Making her Mark

[Missy Dragonov]

The soft hum of excitement filled the Great Hall as students began to file in, but Missy Dragonov stepped through the oak doors as if she were arriving at a royal gala. Confidence was as much her accessory as the silver-trimmed emerald gown she wore, which shimmered faintly with every movement. The delicate fabric draped off her shoulders, accentuating her poise, while her dark hair was pinned back into an intricate twist, a few loose curls framing her face. No date? No problem. Missy had never needed one to turn heads.

The sight of the transformed Hall was almost enough to steal her breath—but not quite. She took in the enchanted snowfall, the glistening ice sculptures, and the dazzling fairy lights with a subtle smile, as though she had expected nothing less from the Professors’ planning. They had outdone themselves, no doubt, but Missy wouldn’t have let them see her awe. A Slytherin knew better than to let their guard down completely, even for something as trivial as decorations.

After a moment of surveying the room, her eyes landed on the punch fountains. Of course, the Gryffindors were already clustered around, laughing too loudly as they sampled the drinks. Typical. Missy moved gracefully toward one of the tables near the edge of the dance floor instead, her heeled steps clicking softly against the enchanted floor.

She reached the table just as Julian finished his speech, raising her glass to the toast. “To a night of magic, laughter, and unforgettable memories,” she murmured with an amused quirk of her lips before taking a sip of the sparkling beverage. It fizzed pleasantly on her tongue.

Missy allowed herself a small moment to enjoy the atmosphere before scanning the Hall again, catching sight of her fellow Slytherins scattered throughout the space. A few older students were already mingling with the other houses, but most of her year remained in tight-knit groups, casting glances at the dance floor as though it might suddenly collapse beneath them.

Pathetic. Missy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If none of her housemates had the nerve to step up, then she’d just have to show them how it was done.

Setting her glass down, she smoothed the fabric of her gown and made her way toward the edge of the dance floor, where a group of Ravenclaws were discussing something animatedly. She brushed past them to head to the dance floor and started dancing on her own. As the music began to swell, Missy’s eyes sparkled with determination. It didn’t matter that she was only a fourth-year, and it certainly didn’t matter that she hadn’t come with a partner. Tonight, she intended to make her mark. After all, what good was a ball if you weren’t the one people remembered?

[Devereaux Gordon]

Devereaux stood in front of the single mirror that he shared with all of his roommates. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, he was happy that whoever had bought the mirror had decided that full length was the way to go. With one final tug he finished cinching his tie and let his hands drop. The unfortunate reality was that Hufflepuff yellow was a little bit hard to incorporate well into a suit. With that being said, Devereaux was satisfied that he had managed to do an alright job. The final choice had been a black suit three piece suit. Only, the vest was black with a golden-yellow paisley design stitched all over, and a tie that matched. He appreciated that it managed to tell anyone who looked at him that he was certainly in Hufflepuff, without actually having to wear any gaudy yellow pieces.

Now, normally Devereaux wasn’t one to put too much effort into his clothing. His bulky muscular frame forced him to either wear clothes that were too tight across his chest and shoulders, or to wear clothes that were a little too big and hung over the rest of his body in a way that made him look larger than he actually was. Of course, he chose to wear his clothes big because who on earth wants to wear tight clothes all of the time? It was for this exact reason that he rather enjoyed dressing up. His suit had been tailored to fit his body and he could appreciate that he looked a lot better with clothing that actually fit him.

Checking his reflection one last time, Devereaux ran a hand through his short brown hair and nodded his head. “Time to go.” He spoke to himself before heading towards the Great Hall. He met up with a few other 4th year boys who hadn’t bothered to find dates this year. They made the trip to the Great Hall in a few minutes. They whispered a few words among themselves as they walked through the doors and encountered all of the work that the professors had done. The room had truly been transformed. The floor appeared as if it was made of pure ice, even though no one seemed to slip, The decorations were phenomenal, ice sculptures, towers of crystal goblets, even the ceiling of the Great Hall was mimicking the real time snow fall taking place outside.

After a quick word from the Headmaster, the festivities began with a toast. Devereaux spent some time sampling the amazing dishes while chatting with his friends. As he sat there he let his eyes wander the hall, noticing the way older students easily interacted with each other regardless of house, while the younger students mostly stayed in their house-specific groups. Once the food had been out for a while the dance floor slowly gathered some older students.

