Not allowed
As the Triwizard Tournament continued, Lucille and Luna Lovegood found themselves growing closer to the Beauxbatons girls. The French students, with their refined manners and elegant demeanor, quickly became their friends. Lucille observed how their grace and poise extended even to the smallest gestures—how they delicately sipped their tea, how they carried themselves with an air of sophistication. Lucille couldn’t help but reflect on her own upbringing. Her mother’s absence in her life had left a noticeable gap, and it showed in her lack of similar refinement.
Lucille had been mistaken for a boy back in her early Hogwarts years due to her rough mannerisms and unconventional style. Now, as she observed the Beauxbatons students, she realized how much she had changed. The refined manners of her new friends were slowly influencing her, and she found herself picking up some of their habits, even adjusting her posture and speech to mirror their elegance.
One evening, the atmosphere was electric as the first task of the Triwizard Tournament approached. The Beauxbatons students were buzzing with excitement and nervous anticipation for their champion, Fleur Delacour. Lucille, Luna, and the Beauxbatons girls gathered in the stands to watch Fleur face her dragon. The dragon task was a spectacle of bravery and skill, and Fleur’s performance was nothing short of astounding. Her graceful movements and strategic approach earned her high praise and cheers from the crowd.
As Fleur successfully subdued the dragon, Lucille clapped enthusiastically along with Luna and their Beauxbatons friends. It was a moment of triumph and camaraderie that transcended the usual school rivalries. Lucille felt a surge of pride for Fleur, but her attention was soon drawn elsewhere.
Igor Karkaroff, the stern and imposing headmaster of Durmstrang, was mingling among his students. Lucille’s curiosity about her mother’s past led her to approach him. Her heart raced as she gathered her courage to interrupt his conversation.
“Excuse me, sir,” Lucille said, her voice steady despite her nerves. “I was wondering if you might know a woman named Nina who graduated in ’98.”
Karkaroff turned his piercing gaze on her, arching an eyebrow. "Nina who?" he asked, his tone dripping with impatience.
Lucille froze. She realized with a sinking feeling that she didn't know her mother's maiden name. Her mother had never married Remus, and now she was drawing a complete blank.
"I... I'm not sure," she stammered, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
Karkaroff sneered. "If you don't even know her full name, why are you wasting my time?"
The sting of his words made Lucille’s cheeks flush with humiliation. She hurried away from him, her steps quick and uneven. The encounter had been a painful reminder of her own lack of knowledge about her family and her place in the world.
As Lucille retreated to the stands, she caught sight of Harry Potter. He had just finished his task, and the crowd was buzzing with excitement. Harry looked exhausted but victorious, his expression a mixture of relief and triumph. Lucille watched him for a moment, admiring his bravery and skill. Despite everything, Harry had faced his dragon with courage and had come out on top.
Lucille lingered at the edge of the Ravenclaw common room, her gaze fixed on Professor Flitwick as he demonstrated the graceful movements of the waltz. The students around him moved with a fluid elegance, their steps light and synchronized. The dance, a prelude to the Yule Ball, seemed like a distant dream to Lucille.
She stood there, heart aching with a mix of envy and longing. The waltz represented something she felt was out of her reach—a grand event she wouldn’t be able to attend, not with her dress ruined, her current standing among the students, and her lack of a partner. The way the Ravenclaws glided across the floor was a stark reminder of her isolation and the way her life had shifted.
One evening, as the castle buzzed with preparations for the Yule Ball, Fleur Delacour was approached by a boy with a shy but hopeful smile. Lucille watched from a distance, feeling a pang of longing as she observed Fleur’s excited reaction to the invitation. It was then that Fleur, catching Lucille’s wistful expression, approached her with a thoughtful look.
“So, Lucille,” Fleur said, her voice carrying a note of concern and curiosity, “who are you going to the ball with?”
Lucille’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I’m not going,” she replied with a forced casualness. “I don’t have anyone to go with.”
Fleur’s brows knitted together in surprise and sympathy. “Nonsense. Surely someone will ask you. You’re lovely, and anyone would be lucky to go with you.”
Lucille shook her head, her face reflecting her resignation. “I don’t even have a dress. My old one was ruined.”
