of person that didn't hold high expectations for anybody—that or she didn't care—and for that reason Harry told her the truth.
"I didn't, Hermione did."
She nodded, "always thinking, isn't she? Oh wow, you actually did it right—uff, spoke too soon."
Harry and Astoria laughed as he picked her up 3 seconds too late and nearly dropped her in the finishing move.
"How peculiar, usually if you glare back people stop staring."
"Doesn't work on me. Just make them stare harder."
Her face softened. "That must be hard."
"Mind if I cut in?"
A student dressed in all black approached the pair, arm in arm with Hannah. At first, Harry could've sworn the voice sounded like Draco's, especially after Astoria's head did the fastest 90-degree turn he'd ever seen, but that was impossible.
Malfoy's eyes were unmistakable—pale, rainwater blue. These were a frighteningly vivid darker blue tinged with a foggy, purple quality, not to mention the visible hair was an intense brown color. Still, he could've passed those off as a spell, especially the strange alluring eyes, but the voice didn't sound like it belonged to him.
It was so full of life.
Astoria blinked rapidly, peeling off her gaze from his stare. "I'd mind if you didn't," she said, giving Harry one last smile. "Thank you."
"Any time you want me to step on your feet, I'm there," Harry replied, taking Hannah's hand, forcing his eyes away too. The effect lingered. Instantly, he felt bubblier, like he'd just drank a mixture of champagne and a fizzing energy potion.
Harry danced more avidly with Hannah, who too looked like he felt. "Who was that?"
Hannah shook her head. Her smile was so bright, one would never have thought her upset mere moments ago. There wasn't a trace of past memories in her eyes. After a few missed steps, Hannah switched partners again and Harry joined Ron and Hermione at the snack table.
They were panting like him.
"How did it go?"
"Great," Harry said, deciding he quite liked Astoria. Her kindness and concern, even when she herself was distressed, had felt genuine. "Any sign of him?"
"None," Ron said. "The teachers and his parents are still looking, I suppose—Flitwick and Slughorn aren't here."
"Luna and Neville are," Harry noted. "They don't seem the least bit concerned."
"I already tried asking them. All they said was that he's fine. They wouldn't even budge when I told them his parents were worried sick!"
"Then Malfoy shouldn't've canned him," Ron argued. "Seemed real worried to me."
Neither Hermione nor Harry answered.
"Have they asked Myrtle?" Harry asked after the long pause.
"Astoria and I did while you and Ron were searching the tower," Hermione said, shaking her head. "She said he was headed to the ball, but that was it. You could try asking her. She listens to you."
"That's not possible, is it? I mean, that was hours ago. He'd be here by now. They'd have recognized him at the entrance, even with a mask."
Then, something clicked inside his brain. "Unless..." Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, not sure how to word what he just saw. Not finding the words, he settled for, "either who I saw wasn't Draco, or there is such a thing as fairy godmothers."
***
Astoria would never cheat on him. That was a black and white truth.
But that didn't make Draco feel any less jealous when guys approached her. Lucky for him, she found it more adorable than anything else, and would trump his attempts at arguing by looking deep into his eyes, rendering him speechless. It was like a mirror with a twinkling sign spelling out 'you're an idiot' in big, bright letters every time he looked into it.
This Draco, However, felt no jealousy at seeing his girlfriend dance with the golden boy. This Draco couldn't feel jealousy, or anger, or sadness, or anything that wasn't bubbly. Maybe he would feel jealous when the potion wore off, especially since Astoria was more than mesmerized by this Not-Draco dancing with her.
It wasn't her fault—she and everyone that looked into those shifting purple-blue eyes was hypnotized to fall into a party-like trance, one where he was their source for joy and energy. The spell was originally used by the host of a bash to keep the guests loving every minute of it. It worked just as well on a random student at a Hogwarts ball.
For him, the effects were slightly different. He wasn't just the life of the party—he was the party. Life surged through his ligaments, bones, and tendons, giving Draco the confidence he needed to wrestle a dragon.
He was on top of the world and everyone was a string puppet wrapped around his fingers. If tainted with, the potion could cause catastrophic damage, leaving him to command arguably large groups of people off cliff edges.
Lucky for them, all the potion made Draco want to do was ensure the party lived.
Even with him there, it was slowly dying.
The dull waltz was just barely scrapping the surface of tolerable. It had been almost two hours since the repetitive dance and dull music had started playing. The steps were child's play—it was beyond him how Potter had managed to miss every beat of the song. He would've smirked at the sight, but the new Draco couldn't smirk, only throw heart-stopping smiles and laugh.
"Can we stop?" Astoria asked breathlessly.
"As you wish, milady." Draco slowly walked her to the snack table, her eyes remaining on him the whole time.
The downside of not feeling like himself was not fully being able to admire how breathtaking Astoria looked tonight. She'd turned into one of the dozens of guests he only felt one desire towards—keeping them happy.
That's when he first noticed the distinction breathing beneath the surface. The real Draco was still in there. The potion hadn't changed him, but rather created a false replica that controlled his every word and move, much like the effects of the Felix Felicis.
He'd been too passive to notice, but now that she was here and the potion wanted to guide him elsewhere, Draco began to fight it. Where Not-Draco wanted to take him, he wasn't sure. The act of rebellion had gained him his silence.
Astoria! I want to stay and talk to Astoria!
Draco looked at the growing numbers around the snack table. Groups had begun to leave the party and the dance floor looked more and more like the red area during a game of couch cushion lava.
Not-Draco had to save the party, and he was dragging Draco along with him.
"Where are you going? Who are you anyway?"
Not-Draco turned to face her momentarily, gently grabbed her hand and removed his mask.
Her jaw hung open. Confusion, realization, more confusion, and finally what might've been anger flashed through her features before she had a chance to blink. Not-Draco looked deeply into her eyes and kissed her hand, the spell leaving her smiling and bubbly once again.
"Dray," she said, reaching for his face.
Draco saw she was trying to fight it behind that dreamy façade, just like him. Not-Draco stared harder, forcing the happiness down her throat.
His real self howled for help, but no sound left his lips. Astoria wasn't the string puppet here, nor was it the other guest.
Draco had tied the strings around his own limbs.
A/N: Like I said, short chapter. Not much happened, but without spoiling anything I will tell you this: Sh#t goes down next chapter.
Until then, I leave you with that.
Have an awesome week!
-Laura