Devereaux grinned slightly as he saw Missy approaching the dance floor alone. Her emerald gown seemed to shimmer as she casually stepped onto the floor. She had her usual look of self-confidence, and he had to admit that she looked great. She immediately began dancing by herself as the next song began playing. Devereaux watched for a little bit longer before losing his internal struggle, taking a deep breath, and standing. He nodded to his friends and slowly made his way across the room towards Missy. His heart slowly sped up as he approached the dance floor. Even though he was a perfectly fine at it, Devereaux hadn’t really been planning on dancing any. His self-confidence had a tendency to crumble in front of large groups of people. Missy was his friend though, at least, he felt like they had developed some sort of friendship, and in that moment he had thought that he would really like to dance with her. Of course, He would probably have to engage in whatever sort of verbal sparring match she elected to challenge him with.

With that, Devereaux found himself stepping out onto the floor and right up to Missy. “Excuse me, Miss. Dragonov.” He said, adopting a overly formal tone. “Although you look fantastic by yourself, would you mind if I join you?” He grinned at her as he extended a hand in her direction.

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy had been fully immersed in the rhythm of the music, moving with an effortless sort of confidence that made it seem as if the dance floor belonged to her. The emerald fabric of her gown shimmered under the enchanted lights of the Great Hall, catching the occasional glance from nearby students. She didn’t mind. In fact, she relished it. Why go to a ball if you weren’t going to enjoy yourself?

So when a voice—one laced with an almost ridiculous amount of formality—cut through her little bubble of enjoyment, she blinked in surprise. Her brown eyes flickered up to see Devereaux standing there, looking surprisingly well put together in his tailored suit. She hadn’t noticed him approach, which was rare.

A slow, teasing smile curled across her lips as she placed a hand on her hip. "Oh? Devereaux, is that you?" she mused, tilting her head as if she truly had to confirm his identity. "Didn’t recognize you all cleaned up like this. Thought you might be some lost diplomat from the Ministry."

Her eyes flickered down to his outstretched hand, then back up to his face, mischief dancing in her gaze. "And here I thought you were one of those ‘too cool to dance’ types," she teased, stepping just close enough that he’d have to work for it. "Tell me, do you actually know how to dance, or am I about to have my toes stepped on for the next three minutes?"

Despite her teasing, she was clearly enjoying herself. In truth, she was actually quite pleased that someone had come to dance with her—and that it was Devereaux of all people made it even more entertaining. Finally, after making him wait just a moment longer than necessary, she took his hand with a grin. "Alright then, Mister Devereaux. Give me a twirl!"

[Devereaux Gordon]

Devereaux rolled his eyes and grinned when Missy acted surprised to see him all dressed up. “You look quite spectacular yourself Missy, that dress is killer. And what can I say? I couldn’t let myself be outdone by these other louts.” He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t immediately accept his offer to dance. She was the queen of games after all. In fact, he couldn’t really remember a single time during any of their few interactions where they had had a simple and straight forward exchange of words. Love it or hate it that was Missy and if she was anything she was unapologetically herself. He didn’t let his hand fall, simply continuing to hold it out to her as she took a small step towards him and continued to tease. “Please let me know of a single time when I have seemed ‘to cool’ for anything.” He said with a deadpan expression, which quickly turned into a confident grin at her next words. “I guess you’ll just have to find out Dragonov.”

Finally she placed her hand in his and he immediately pulled her into a little spin towards him as he back-stepped deeper onto the floor. As she finished the spin he caught her hip with his free hand and gently directed her body along with the flow of the, admittedly sparse, other dancers.

Although he didn’t look like it, Deveraux was actually quite fond of dancing. Not the kind of dancing that most people thought of initially when they wondered if someone was good at dancing. He wasn’t about do any pop or hip-hop dancing. But he was certainly passable at swing, salsa, and just a touch of ballroom.

They fell into a pattern of steps that matched the tempo of the music, Devereaux’s hands directing Missy gently so they could avoid the other dancers. After he thought she seemed accustomed to the way he performed the basic steps, he pushed against her hip and sent her into a single spin, leading her with his other hand. The end of the spin left her a few feet from him with just their lead hands connecting them. With a tug he sent her behind his back and let go of her hand with his, sending it sliding across his back as he turned and caught it again with his same hand. His off hand caught her hip again to stop her movement and they immediately resumed the basic steps.

