I Could Have Danced All Night and Still Have Begged for More
I COULD HAVE DANCED ALL NIGHT AND STILL HAVE BEGGED FOR MORE
Pacing in her room, Lucy tugs on the front of her dress yet again. The clinging velvet fabric hugs every curve that she has. It is tight enough that the slim, barely there sleeve stitched onto the outside to hold her wand juts out obviously with her wand slid inside. Normal, real Lucy would have preferred a pastel hued dress with a skirt that flies out around her when she twirls. Real Lucy would have elaborately braided her hair and woven in white, Christmas poinsettia blooms. Real Lucy would have worn her mother’s pearls. But real Lucy will not be in attendance at the Yule Ball. Slytherin Lucy, possible Death Eater Lucy, will.
Lucy scrutinizes her reflection, judging every inch of her reflection to make sure that she is portraying the necessary image. She smooths her hands over the almost waist length curtain of her board straight hair. She prefers styles with more body, more movement; styles that are less severe. Severity is one aspect that she is striving for, though. Thanks to a handy hair potion, her dark locks are straighter and silkier than ever before.
And she hates it.
The normal dress code for students prohibits makeup, but since the Yule Ball is a formal event, the rule is waived. She still maintains minimal makeup, though, with a coat of mascara and a wash of barely there blush on her cheeks. Her feet already ache in her ridiculous black heels with their pinching toe boxes, but she reminds herself that in just a few hours, she will be able to rid herself of them entirely.
Feeling yet another rush of unsureness, Lucy goes through her calming steps.
One, push up glasses. Two, roll head from side to side. Three, check wand.
Her fingers trace over the bottom edge of her spectacles. She had gone back and forth in her mind on whether or not to leave them behind for the ball. While they could always come in handy for her spy work due to the enchantment placed on the lenses, they ultimately do not lend to her Yule Ball disguise. With a slightly shaking hand, she lifts them from her face and carefully tucks her father’s spectacles into her trunk. It feels like a betrayal to leave them behind, but what is another betrayal in the midst of all she has already said and done?
Chiming sounds throughout the castle, followed by a notice spoken by Dumbledore himself that the festivities will begin in fifteen minutes. With one final deep breath, Lucy leaves her room and makes her way to the Great Hall.
On approaching the Great Hall, Lucy stops to take in the image before her. A slightly fidgeting Rupert is waiting there for her, decked in emerald green dress robes that complement his cool, fair skin and coincidentally match her dress perfectly. Even his bow tie is a black satin that corresponds with the satin ties at her wrists. Never melting icicles sparkle above him in the doorway and firelight from torches cast a warm glow on him and the other students, bathing them all in reflections off of the ice. The variety of colors in the entrance hall is almost overwhelming. The normal sea of gray and black has been replaced by all of the colors of the rainbow. Refocusing on the task at hand, she approaches her escort for the evening. Rupert offers her a small, distracted smile and she smiles back, completely genuinely. She can’t help but notice how his eyes warily glance at Malfoy in the distance, who looks like some kind of predatory bird in his high collar dress robes.
“Well don’t you look dashing,” she teases, nudging his shoulder with hers when he blushes. He clears his throat before responding.
“And you, um, you look. You look…” he trails off as his eyes wander up and down her.
“Lovely? Divine? Statuesque?” she offers playfully.
“Slytherin,” he states.
Lucy takes a long pause before responding.
“Is that a good or a bad thing?”
“I’m sorry. I just mean that you look really Slytherin with the green and black and all,” he murmurs, shoving a nervous hand through his hair.
“I’ll take it,” she smiles and weaves her arm through his as the doors slowly swing open.