Fleur’s eyes widened, and she seemed to struggle with her emotions. “But that’s not fair! Everyone should have a chance to go. My mother packed an extra dress for me, just in case. It doesn’t fit me, but I’m sure it would look wonderful on you.”
Lucille was taken aback by Fleur’s offer. “I don’t want to impose,” she said hesitantly. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll be going. There’s a lot of… negativity around me right now.”
Fleur’s eyes welled with tears as she looked at Lucille. “It’s not an imposition. I want you to have a chance to enjoy the ball. Please, accept it.”
Lucille felt a deep sense of gratitude mixed with embarrassment. She hesitated, knowing that accepting the dress would only highlight her sense of exclusion. Yet, Fleur’s insistence and the genuine warmth in her eyes made it difficult to refuse.
“Alright,” Lucille said softly, her voice tinged with a mix of reluctance and appreciation. “I’ll take it. But I promise, I’ll return it right after the ball.”
Fleur smiled through her tears and quickly fetched the dress and a pair of shoes from her room. The dress was a beautiful, flowing gown in a shade of blue that shimmered in the light. The shoes, though delicate and elegant, looked comfortable enough to wear throughout the evening. Fleur handed them to Lucille with a final, encouraging nod.
As Lucille accepted the dress and shoes, she felt a swell of conflicting emotions—embarrassment at her situation, gratitude for Fleur’s kindness, and a renewed glimmer of hope. Fleur’s gesture, though it seemed small, represented a rare moment of kindness in a time when Lucille felt largely alone and misunderstood.
As Christmas approached, the castle was awash with festive decorations, twinkling lights, and a palpable sense of excitement for the Yule Ball. The air was filled with anticipation as students hurried about, making last-minute preparations and awaiting their invitations. Yet, amid the holiday cheer, Lucille found herself increasingly isolated.
Lucille’s decision to avoid Luna Lovegood had been a painful one, but she felt it was necessary. Overhearing a group of students—Morag MacDougal and her friends—talking in hushed tones, Lucille realized the extent to which Luna was being shunned simply by being associated with her. The gossip was cruel and relentless, and the girls’ disdainful remarks made it clear that Luna's association with Lucille was the root of their disdain.
Determined not to further isolate Luna, Lucille began to distance herself deliberately. She avoided the common room when she knew Luna would be there, choosing to study or wander the castle instead. When they did cross paths, Lucille would offer a curt nod or a forced smile, keeping her distance and avoiding eye contact. She found excuses to not join Luna for meals or walks, and she was careful to maintain a polite but distant demeanor when interacting with her.
Lucille’s isolation extended beyond her relationship with Luna. Her previous friends, Padma Patil and Michael Corner, seemed to have distanced themselves as well. The camaraderie she once shared with them had dissolved, leaving her feeling abandoned and alone. The rejection she felt was particularly sharp as she saw them socializing with others, their faces bright with excitement for the upcoming ball.
As Christmas drew nearer, the atmosphere at Hogwarts became increasingly festive. Almost every girl had received a dazzling invitation to the ball, and the boys had spared no effort in making their proposals grand and memorable. The hallways were alive with the buzz of excited chatter about who was going with whom, and Lucille couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy each time she witnessed a couple making plans or discussing their outfits.
Lucille sighed as she watched the students bustling around, each of them eagerly preparing for the event. Even Neville Longbottom, who she had never thought of as particularly popular, had secured a date and was eagerly showing off the new dress robes he had purchased. It was a stark reminder of her own predicament. The longing in her heart grew stronger as she imagined what it would be like to be asked to the ball, to experience the thrill of anticipation and the joy of dancing with someone special.
With each passing day, Lucille found herself sinking deeper into her own solitude. The grandeur of the Yule Ball, once a symbol of potential joy and inclusiveness, now seemed like a distant dream she was not a part of. The glitz and glamour that surrounded her only accentuated her loneliness, making her feel even more alienated from the jubilant atmosphere.
In the quiet moments before Christmas, Lucille wandered through the castle's less frequented corridors, reflecting on her situation. The festive decorations and cheerful ambiance only highlighted her isolation. She felt a deep sense of sadness, wishing she were a "regular girl" who could blend seamlessly into the celebrations. The desire to experience the same joy and excitement as her peers was overwhelming.
