Catch The Snitch

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 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 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 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 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 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 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?”

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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.

Missy leaned back in her chair, thoroughly pleased that Devereaux had bounced back. The sulking look didn’t suit him—being ridiculous did. And ridiculous was exactly what he looked like now, cheeks bulging with dessert like some overfed gerbil. She licked the last trace of stolen trifle from her fingers, watching him with an expression of mock disgust.

"You Hufflepuffs are revolting," she scoffed, shaking her head. "Honestly, I think I lost my appetite just watching that. I’d say you should be ashamed, but clearly, you have no shame... or class!"

Missy smirked, crossing her arms as he swallowed his ill-gotten dessert and finally spoke again. His grin was back, his usual self-satisfaction radiating off him, and she had to admit—it was nice to have their usual rhythm back. She leaned back, crossing her arms as she studied him with something softer hidden beneath the teasing. Their friendship had grown faster than she’d expected, and she found herself genuinely enjoying his company. Devereaux was different from most of the people she usually surrounded herself with—unapologetically kind, loyal to a fault, and far less concerned with pretences than she was used to. And yet, he could still keep up with her wit, still throw back every ounce of sass she sent his way. She liked that.

At his question about winter break, she let out a small sigh, idly swirling the last of her drink in her glass. “Oh, you know, the usual—lounging around, being spoiled, terrorizing house-elves, looking down my nose at the common folk.” She shot him a sly look before shrugging. "Nothing too thrilling, really. Just visiting family, enduring long-winded conversations about bloodlines and legacies—real riveting stuff. I'd have more fun staying at Hogwarts, if I'm quite honest."

She picked up her fork and pointed it at him, a slow smirk curling her lips. “What about you, Dev the Destroyer? Any grand plans? Besides obliterating every dessert in sight?”

Missy shook her head in mock dismay. “Honestly, it’s almost impressive—on and off the Quidditch pitch, you’re a devastating force to be reckoned with. That poor trifle never stood a chance.” She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “I suppose I should count myself lucky that I got a bite before you launched your final assault.” Her smirk softened slightly as she glanced at him. She liked this—liked how easy it was to sit here, teasing, laughing, talking like they’d been doing this forever. Devereaux might not have realized it, but his friendship meant a great deal to her. More than she was ready to admit.

Devereaux looked up towards the ceiling as if he was thinking about what she had said. “Shame? Class? I’m sorry Miss Dragonov, I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with these terms. Surely if they were important I would have heard about them at this point in my life!” He finished by smacking his lips as if enjoying the taste of his dessert. “By the way, you have GOT to try some of this plum pudding…” He squinted his eyes at her and slid his plate away defensively. “But some of your own, I will most certainly starve to death if any more of MY desserts are stolen. I am, after all, a growing boy.” He finished speaking and graced Missy with a smirk and an arched eyebrow.

Just like that they were back in the groove of things. He was aware that all relationships, wether romantic or platonic, would involve some sort conflict at some point or another. He knew their friendship was no exception to this, and at some point they would have a real conflict. He was also, however, very happy that nothing like that had happened yet.

“Bloodlines and legacies huh? Maybe I ought to look your family up in a history book. Uncover all of Missy Dragonov’s family secrets.” He chuckled and scooped another bite of his pudding as she asked him about his break.

Devereaux swallowed his food and wrinkled his nose at her use of the atrocious nickname she had graced him with earlier that semester. “First of all, you’ve gotta stop with that horrendous thing you call a nickname.” He shivered in mock disgust. “Honestly, I have no idea what we will do. I imagine I will sit around most of the time, maybe take my little sister hiking some. Show her some of the stuff I learned in art this semester. Those seem like things she would really enjoy. Of course, at some point we will have to go see my mother's side of the family. That’s the magic side, and they can be a little judgy. They were not too excited when she married a muggle.” He shrugged. “Other than that, I won't be doing much of anything. If you happen to find yourself in this pitiful little town called Grassington, send me an OWL.” He added finally. He had never actually asked her where she lived in Britain, although he imagine her as more of a city girl.

Devereaux finished his pudding and sat back into his chair. The band had rotated through a few different songs since they had sat down. He silently pondered to himself wether or not he thought he could convince Missy to go for another round.

Missy scoffed, shaking her head as she drummed her fingers against the table. “Dev the Destroyer, ignorant of class and shame? Oh, say it isn’t so.” She placed a hand over her heart as if personally wounded. “Here I was, thinking you were the very model of decorum. What a crushing disappointment.”

