Harry’s Smitten
Purple may just be his new favorite color. Well- not purple exactly. More of a deep, lovely, all encompassing, somehow warm yet chillingly beautiful amethyst.
Harry leant back in his chair, watching his fellow classmates dance across the Great Hall floor, a mass of teenagers he's never really gotten acquainted with flowing around tables- chatting, laughing, having a grand ole time and dressed in their Sunday best. Well, Yule best, Harry supposes, from his seat next to one sulking Ron Weasley.
To be fair, Ron had every right to sulk. Between being publicly humiliated by Fleur then being, yet again, publicly humiliated by the regifted maroon monstrosity -ahem, antique and well loved robes- Ron was not having an ideal evening. Harry, however, could say the same for himself.
Harry glances to the empty seat next to him, noting that his date had yet to come back from socializing with her friends and showing off her stunning robes in front of a crowd of admirers. To be perfectly frank, he was relieved by this turn of events. Even just the opening dance felt overwhelming and awkward beyond belief. She was lovely, sure, and he was grateful to even have a date, sure; but he had absolutely no clue what to do with her. His hands felt like lifeless, flopping fish and his mouth just couldn't get the right words out. He's pretty sure he scared her away with his wide-eyed please don't ask me a question I don't wanna talk please send help or put me out of my misery.
Yeah. Really couldn't blame her for "stepping away to get a drink." Half an hour ago.
Anyways, back to his color conundrum. Somehow, someway- an act of either God or some sort of evil spirit, who could say- Blaise Mother-Hugging Zabini had ended up at the table next to Harry and Ron's. Of course, his table was much more lively and much, much better dressed. His typical retinue of Theo, Daphne and Tracey were sitting there, having some type of lively discussion that Harry really couldn't be arsed to listen to at the moment. Nope, he was completely and hopelessly distracted by a pair of lovely amethyst eyes that have yet to even look Harry's way.
Not a glance. So rude.
And so, all Harry could do was join Ron in his pity party- abandoned to their fates by their dates who they honestly barely knew. They should've just asked actual friends to come as their dates- sure she was a bit out there but Luna would've been a pleasant if confusing conversation partner. Ron should've asked Hermione when he'd had the chance.
Well, the less said about that the better.
Harry ran his eyes over the crowd, seeing Hermione living her best life under the amorous attention of Krum in a crowd of the Durmstrang students and their dates. After waltzing for several songs, the frankly stunning pair had gone over to what's typically the Slytherin side of the room to mingle. Seeing Hermione like this, so outgoing and confident, was almost eye-opening. She was glowing in her periwinkle blue gown, lovely enough to rival Fleur's enchanted beauty.
And that, of course, just contributes to Ron's glowering sulk-fest. Lovely thing to witness, that.
Harry snuck a quick glance back to his left, hoping to catch sight of those eyes- And blinks.
First once, then more rapidly. Blaise is STARING. At Harry. Harry Potter, resident uncomfortable-wall-flower for the evening, is being stared at by Blaise FUDGING Zabini. Ew, Fudge; thoughts of Minister Fudge were not welcome at this moment.
Harry felt his face heat up the longer he maintained eye contact. Blaise's friends had noticed his distraction, tittering amongst themselves as Blaise's eyebrow slowly rose higher and a smirk emerged from that glorious face. Harry is mentally berating himself up, wondering why he can't just look away, WHY CAN'T I LOOK-
"Ow- what the hell mate," Harry hisses at Ron, who rolls his eyes and retracts his elbow from Harry's spleen.
"Sorry, Harrykins," Ron speaks the twins' nickname for Harry with a forced airy quality, "Figured I should shield you from further embarrassment, mate." When all that he gets in return for his kind-if-violent gesture is a blank look, he heaves a world-weary sigh. "Just go talk to Zabini already, even I can see he's interested." Harry's face is on fire, sputtering whispered nonsense until Ron once again cuts into his panic. "I don't see why you're into a Slytherin of all the people," and here he looks Harry dead in the eyes, "at least it's not Malfoy."
Harry is still reeling from this surprisingly supportive gesture from his best mate when he feels a light tap on his shoulder accompanied by an elegant clearing of the throat from behind him. Whipping his gaze to over his shoulder, he stares up at Zabini flashing him a charming smile. And really, it's unfair how high he has to look.
If fate can make me the chosen one, couldn't they at least make me a TALL chosen one.
Harry is pulled from his thoughts by a hand being held in front of his face, bookended in lovely, silken robes along the wrists. "Would you honor me with a dance, Potter?" Blaise spoke charmingly, rougish grin and dimple peaking out on one side of his smile while holding Harry's gaze steadily. Harry needs a moment to compute exactly what in bloody hell is going on, but Blaise remains steadfast with some amusement showing on his face as he waits for Harry's answer. And Harry answers the only way he can think to.
"Yes."
All too aware that this may be some type of prank because he has a terrible record with his luck either being entirely too good or an absolute nightmare, he grasps Blaise's hand and allows the taller boy to lift him to his feet, tuck his hand into Blaise's inner arm, and be lead to the dance floor. Harry glances at Blaise, who's looking down at his face with a teasing grin, then with some panic back to Ron, who snorts rather rudely and stands to make his way to the refreshment table like a bloody traitor.
"Would you like to lead or follow," Blaise asks as they join the other dancers. Most of the couples dancing at the moment are older students or younger purebloods, no doubt having taken some type of poncey dance lessons since they were infants.
"Well, er- I'm really not the best dancer," Harry stutters out, feeling his anxiety creeping up the more he lets it sink in that he's about to dance with a suave Slytherin, likely one of the aforementioned dancing-since-infancy types. He's going to look like an absolute idiot and why did Ron encourage this!
"Then how about you simply follow my lead for now," Blaise asks with a grin, placing his hands in a gentlemanly fashion on Harry's waist then holding the opposite hand. And what other options are open for Harry at this moment? So he takes a deep breath, brings his hand to Blaise's shoulder and uses the other to give Blaise's hand a light squeeze, and responds-
"Yes."