“I’m glad to see you know how to follow when it matters.” He said with a grin and a wink.

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy let out a surprised laugh as Devereaux spun her effortlessly onto the dance floor, his hand catching her hip with a steady, practiced ease. She hadn't expected him to actually be good at this. Certainly not this good. She had felt a flush in her cheeks come and go at his compliment of her attire and how smooth he actually was conducting himself. Certainly wasn't what she had expected.

Recovering quickly, she smirked up at him as they moved through the steps. "Well, well," she mused, tilting her head slightly. "Colour me impressed, Devereaux. I was expecting to have to drag you around like a poorly enchanted suit of armour."

Her steps, while initially playful and slightly resistant, quickly fell into sync with his. In truth, she'd been forced to get better at dancing—Professor Fah had insisted on giving lessons in preparation for the ball, but there hadn’t been enough partners, so she'd been stuck waltzing with some magical plant-creature that was conjured up. It had been humiliating at first, but she had to admit that learning how to keep up with something so unpredictable had actually made her a better dancer.

So when he spun her out and pulled her back in, she moved with a grace that surprised even herself. And when he led her through a seamless transition behind his back, she followed without hesitation, grinning as she landed right back where she started.

At his teasing remark, she arched a brow. "Oh, please. As if I'd let you make me look bad out here," she shot back, tapping her fingers against his shoulder in a mock warning. "I've had training, you know. Granted, most of it was with a sentient cabbage, but still... I have a reputation to uphold!"

She let him guide her through another turn before adding, "But really, you should’ve said something earlier. Who knew you were hiding all this talent? It’s almost like you were waiting for the perfect moment to show off." Her grin turned positively wicked as she added, "Which, honestly? Kinda suspicious."

[Devereaux Gordon]

Devereaux smiled in delight as she allowed him to lead her across the dance floor. He had to admit that he was pleasantly surprised by willingness to let him lead. He laughed lightly as she revealed her previously low expectations in regard to his dancing skills. “I’m always happy to surprise.” He responded.

Her comment about training with a sentient cabbage left him confused but he let it go. “Reputation you say?” He asked before sending her out in another twirling spin. This time, when he pulled her back toward him, instead of catching her hip he caught her other hand in his. They paused for a single count, standing hand in hand, he gave her a wink before looping his left hand up and over her head. This caused her to twist into his side, he proceeded to dip her once before bringing her back up and reversing the move so that she was twisted against his other side, he dipped her on the second side and then he spun her through once and returned his off hand to her hip. He gave her a wide grin, his chest rising a falling a little quicker than before. “I think your reputation is going to be just fine, I’m sure some older years will be lining up to experience your skills after seeing us.” He said with a laugh.

“Said something earlier? Don’t be ridiculous, who walks around telling people about everything they’re good at? It’s not like you sit in the library casually informing people that you’re a top notch quidditch player and quidditch is all you ever think about.” He paused then pretended to be surprised. “Oh wait, you DO do that!” He laughed again as they continued to move around the dance floor.

“Who knows. Maybe I have tons of hidden talents. You’ll just have to stick around and find out.” He had a big smile plastered on his face as they danced. Suddenly he realized that he was having a lot more fun than he had expected to have tonight. He was thankful that he and Missy had developed a budding friendship and was happy that he had decided to ask her to dance.

“My mom loves to dance.” He said after a few moments. “She and my dad used to dance in the garage at his shop once all of the customer’s cars were gone, Of course, she would dance with my brother and myself sometimes too. She always used the excuse that we would have to know how if we were going to be wizards one day. I think she really just wanted an excuse to dance though.”

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy let out a huff of laughter as Devereaux spun her effortlessly, moving her across the dance floor with a confidence she hadn't expected. It was hard not to enjoy herself—she felt light, fast, and completely in sync with him. And he was good, annoyingly so. She could tell he was having fun too, judging by the grin plastered on his face.

At his teasing remark about older students lining up to dance with her, she scoffed, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated flick of her hair. “Oh, please—you act like I don’t already have a fan club.” She smirked. “I mean, I don’t run it, obviously, but I’m sure it exists somewhere.”

His next jab made her gasp in mock offense, eyes widening dramatically. “Excuse you! I do not sit in the library talking about Quidditch all day.” She lifted her chin with a feigned look of indignation. “People ask me about Quidditch. And if I’m feeling generous, I grace them with my wisdom.” She shoved his shoulder lightly, a teasing smirk returning to her face. “Pfft, all day... it's not all day, just most of it.”