Her gaze flickered to his plate when he slid it away, and a slow, feline smile curved her lips. “Oh, I’ll get my own, will I? Funny, because I could have sworn that trifle was also yours, and yet—” She wiggled her fingers at him before settling back, smug. “History tends to repeat itself.”

She had to admit, there was something comfortable about this—this rhythm they had, the teasing, the effortless way their conversations unfolded. It was easy. It had always been easy. And yet…

This night, there was something else creeping in. Something warm and unfamiliar when he smirked at her like that or when he mentioned his little sister with that soft fondness in his voice. She told herself it was just because they were becoming closer friends. That was all. Friendship, nothing more. And yet, the idea of it being anything more made her want to bolt in the opposite direction, terrified that her feelings might actually be... real.

She pushed the thought away as she listened to him talk about his break, resting her chin on her hand. “I might be in the country,” she admitted. “We’ve got a place up in Scotland—old, draughty, too many floors. The usual.” She waved a hand dismissively, though she was more fond of it than she let on. “I’ll be splitting my time between there and London. And if I do happen to find myself in your ‘pitiful little town,’ I’ll send an owl. No promises, though. I have a very busy schedule of doing absolutely nothing.”

She tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “You know, if Dev the Destroyer is too grand for your delicate sensibilities, I’ll just have to keep trying new ones until one sticks.” She smirked. “Maybe Devastatingly Dim? Or O Mighty Devourer of Desserts?” She tapped a finger against her chin, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Or… Dev the Doomed, because I swear, one day, all that sugar is going to be the end of you.”

Her eyes flicked to the band as they launched into a new song, and she arched a brow at the look on his face. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of dragging me back onto that dance floor.” A smirk curled at her lips. “Your feet recovered from the last time yet?” She wouldn't admit it, of course, but she would love to go back to the dancefloor with him.

“Yes, it must be terribly crushing indeed.” Devereaux sniggered at her theatrics. “I suppose you will have to train me up so I’m not such an embarrassment.” He squinted suspiciously as her predatory smile formed. “I haven’t forgotten my poor trifle. Taken from the world so violently, so suddenly. A travesty, truly!” He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye and laughed.

“Oh right, the usual, of course.” He said sarcastically with an eye roll as she mentioned their home in Scotland. He perked up when she said London though. Thinking that must be where she stays more regularly then. “Do you enjoy London? I mean like, living there. I’ve visited some but never stayed for too long. I’ve never stayed for any real length of time in a big city at all. County bumpkin through and through right here.” He said with a smile.

Raising an eyebrow, he listened as she rattled off some other potential nicknames, all of them more awful than the one before. “Oh my gosh, make it stop.” He groaned jokingly. “Those are truly atrocious! Also, sugar is my friend, it only wants what is best for me. It would never ever consider hurting me.” A smile, a laugh, Devereaux was feeling quite happy that he had asked Missy to dance. Their friendship was not something that he had expected going into his fourth year, but here they were, trading sarcastic retorts at the dance and having a lot of fun.

Although there were still a lot of things about Missy that often times left him a little confused, Devereaux found himself feeling extremely thankful for her friendship. He felt a funny fluttering in his stomach as he watched her across the table. Oh shit… He thought as he recognized the feeling. Or feelings. Similar to what he often felt when he watched her playing Quidditch.

Stifling his thoughts and coming back to the present, Devereaux shot Missy a playful grin. “Well I don’t think you broke any of my toes with your stomping so they should be fine.” He laughed and stood quickly from the table. Not wanting to give himself time to ponder any more, he stepped over and took her hand. “I’m sure you can make it through a few dances at least, I know you’ve got the cardio for it!” He held her hand firmly in his and practically dragged her back onto the floor. By this time there were quite a few more students on the dance floor. It had taken a while, but anyone who knew how to dance even a little bit had, by now, gotten over their nerves and made their way to the floor.

Devereaux cut them a path through some dancers and finally turned back to Missy. Pulling her gently to him by her hand, he caught her hip with his other and quickly began stepping to the beat of the song.

Missy let out a dramatic sigh as Devereaux took her hand, allowing herself to be dragged onto the dance floor. “You’re a menace, you know that? Just because I have the cardio for it doesn’t mean I want to waste it on dancing.” She shot him a smirk, though she made no real effort to resist.