As she walked alone through the castle, Lucille couldn’t help but wonder how it felt to be asked to the ball, to be a part of something so vibrant and celebratory.
Lucille's decision to skip the Yule Ball and pack up her belongings felt like a necessary step toward reclaiming some semblance of control over her tumultuous life. She had made up her mind to return Fleur’s beautiful dress, even though it meant she wouldn’t have the chance to experience the ball. The night before her departure, she carefully packed her things and prepared herself emotionally for the final tasks.
Her first stop was the hospital wing, where she intended to deliver a small Christmas gift to Madam Pomfrey. It was a red globe, a token from Remus Lupin that she hoped would convey her appreciation for the matron's kindness and support. With the gift carefully wrapped in festive paper, Lucille made her way through the bustling hallways of Hogwarts.
As she neared the hospital wing, her path was abruptly blocked by Pansy Parkinson and a few other Slytherin girls. They were standing in a tight cluster, laughing and whispering amongst themselves. Pansy, with her characteristic sneer, spotted Lucille and her lips curled into a malevolent smile.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Lucifer,” Pansy drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The Slytherin girls giggled, clearly enjoying the moment.
Lucille’s heart sank as Pansy’s words stung with the familiar cruelty she had grown accustomed to. “What do you want, Pansy?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
Pansy’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Oh, nothing much. Just thought I’d have a bit of fun. I bet you can’t even read this,” she said, holding out her palm for Lucille to see. Written in smudged ink were the words, “ouch my face,” scrawled in a mocking attempt to humiliate Lucille.
Lucille took a deep breath, her anger bubbling just beneath the surface. She focused on the inscription, the cruel message meant to belittle her. The taunt was childish, yet it was clear Pansy took some twisted pleasure in making Lucille’s life more difficult.
When Pansy looked up at her with a smirk, clearly expecting her to be flustered, Lucille did something unexpected. Her frustration and hurt reached a boiling point, and without a moment's hesitation, she swung her fist and landed a punch squarely on Pansy’s jaw.
Pansy’s eyes widened in shock, and the giggles from her companions ceased abruptly. The force of the punch made Pansy stagger back, a look of disbelief etched on her face. The suddenness of the action left everyone around them momentarily stunned.
Lucille’s hand throbbed from the impact, but the rush of defiance she felt was even stronger. Pansy touched her bruised jaw, her expression a mixture of anger and confusion. “How dare you!” Pansy shouted, her voice high with indignation.
Lucille took a step back, her breathing heavy. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense,” she said, her voice trembling slightly but filled with determination. “I’m not going to be your punching bag anymore.”
The aftermath of Lucille’s punch was immediate and chaotic. As Pansy staggered back, her face contorted in shock and fury, she raised her wand to retaliate. But Lucille, driven by a surge of adrenaline and anger, was quicker. With a swift, instinctive motion, she cast a spell that sent a wave of green, slimy pimples erupting across Pansy’s entire body. The grotesque blemishes covered her from head to toe, each one oozing and pulsating with an unnatural, slimy sheen.
Lucille didn’t wait to see the full extent of the chaos she’d unleashed. She turned and fled down the corridor, her heart pounding as she navigated the labyrinth of Hogwarts’s hallways. She knew she’d probably face consequences for her actions, but the immediate need to escape the scene was paramount.
Her escape was short-lived. Moments later, Professor McGonagall intercepted her in the hall. Her stern gaze and rigid posture made it clear that Lucille’s actions had not gone unnoticed.
“Miss Lucille,” McGonagall said, her voice clipped with authority, “I need you to come with me to the hospital wing immediately.”
Lucille swallowed hard, her stomach sinking with a mix of dread and apprehension. She followed McGonagall through the winding corridors to the hospital wing, her mind racing with thoughts of what awaited her there.
Upon entering the hospital wing, Lucille was met with an unexpected scene. Pansy Parkinson lay on one of the beds, her body a grotesque canvas of green, slimy pimples. Her eyes were red from crying, and she was visibly distressed. Madam Pomfrey, looking both exasperated and sympathetic, hovered nearby, casting spells in a futile attempt to alleviate the condition.