She expected another round of witty back-and-forth, but instead, Devereaux’s energy shifted. His voice softened as he spoke about his mother and how she had always loved to dance—how she’d twirl him and his brother around the garage just for the joy of it. Missy wasn’t sure why that story got to her, but something about it felt genuine in a way that caught her off guard. It wasn’t often that people shared things like that with her, and she found herself quieting, her smirk fading just slightly as she imagined it.

She was about to respond—maybe something sarcastic, maybe something real—when the music changed.

The upbeat tempo faded into something slow. Something soft.

Missy faltered.

Her heart stuttered for a beat, and she suddenly became very aware of how close they were standing. The way the other dancers began to shift, closing the space between their partners, hands moving to shoulders and waists as the rhythm encouraged them to sway rather than dance.

Missy was no stranger to attention. She loved to be the center of things, the one people watched. But this? This felt... deliberate. Intimate in a way that wasn’t loud or boastful, but quiet. And quiet was unfamiliar. Quiet was—

Nope. No thanks. Not happening.

Before Devereaux could so much as shift into the slower pace, she was already moving.

“Oh wow, would you look at that?” she blurted, voice a little higher than usual as she took a big, exaggerated step back. “We’ve been dancing so hard—I think we definitely need refreshments. It would be irresponsible not to hydrate.”

Before he could react, she grabbed his hand and yanked him off the dance floor, weaving them through the crowd with a single-minded determination. Her grip was firm, her pace quick, and she absolutely did not look back to see his reaction because if she did, she might have to acknowledge what had just happened.

Instead, she marched them straight to the refreshment table, only releasing his hand once she was safely in front of an array of goblets and fancy-looking drinks. “Ah, perfect!” she declared, as if this had been her grand plan all along. She picked up a glass filled with something bright and fizzy, took a very long sip, and only then dared to glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“So,” she said casually, as if she hadn’t just forcibly fled from the dance floor. “You worked up an appetite yet, or do I need to keep carrying this dance partnership?”

[Devereaux Gordon]

They had fallen into a comfortable silence after Devereaux shared about his family. He found himself enjoying the quiet moment as they continued across the dance floor. It wasn’t like He and Missy were particularly close, they had not been friends for terribly long, and they hadn’t exactly shared a lot about themselves with each other. In spite of that, He felt like he could trust her. He of course expected constant jokes and sarcasm from her, and he fully expected her to make fun of him for being sappy and emotional, but regardless he didn’t think she would actually use the information to hurt him.

As the music of the current song began to fade Devereaux prepared himself to match the tempo of whatever they decided to play next. Except the tempo dropped drastically and suddenly the type of dancing that the music called for was quite a bit more intimate. The other people on the floor immediately began holding each other much closer.

Devereaux felt a little bit of tightness in his stomach. He was aware of the fact that slow dancing with someone didn’t automatically imply anything. People who enjoyed dancing and did it often would obviously be accustomed to dancing like this. But in his fifteen year old mind, that was a hard leap to make. His physical contact with members of the opposite sex had been limited, to say the least, so the thought of Missy draping her hands over his shoulder and him holding her close at the waist made him feel more than a little bit nervous.

All of these thoughts flashed through Devereaux’s mind in an instant and suddenly Missy was not where he expected. He blinked and looked back towards her to find that she was now more than an arms length away. She looked a little, nervous? Surely not! He could’t remember ever seeing Missy looking nervous. Her voice also sounded a little high as she said something about hydration. "Wait....." but before he could respond she had taken his hand and was practically dragging him across the room. She didn’t let go until they arrived at the drink table. Immediately she had a drink in hand and pressed to her lips, still not looking towards him.

At long last, the glass left her lips and she looked at him.“You worked up an appetite yet, or do I need to keep carrying this dance partnership?”

He raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t respond immediately. Instead he looked at the selection of drinks and grabbed one that matched her own. It was slightly fizzy and brighter than any drink really ought to be. He took a long sip and let out a breath. “Ahhhh that's refreshing.” Finally looking back towards her, he grinned. He was extremely tempted to tease her about fleeing the floor, but he decided to let it go. It’s not like the thought of slow dancing with her hadn’t made him feel nervous too!