She tilted her head as she fell into step with him, her usual sass on full display. “I suppose I should be grateful my toes are still intact. And here I was, thinking I’d need to claim self-defense if you took me out with your flailing limbs.” Her smirk deepened as she added in a sing-song voice, “Dev the Disaster…”

But then he twirled her.

And suddenly, she wasn’t thinking about teasing him.

The music, the movement—it was exhilarating. Devereaux was confident in the way he guided her, and she found herself matching his energy without hesitation. The warm press of his hand against hers, the rhythm of their steps, the way the lights shimmered above them—it was all intoxicating in a way she hadn’t expected.

Missy let out a breathless laugh as he spun her again, this time catching her closer when she returned to him. “Alright, fine, I’ll admit it—you’re not half bad at this,” she said, arching a brow at him. “Didn’t peg you for someone who could actually dance.”

And that was the end of it. There was nothing to overthink here, nothing to acknowledge. She was having fun—that was it. Nothing more. She was too hardcore to be the type to get caught up in something as ridiculous as liking someone. Please. She didn’t do that.

But as the night wore on, as he twirled her, dipped her, grinned at her like this was the best place in the world to be—Missy became aware of a strange shift. The Great Hall was filled with students, swirling robes, and laughter, but somehow, none of it seemed to matter. No one else seemed to exist.

Just them.

Missy shoved the thought away before it could settle, her smirk back in place. “I suppose I’ll allow you to twirl me around a few more times. But only because I’m feeling generous.”

Her heart was racing, but she wasn’t about to question why.

“Dev the Disaster.” Devereaux repeated, “That one is probably the truest.” Then, with a laugh, he sent her out for a spin.

As they stepped, spun, and twirled around the dance floor, Devereaux found that he just couldn’t stop smiling. Although he knew she would be insufferable if he told her, Missy was quite the dancer. At the very least, she responded to his queues without a moment of hesitation, and she never seemed to fight against his lead. Which was a lot more than he could say for most.

Whoever was picking the music seemed intent on letting everyone tire themselves out. The songs maintained a lively beat without getting too fast or too slow. Over the next couple of minutes Devereaux found himself holding Missy just a little closer whenever he caught her from a spin. He was surprised to realize that his favorite part of their dancing seemed to be when she made her way back into his grip. “Well I’ve got to keep a few surprises up my sleeve!” He responded with an endearing smile just as the song ended.

Missy was all smirks and sass between songs, but when they were dancing she had a grin plastered on her face. “Your abounding generosity towards one such as myself is truly astounding.” He breathed with gentle sarcasm. Then another song began and without a hitch Devereaux sent them through another combination of steps and spins. He felt his heart racing and sweat forming on his brow as they tore across the floor.

Usually when Devereaux danced with someone he was either watching the floor around them, or watching how his partner moved through their steps. As they continued, however, he found his eyes drawn over and over to Missy. Something about the way she smiled every time he pulled her back to himself, the way her brown curls bounced and swung before returning to frame her beautiful face, the way her soft brown eyes seemed to twinkle like they contained solar systems.

Devereaux’s heart pounded in his chest and he was suddenly aware that it was not because of the dancing. Don’t be stupid Devereaux, he thought, you’re just friends, very unlikely and unexpected friends. He stifled his thoughts and led Missy through a complex series of twists and spins that finished with a dip right as the song ended.

Then the DJ, or whatever sneaky bastard was in charge, decided to change the mood. The end of the last song was abrupt, and immediately a slow piano and violin combo began. Devereaux lifted Missy from the dip as everyone on the floor around them began to move much slower, and much closer than they had been before. His heart pounded. “How about just one more?” He said, his voice sounding a little more nervous than he would liked. But that was dumb. They were just friends after all. He knew she was pretty, beautiful really. He had always known it. It wasn’t surprising that he would feel nervous dancing with her, but that didn’t have to mean he had feelings for her. Of course it didn’t. Besides, Missy Dragonov most certainly did not have feelings for him, so it was hardly anything he should worry about anyway.

Missy’s breath hitched—just barely—as the music shifted. Gone were the lively beats, the twirling, the exhilarating rush of movement. In its place, something softer. Slower. Intimate.

She was still in his arms from the dip, her heartbeat thundering as Devereaux pulled her upright. The air around them felt different now, heavier, charged with something unspoken. The dance floor wasn’t empty, but it may as well have been. For a brief, terrifying second, she considered stepping away, making a sarcastic comment, rolling her eyes—something to cut through the strange, unfamiliar tension that had settled between them.