“It’s no use,” Madam Pomfrey said, her tone tinged with frustration. “These pimples are proving resistant to conventional treatments. It’ll take a week to fully cure her.”
Pansy’s cries of distress filled the room, and as Lucille approached, the Slytherin’s gaze flicked towards her with a mixture of rage and despair. Lucille’s heart clenched with guilt, but she stood her ground, knowing she had to face the consequences of her actions.
“Professor McGonagall, I—” Lucille began, but McGonagall’s stern look silenced her.
“Miss Lucille, you have caused significant disruption and distress. You will be facing a disciplinary hearing for your actions,” McGonagall said firmly. “For now, however, we must deal with the immediate fallout.”
As if on cue, Draco Malfoy burst into the hospital wing, his expression one of frustration. He looked from Pansy’s disfigured form to Lucille, his anger palpable.
“What in Merlin’s name happened to her?” Draco demanded, his gaze shifting between McGonagall and Pansy.
“Lucille’s actions resulted in this unfortunate condition,” McGonagall explained succinctly. “And Miss Parkinson will be required to remain in the hospital wing for the foreseeable future until the treatment takes full effect.”
Draco’s frustration only intensified as he turned to Pansy. “You have to go to the Yule Ball, Pansy. My father specifically advised me to have a date, and I can’t show up without one. This is unacceptable!”
Pansy’s eyes welled with tears, and she shook her head vehemently. “Under no circumstances will I go to the ball like this! I refuse to be seen in public looking like this!”
Draco’s face twisted in frustration, clearly caught between his desire to follow his father’s advice and his sympathy for Pansy’s plight. “This is ridiculous! You’re ruining everything.”
Lucille, feeling the weight of the situation and the impact of her actions, took a step back. She realized she was an unwelcome presence in this heated exchange and that her part in the evening’s drama was far from over.
McGonagall’s gaze softened slightly as she addressed Pansy. “Miss Parkinson, it is regrettable that this incident has affected your plans for the evening.”
The tension in the hospital wing was palpable as Draco Malfoy continued to express his frustration over the predicament. McGonagall, clearly exasperated by Draco’s persistent complaints, finally intervened with a solution that surprised everyone.
“Enough, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said sharply. “If you cannot find a suitable date, then perhaps Miss Lucille should accompany you to the Yule Ball.”
Draco’s eyes widened with surprise, and he shot a disbelieving glance at Lucille. “You’ve got to be joking. I’d rather go alone than with her.”
Lucille, feeling the sting of Draco’s words, crossed her arms and glared at him. “I’m not going to the ball with you. There’s no way I’d—”
But Draco was already mulling over the suggestion. After a moment of contemplation, he seemed to find the idea more palatable than going without a date. “Actually,” he said, “it might not be the worst idea. Better than going alone, I suppose.”
McGonagall raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased with Draco’s change of attitude. “Very well then. If Miss Lucille agrees, that will solve both of your issues. If not, Miss Lucille will be assigned to clean the dungeon floors as punishment.”
Lucille’s eyes widened at the thought of scrubbing the dungeons. It was a grueling and unpleasant task she had no desire to undertake. Reluctantly, she turned back to Draco. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”
Draco’s face brightened slightly at her agreement, though his smug demeanor remained intact. “Excellent. But make sure you look presentable. I don’t want to be seen with someone who looks like they just rolled out of bed.”
Lucille couldn’t help but retort with a hint of sarcasm. “I’ll be sure to impress, Mr. Malfoy. After all, I wouldn’t want to spoil your perfect evening.”
Draco’s expression tightened slightly, but he didn’t let it show. “We’ll meet in front of the Great Hall then.”
Lucille shook her head. “No, I think it’s only fair you come to me. Meet me in front of the Ravenclaw Common Room. It’s not like I can just pop over to your side of the castle.”
Draco looked taken aback by her insistence, but after a brief moment of contemplation, he relented. “Fine. I’ll be there. But don’t keep me waiting.”
With that settled, Draco turned on his heel and left the hospital wing, clearly still miffed but accepting of the arrangement. Lucille, meanwhile, felt a mix of relief and resignation. She had managed to avoid the dungeon-cleaning punishment, but now faced the challenge of preparing for the ball with Draco Malfoy, a prospect that left her feeling uneasy.