“I could eat something, I can make myself look good with almost no effort, but making you look that good out there was famishing.” He laughed and began looking around at the tables near them. Each of them had serving platters of delicious food that seemed to stay magically full. Not unlike how meals were served during a normal school day. “There is an empty table over there, lets go.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the table he had seen. Once they arrived he let her go and slid a chair out for her. He bowed with one hand crossed over his stomach like a butler. “Your chair, Miss Dragonov.” He said in a pompous and very nasally voice.

Devereaux unbuttoned his black suit jacket and draped it on the chair next to Missy before sitting there. "It amazes me how the elves are able to cook. Not only the quantity of food, but every single dish is always fantastic too." He spoke as his eyes darted from dish to dish.

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of her glass, watching as he took his time selecting a drink and very deliberately not mentioning the fact that she had just dragged him across the room. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed about that. Maybe both. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as he took the teasing route instead, and she scoffed, rolling her eyes at his dramatics. Oh, so he thought he was the one making her look good out there? Bold.

“Oh, absolutely,” she drawled, setting her drink down with an exaggerated clink. “Your selflessness is inspiring, truly. You should be awarded Best Supporting Dance Partner—no, wait—Most Charitable Act of the Year for making sure I didn’t look like an absolute disaster out there.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a flourish, smirking. “The real question is, how are you coping under all this pressure? It must be exhausting being so humble all the time.”

She let him lead the way to the table, watching as he pulled out a chair for her with all the pomp and flair of someone who thought far too highly of himself.

Missy arched a brow, “Your chair, Miss Dragonov,” he intoned in the most ridiculous voice she had ever heard.

She stared at him for a long, silent, judging moment.

Then, with all the grace of a queen bestowing a great honour, she gave a dramatic sigh and stepped forward. “Well,” she drawled, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “Since you so kindly insisted, I suppose I’ll allow it.” She watched as he draped his jacket over the chair beside her and settled in, prattling on about the house-elves and their cooking skills. Missy hummed in vague agreement, but her attention was already straying to the actual priority at hand—food.

Problem was, they had passed the serving tables on their way to this empty table. Which meant she would have to actually get up again. She glanced between Devereaux and the food, weighing her options, not wanting to purposely appear rude as he made conversation. Maybe she could make him go get something. Manipulate, deceive, outplay—

Nope. Too much effort.

Missy released a slow, measured sigh, as though she bore the weight of the world upon her shoulders. With a deliberate grace, she pushed back her chair and rose to her feet, movements fluid and refined, as if she were a queen reluctantly bestirring herself from her throne.

She cast a languid glance down at Devereaux, her expression one of exaggerated solemnity. Wanting to play his game of feigned pomp. “It is with great regret,” she intoned, voice slipping into the crisp, aristocratic tones of an old-world noble, “that I must depart from this most comfortable seat in pursuit of sustenance.”

She folded her hands before her, lowering her chin just slightly, as if bestowing a decree upon some lowly courtier. “However, it would be most unbecoming of a lady to undertake such a quest alone.” She tilted her head, lips curving ever so slightly. “Tell me, dear sir, would you dare to allow me to brave the perils of the refreshment table unaccompanied?”

Her eyes gleamed with unmistakable amusement, though she kept her expression composed, waiting, expectant. Then, as if granting him an impossible honour, she extended her hand, palm up, her fingers delicate and inviting.

“Come,” she said imperiously. “Let us venture forth together and secure our rightful feast. I assure you, the journey shall be perilous, fraught with trials untold, but I believe—nay, I know—we shall prevail.”

She arched a brow, a silent challenge in her gaze. “Or… perhaps you would prefer to remain here, either way, I'm getting some grub." She dropped the regal act and shrugged with a laugh. She only gave Devereaux a moment to follow her before she was already walking away to the table with the foods. The spread was obscene—plates stacked high with roasted meats, buttery vegetables, fresh bread, and pastries so perfectly arranged that she almost felt bad about tearing into them. Almost.

Missy considered playing it classy, starting with a modest selection of carefully plated food—

—And then immediately abandoned that thought as soon as she spotted the roasted potatoes.

With zero hesitation, she piled them onto her plate like a woman on a mission, grabbing some bread, cheese, and a few other things to make it look like she wasn’t just hoarding carbs. Satisfied with her haul, she turned back and wove through the crowd, plopping back into her seat and setting her plate down with an air of triumph. She waited for her impromptu date to return back to their original table before she considered tucking into her plate.