A collective gasp echoes around them, the students in awe at the transformed Great Hall. Lucy’s eyes dart excitedly about the room. Sparkling icicles, ever frozen. Frosted Christmas trees, as if plucked straight from the forest. Grand ice sculptures, capturing the light and sending it dancing about the tables and tables of food and drink. She can’t help but allow herself a grin at the winter-wonderland-ness of it all. As she turns to smile excitedly at the ever-somber Rupert, her friends scurry up to her, dragging their dates along behind them. Mary is squealing with excitement while a nervous looking Rob stands close by her side.
“Lucy! You look positively goooooorgeous!” She practically screeches as she reaches out to clasp her hands around Lucy’s.
“And you look amazing. You’re a lucky bloke, Rob,” Lucy smiles, enjoying the chance to be honest.
Mary is a picture of elegance as per usual, her lavender dress swirling about her knees, her long, tanned legs capped with shimmering silver heels that send her towering above her date. Rob seems like he is about to comment, but when he opens his mouth, only a slight croaking sound emerges. Lucy turns to Jess and Suz to comment on their dresses, but the Champions are beginning their parade through the crowd.
Lucy joins in with the applause as they walk through, all huge smiles and lifted chins. Swept up in the moment, she turns off her seriousness long enough to be highly amused by poor Harry’s obvious struggles on the dance floor. He looks so young compared to the other Champions, so lost. The sight of him brings her mind back to her mission and the mirth leeches out of her. When the Champions’ opening dance has finished, Mary, Jess, Suz, and their dates nearly sprint onto the dance floor. Following their lead,
Rupert gestures and waits for acknowledgement before taking Lucy by the hand and leading her to the dance floor. Without speaking, he drapes his hands into position and leads them into a slow sway, as effortlessly as walking.
“Wow, you are quite the dancer,” she offers, trying to push back the dread in her stomach.
“I practiced,” he shrugs, as if it means nothing.
Silence stretches between them as they dance until the music turns from slow and gentle to fast and energetic.
“You want something to drink? To eat?” he asks, clearly uncomfortable around the quickly approaching and wildly dancing Mary, Jess, and Suz.
“Sure, let’s sit for a bit,” she offers, taking the opportunity to get him out of the hearing range of the faculty and students.
She finds an empty table far enough away and sits, watching him as he peruses the table of food with his characteristic look of boredom on his face. Fred’s bright, nearly overbearing laugh tickles her ears, but she resists the urge to find him in the crowd. Instead, she mentally practices what she will say to Rupert as she watches him pile food onto plates. He looks so thin, so young at that moment. Something in her chest clenches at the vulnerability of him, at the path he was pushed into. For a moment she imagines him as a gecko in dress robes, all elegance and indifference. He has never been much of a talker, or even much of anything identifying, and yet he is complex and loved by his friends.
She can count on one hand the amount of times she has seen him truly, broadly smile, and each of those times was because of something Rob said or did. He isn’t a bad student but doesn’t excel at anything either. She knows little of what he loves, what he cherishes, and what she can use as motivation. That familiar nausea stirs her stomach as she realizes that his greatest weakness, her most effective bargaining chip, is their mutual friend Rob. If only he had given her something, anything, to work with. The only personal passion of his that she knows of is his love of dragons. She had seen him during the Tournament Task, gawking in amazement at the creatures and tugging excitedly on Rob’s coat as he expounded on everything from their anatomies to their habitats to their personalities. Just the week before, as Lucy was following him for reconnaissance, she watched him sneak to Hagrid’s Hut. Through the window, she saw the pair talking animatedly about the creatures over a cup of tea and a tray of rock cakes.
As he maneuvers through the throngs of wildly dancing students, Lucy takes one final, calming breath.
“I didn’t know what you’d like so I got a bit of everything,” he explains, dropping a nearly overflowing plate in front of her.
“Thanks,” she offers before promptly shoving mince pie into her mouth.