Her grip on his hand tightened as she hesitated, caught between two choices. She should make some joke about how sappy the song was, about how this was not her kind of thing. She should roll her eyes, shove him away, declare that she needed a drink, anything but this.

But then she looked up at him.

And something in his face—his own hesitation, the nervous way he asked, "How about just one more?"—made her pause.

Missy was not the kind of girl to get swept up in things like this. She was too tough, too self-assured, too Missy Dragonov to fall for whatever nonsense the DJ was trying to pull. But as Devereaux’s hands settled gently against her waist, guiding her into step with him, she didn’t move away.

She didn’t crack a joke. She didn’t run.

Instead, she fell into step, ignoring the way her heart pounded, the way her skin prickled with warmth.

Missy felt like an idiot. A full-fledged, absolute, no-turning-back-now idiot.

Because here she was, swaying in Devereaux’s arms to some sappy, slow song, and instead of thinking about how ridiculous this was—how not her this was—she was thinking about him.

Which was unacceptable.

Her fingers tensed slightly where they rested against his broad shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his dress robes. He was sturdy, built like someone who could take a hit and dish one right back, and yet somehow, here he was, holding her like she was something delicate. Like she wasn’t the Missy Dragonov who could hip-check someone off their broom without breaking a sweat.

And then there was his face.

She had looked at Devereaux a million times before, but never quite like this. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled from all the dancing, a stray lock falling over his forehead. His deep brown eyes, warm and full of something she refused to name, flickered down at her with an expression that made her throat dry. She had always thought he was good-looking—objectively, of course—but now, under the dim lights of the Great Hall, with the music weaving its stupid, slow-spun spell around them, she realized he was more than that. He was handsome in a way that snuck up on you, comfortable and confident, but never cocky.

He looked like someone who worked out but also never said no to dessert, and somehow, that was stupidly endearing.

Which was why she needed to get a grip.

She straightened slightly, as if that might snap her out of whatever ridiculous thoughts were creeping in. “Fine,” she muttered, her voice not quite as steady as she would have liked. “But if you try to get all mushy, I’m walking off this floor.”

She told herself she didn’t hear the way her voice had softened. Didn’t feel the way her heart had started hammering just a little harder, or the warmth erupting across her cheeks.

Because that would mean acknowledging it.

And Missy Dragonov was too hardcore for something as ridiculous as liking Devereaux.

Devereaux looked down into Missy’s warm brown eyes as she contemplated his question. He could see the indecisiveness there, feel it in the subtle way her fingers went stiff against his shoulder and in his own hand. After a moment, during which he was almost certain she was about to turn and leave him alone on the dance floor, she seemed to clear her mind before accepting his proposal. He smiled, unaware of the tension inside of him until, all at once, it dispersed.

“Mushy?” He said with humor, as he let go of her hand with his own and moved it so that now both of his hands were on her waist. He pulled her a little closer. “It’s a foolish snake charmer who puts down the flute and thinks the serpent won’t strike. Do I look like a fool to you Miss Dragonov?” Devereaux laughed at his own joke and twisted on his left foot, pulling Missy by the hips into a tight spin, still slow enough to match the beat of the song. Before she could retort he spoke again. “I’m only joking Missy, but you’ll get no mush out of me!” He said, although his heart beat seemed to be telling a different story.

He had seen the subtle darkening of her cheeks as he asked her to stay for a slower dance and, although he knew it wasn’t true, he couldn’t help but feel a slight hint of excitement at the idea that Missy would want to dance with him for more than just the joy of dancing. Except, until now, he hadn’t know that he wanted to dance with her for anything different either. They had grown closer than expected over the semester and maybe it was simply a lack of experience, but Devereaux had never suspected that they had anything more than a standard friendship. He was aware of how attractive Missy was, but he had assumed that his occasional nervousness around her, and excitement to see her, had been pretty standard reaction for a boy his age to have when becoming friends with a member of the opposite sex.

As they stepped slowly across the floor, his hands on her hips and hers on his shoulders, he began to suspect that the feelings he had were more than just friendly. Suddenly he was quite nervous to look her in the eyes. Opting to look over her shoulder, pretending like he was watching for other dancers, and observing those who had opted out of dancing. “The professors sure did a number on this place. I suppose with magic we can afford to make every event look suitable for Kings and Queens.” He tried to say it casually, but was certain the small talk sounded quite strained.