“You ever think about what it’d be like not to have house-elves cooking for us?” she asked, spearing a potato with her fork and shoving it into her mouth. “Like, imagine if we had to actually survive on our own skills.”

She snorted, chewing thoughtfully. “Actually, no—scratch that. I’d be fine. I have exceptional survival instincts. You, though…” She gave Devereaux a slow, deliberate once-over, as if really considering it. Then she smirked, nudging his elbow.

“Mmmm… I give you two weeks before you completely lose the plot.” She leaned back in her chair, grinning. “So, what is it? Secret gourmet chef? Or do you burn water?”

[Devereaux Gordon]

Devereaux was happy that Missy decided to play along with is obnoxious behavior. Very quickly, however, he was scratching the back of his head in embarrassment as he realized he had walked them right past the tables of food. It probably had made more sense to stop on their way over to the table, than to sit down and then get back up again.

"Oh uh right, food M'lady." He coughed and resumed his accent. "It brings great honor to my name that you request my companionship to the table of feasting madam. Please, allow me to accept such a gracious invitation. I will guard you with my life against the great beasts of gluttony that already crowd the path to our goal." He tried his best not to laugh, but failed as Missy quickly stepped towards to tables of food. "Okay, okay, not so fast!" He stepped quickly and caught up to her side.

Once at the table however, it seemed they both had different priorities. Devereaux grabbed a plate and, after a quick scan, found himself moving over to stand right in front of a large selection of meats. He grabbed a thigh and leg combo of roast chicken, then a thick cut of sirloin, then an assortment of some dried meats that rich people liked to stick on a piece of wood with cheese and fruit. After acquiring his protein, Devereaux then splurged with some sweet yam casserole. Finally, his eyes lit up as he found the desserts. A little blackberry cobbler, a slice of steamed plum pudding, a generous scoop of trifle, and finally some sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch sauce.

With his plate in one hand Devereaux grabbed two more drinks with his other before heading back to the table where he saw Missy waiting for him. He sat her new drink down beside her as he took his seat. "Holy crap I'm so excited." He said with a big grin. "I don't want to think about it to honest." He said as she brought up the house elves.

He scrunched his nose as she declared he would be useless without house elves. "My dad is a muggle Missy. He insisted my mom make us help her cook instead of using magic for all of the little stuff. He was worried we would get lazy...which is fair I think. Anyway, I might not be that knowledgeable about how everything goes together, and how long to cook it. But I can chop some veg!" He stated with a proud grin. "What about you? Does the esteemed Missy Dragonov sully herself with cooking?"

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy took a delicate sip of her drink which Devereaux had brought over thoughtfully, watching Devereaux with a knowing glint in her eye as he posed his question. Slowly, she set the glass down, exhaling in a way that suggested she was about to impart some great and terrible truth.

“Sully myself with cooking?” she echoed, arching a perfectly sculpted brow and a chuckle. “Devereaux, I do believe you gravely misunderstand the conditions of my upbringing.”

She leaned forward ever so slightly, her fingers steepled before her in an air of practiced elegance. “You see, I may be a half-blood by lineage, but I was raised in a household that adhered strictly to the old ways.” The words dripped with grandeur, as though they carried the weight of generations. “House-elves, enchantments, charmed utensils—if something needed doing, it was simply done.”

She waved a hand vaguely, as if conjuring the invisible workforce that had once catered to her every whim. “I never had to fetch my own tea, let alone brew it. Meals arrived precisely when expected, my wardrobe remained immaculate without my intervention, and dust?” She let out a light scoff. “A mere theoretical concept, as far as I was concerned.”

With a wistful sigh, she reclined slightly. “A shame, really. I have the most exquisite taste in cuisine, but when it comes to the actual preparation…” She trailed off, allowing the weight of her silence to speak for itself before giving a languid shrug. “I fear the results would be dire. Tragic, even.”

She idly toyed with the edge of her plate before glancing sidelong at him, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “But you, Devereaux, wielding a knife for anything other than a duel? Chopping vegetables? I daresay I find the image rather humbling.” Her expression was utterly amused. “And yet, here you are, walking among us as a man of the people.”