It might as well have been ash as she eats, not tasting anything. As soon as she swallows, she pops a sugary treat into her mouth, buying herself more time before the inevitable. Meanwhile, Rupert doesn’t seem to notice her strain as he picks from his plate and lazily gazes about the room. His shoulders are relaxed and she can even see a bit of amusement on his face as he watches Rob very awkwardly trying to dance with Mary in the distance. That makes it all the more difficult for her to say what she needs to say, to interrupt a rare moment of peace for him. She opens her mouth to speak, but he speaks first.
“I, I feel like I should say thank you for agreeing to come to this thing with me. I wasn’t going to go at all, but Rob practically begged me. I don’t know who I would have had to ask if you said no. You’re...you’re nice to be around. Easy.”
She can only stare, her mouth opening and closing like a fish at his compliment.
Now. It has to be now.
“Let’s get some air,” she rushes out the words, grabbing his wrist and practically dragging him out of the Great Hall and into the winter night.
The music of The Weird Sisters is barely audible after she pushes the ancient oak door closed behind them and carefully looks around for anyone who might overhear. The outside air is warmed by some unknown charm, the scent of the rose bushes sweet and comforting. He doesn’t resist her tugging him along, although he does shoot her a confused glance as they stop behind a marble statue of Father Christmas. The twinkling glow of the fairies swarming the rose bushes lights up his face.
“Um, Lucy...I consider you a friend but I’m not really interested…” he blushes.
Realizing that he thinks that Lucy brought him outside for “private” time, she grimaces.
Just say it. Just say it.
“It isn’t like that. I don’t fancy you,” she rushes out.
“Ookkaayyy,” he draws out, his brows pinching in confusion.
“I need you to listen, Rupert. Really listen. What I’m about to say will be difficult to hear, but I need you to let me explain. You need to let me explain,” she speaks just loud enough for him to hear her.
He doesn’t say a word, only looks at her with a perplexed and slightly annoyed expression.
“I know that you are a potential Death Eater.”
Her words seem to hit him like a bolt of lightning. He staggers back, face pale as he leans on the statue for support. He opens his mouth to deny it, but she stops him by speaking first.
“I understand that your father was a Death Eater and that you are part of his legacy. I need to know your plans. I need to know how dedicated you are.”
He stumbles away as if she is brandishing a weapon. Lucy can see him poising to run, can see her plans begin to unravel.
“Please, I’m not going to hurt you,” she stammers, kicking herself for not staying cool and collected.
That makes him halt his retreat. Hidden among the tall rose bushes now, he ceases gaping like a fish, clenches his fists, and lifts his chin.
“I don’t care what he will do to me. I am NOT like my father. I will never be like my father. I don’t care how many times Malfoy is sent to intimidate me. I don’t care what Mum says, what Lucius says, what you say. Kill me. Imprison me. Do your worst. I will never be like him. Never!” Rupert draws his wand in a frantic rush, holding it out at her with a quivering grip.
“Listen to me, Rupert. Calm. Down. I am not here to hurt you and I don’t want you to be like your father. Quite the opposite, actually.”
His wand lowers slightly, only to shoot back up again.
“Why should I believe you?” his voice shakes as the color slowly returns to his face.
“You will just have to trust me, Rupert. I want to help you.”
He stares her down for a good while, the gears turning his mind before he eventually gives in and slumps down onto a stone bench. Only after he tucks his wand back into his robe pocket does she sit next to him. The broken expression on his face nearly makes her cry, but she fights the urge. Instead, she walks him through her story, ending with a solution for his problems.
“I had a feeling that you were being pushed into this without really wanting it. I set something up, with the help of Dumbledore, in case you needed an out.”
That seemed to shock him. His spine snaps straight, his eyes turning pleading as he grasps both of her hands in his.
“Tell me,” his wide eyes shoot around her face, his hands squeezing hers painfully.
“You will have to make an Unbreakable Vow with Dumbledore himself. This is a serious matter, Rupert. You will have to vow to never fight for or alongside the Death Eaters and to never practice Dark Arts.”
“Yes. I will. Any vow. I’ll do it!”