She tapped a thoughtful finger against her chin. “Perhaps I ought to remedy my deficiencies one day. Learn the noble art of boiling water without summoning an elf in distress.” Missy laughed, she wasn't half bad at Potions when it came to preparation and brewing, yet she hadn't really tried her hand at cooking meals. Her gaze flicked back to him, filled with playful challenge. “Tell me, Lord Tater, would you be so kind as to instruct a poor, helpless lady of refinement? Or shall I remain forever at the mercy of those more practically inclined?”

[Devereaux Gordon]

Devereaux took the opportunity to dig into his plate while Missy spoke about her upbringing. She was still speaking like a high-society girl, and as she spoke he began to realize that that was probably exactly what she was. He chuckled when she talked about dust, the imaginary thing that it was. Then arched an eyebrow while taking a bite of steak as she spoke about her exquisite taste in cuisine.

Chewing slowly while looking like he was thinking about something, Devereaux swallowed finally and took a slow drink. “I should have realized it the moment I met you.” He said softly, as if he had just realized a life changing secret. He paused for a few moments, letting the moment drag out, then he opened his mouth. “You’re downright POSH. As posh as they come I reckon.” A huge smile lit up his face and he laughed. “I’ll have to write my dad and let him know I danced with an aristocrat!” He laughed again and sat back in his chair. Content to wait a moment before attacking the desserts on his plate.

“I don’t know if it will do you any good. Learning to boil water and what not.” He looked up, as if in thought. “I’m worried it would be a true shock to your body, having to dilly-dally with a stove.” He nodded then, to himself, as if agreeing with something. “Yeah, I’m worried it wouldn’t agree with your pedigree, what if your family found out? Why, if they discovered I had tried to turn you into a….” He shuddered dramatically, “A working class woman!” He fanned himself as if he was faint and slouched back into his chair. “I shan’t begin to imagine what they would do to me.”

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy let out a laugh at Devereaux’s realization, shaking her head as she picked at the last bite of her pastry. “Oh, come on,” she scoffed, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Posh? Me? I think you’ve got the wrong idea, Devereaux. I was just… comfortable.” She leaned back slightly, swirling the drink in her glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “Not because of anything I did, mind you. My uncle had money. My father drank his share before I was even old enough to know it existed.”

She knew he was joking—of course he was—but there was a bite in her words now, something sharp beneath the humour. “And besides, my godmother works with werewolves—most of them have to work harder than anyone I know just to get by. Some of my extended family have money, sure, but plenty don’t, and it doesn’t make them any less capable.” Her gaze flicked to his, steady and unwavering. “Magic or not, everyone’s just doing what they can. It’s not about being aristocratic or high-class. It’s just… different.”

She leaned forward then, propping her elbow on the table, her smirk turning edged. “But if you think I’m some high-and-mighty aristocrat, you might need to get out more. Maybe you should meet some of my cousins. I’d love to see you call them posh.” A wicked grin crossed her lips, eyes glinting with mischief. “They’d eat you alive, Devereaux. And not in the way you’d like.”

Tilting her head, she let the words hang between them, waiting to see if he’d take the bait.

[Devereaux Gordon]

Devereaux watched Missy with a humored smile. It quickly slipped from his face, however, when Missy mentioned her father and his drinking. She appeared to him to be lost in thought momentarily as she observed the liquid sliding along the inside of her glass. Then she began speaking again but her voice was different, a little sharper than Devereaux had grown used to.

She spoke of her godmother and the work she did, then her extended family. The edge in her voice remained. As she leaned onto the table and her slightly smirk looked dangerous. By this time any feeling of mirth in Devereaux was gone. He felt an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Shame, maybe? Embarrassment for sure. He felt stupid for making the jokes that he had. The truth was, despite having hung out a few times, he really didn’t know hardly anything about Missy. And now he felt that, in his ignorance, he had made an ass of himself. He knew his face had turned slightly red as he looked away from Missy and cast his eyes down to his hands that rested on the table.

Taking a deep breath, Devereaux met Missy’s eyes again, an apologetic look on his face. “Hey Missy, I’m sorry, It was a stupid joke. I know I don’t actually know anything about your family, I’m an ass. I’m sorry.” He gave her a small smile, but really felt like his joke had ruined the mood. He pikced up his fork, but found that his appetite was no where to be found. He settled with pushing his rifle around the plate.

[Missy Dragonov]

Missy blinked, caught off guard by the shift in Devereaux’s expression. The usual glint of mischief in his eyes had dulled, his smirk wiped away entirely. It was rare to see him like this—quiet, almost sheepish. She wasn’t used to it, and truthfully, she wasn’t sure she liked it. Missy didn’t like the change in Devereaux’s mood because it felt unnatural to her. She was used to his quick wit, his playful arrogance, and the way he always seemed ready with a smirk or a joke. That was the rhythm of their dynamic—snark, banter, and teasing. But now, instead of sparring back, he had gone quiet, withdrawn, almost deflated.

It unsettled her. Not because she wanted him to be insensitive, but because she hadn’t meant to shut him down completely. She’d expected him to brush it off, to match her sharpness with his own, or at the very least, throw a sarcastic retort her way. Instead, he just looked guilty—and that made her uncomfortable.

Missy didn’t like dealing with guilt. It made things messy. More than that, it made things serious. And with Devereaux, things weren’t supposed to be serious.

She sighed, setting her glass down with a soft clink. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Devereaux,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “You’re not an ass. Well—" she tilted her head, considering, "—not a complete ass. It was a joke. A stupid one, sure, but I knew that.”

Leaning back in her chair, she studied him for a moment before exhaling through her nose, her voice softening. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. You just—” she hesitated, tapping her fingers against the rim of her glass before continuing, “—you said something I hadn’t really thought about before, that’s all. I was spoiled. Maybe I still am. But it’s not like I think I’m better than anyone else.” She gave a wry smile, one shoulder lifting in a half-shrug. “It’s just… the way things were.”

She glanced at his plate, at the way he was just idly pushing food around instead of eating. That wouldn’t do. Missy picked up her fork, reached across, and unceremoniously speared a bite of his trifle. She popped it into her mouth, giving him an expectant look. “You’re really going to sulk now? Over that?”

Swallowing, she smirked. “That’s pathetic, Devy.” She stole another bite just for good measure, her eyes glinting with amusement again. “If you don’t start eating, I will take your dessert. Consider it punishment for ruining a perfectly good trifle with your self-pity.”

She arched a brow, waiting to see if he’d respond in the same jovial manner she was playing —because if he didn’t, well, she had no problem finishing it for him. She also didn't want the rest of the night to be spoiled with things getting a bit too real.

[Devereaux Gordon]

Devereaux contemplated her words as she spoke. It seemed that, perhaps, he had misunderstood her expression and tone. However, it did seem that what he said had pricked something. It wasn’t as big of a deal as he had assumed. Still, although he was witty, it was not as natural to him to partake in the type of verbal sparring that Missy usually gravitated towards. So, when he felt that he had pushed into a sore subject, his first reaction had been to step back and try to mend the hurt. Although, now he was confident that Missy did not want him to do that.

“I think I am still adjusting to this dynamic.” He smiled slightly as he met her gaze. “I just don’t want to take a stupid joke too far. I’m not meaning to be awkward, but I do value our friendship and don’t want to hurt you for a laugh.”

His eyes narrowed as she swiped a piece of his trifle. The audacity! To steal his dessert AND accuse him of sulking. “Listen here Dragonov!” He pointed his fork at her as he spoke. “I think apologizing with an appropriate level of shame is perfectly acceptable if I believe I have been a genuine ass to someone. I am NOT sulking!” He tried to block her fork when she dove in for a second bite, but he failed. He clicked his tongue and scooped the remaining trifle into his mouth all at once.

He attempted a self satisfaction smirk, but it was hard with his cheeks bulging with dessert. He imagined that he probably looked like a gerbil that had decided to stuff it’s cheeks rather than actually eat its food.

“And another thing!” He managed to choke out as he swallowed the last of the trifle. “How DARE you steal my trifle in the midst of my heart felt apology. I knew you Slytherin’s were cut-throat, but to steal my most prized dessert while I am vulnerable.” He shook his head slowly with a look of disappointment. “You better change your ways or it will be the life of a criminal for you yet.”

He finally stopped shaking his head and gave Missy a grin. “In hindsight, it was all worth it to hear you call yourself spoiled.” With a laugh, he took a bite of his plum pudding. “I wish I had something to record it!” He continued chewing his pudding with a smile on his face.

Devereaux felt a great deal of relief that he had not actually offended Missy. The tightness in his stomach was gone and it seemed to him that the evening had returned to its fun and carefree atmosphere. "Do you have any plans for your winter break? Anything you're looking forward to?" He finally asked after swallowing.