Lucy pauses, releasing a breath of relief before speaking again.
“You remember the troupe that brought in the dragons for the Tournament? There’s a place for you with them in Romania, out of the reach of the Malfoys. Dumbledore and Hagrid set up an internship for you, where you can learn about dragons and work
alongside the wizards that take care of them. Dumbledore even agreed to grant you your graduation from Hogwarts after you gain some practical experience there.”
Rupert's jaw drops open again, his eyes brimming with tears.
“There is a catch, though. Your mother can’t come with you. You will technically be working for your room and board, and be paid a small apprenticeship wage for the necessities, but it won’t be much, not like the lifestyle you are used to. And you will have to leave immediately and tell no one, not a single soul, of our deal.”
Lucy had expected some careful consideration on his part, or at least a bit of hesitance at leaving his mother behind. Instead, he shocks her by lunging forward and flinging his arms around her, sobbing into her hair.
“Th...thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I don’t know how I could ever repay you,” he cries, nearly squeezing the air from her.
Instead of pushing him away, she squeezes him right back, letting her tears escape as he sniffles and slowly relaxes his arms. When he pulls away, he is grinning ear to ear, more carefree and full of joy than she had ever seen him before.
“I’ve gotta say, I am well chuffed that you don’t want to be a Death Eater. If you did, then you would be being arrested right about now,” she smiles as he scrubs away the tear stains on his cheeks and stands.
“You really had me thinking that you were a Death Eater for a moment. Expert acting, by the way,” he grins, reaching to rub a tear off her cheek. She hadn’t even realized that she was crying.
She reaches up and takes his hand, giving it one final squeeze.
“Wait. What about Rob? He’s my best friend,” he rushes out.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t tell Rob what is happening. You’ll have to send him a letter and let him know that you are well once you are in Romania.”
“But I can’t just abandon him!”
“I know it’s hard, but this is how it has to be. For his safety.”
Her words seem to solemn him as he gives a firm nod.
“This is where we part. Go. Don’t let anyone know you are leaving. Go straight to Dumbledore’s office. I’ll send him a message to meet you there immediately. I’m sorry, but you need to hurry. Hagrid will help with your transport. You won’t be able to speak of
this or my mission to anyone. It will be part of your vow. I’m sorry, but you will have to bear the secret forever.”
“Worth it. Well worth it,” he grins. “Will we ever see each other again?”
“I don’t know. I hope so, one day. Now go. Go live your dream and never look back,” she grins, patting his cheek.
She laughs in surprise when he springs forward and wraps her in his arms again. When he finally pulls away, he plants a quick kiss on her cheek before jogging to a different entrance to the castle.
Relief washes through her as she slumps down onto the bench. Withdrawing her wand, she whispers her message into the tip and sends it along to Dumbledore’s ears with a spell. Tears threaten to spring out again, but at least they are tears of joy.
I did it. I saved him.
She stands and pats her face dry before moving to go back to the Ball, only to stop short at the sight of a familiar ginger leaning against the statue replication of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.
The pair only stare at each other for a long moment, tension fizzling between them.
Merlin, he is handsome tonight.
How he manages to still look roguish in dress robes, she doesn’t know. Maybe it is his tousled hair, maybe his unfastened buttons, or maybe how his fair cheeks hold the slightest warm blush. It is George that breaks the silence.
“You’ve been crying,” he states, not a question.
“I’m fine. Just getting some air. Better get back in there,” she murmurs, moving to brush past him.
He, of course, doesn’t allow it.
“I was wondering if I could convince you to dance with me. At least for one song,” he states, his voice even and unruffled as he closes the small distance between them and pushes her hair behind one ear.
“I...I should really get back. Rupert will be looking for me.”
“Rupert isn’t in there.”
“Oh, he must have popped over to the toilet. I’ll just go in and wait for him.”
She tries to brush past him again, only to have her path blocked.
“Dance with me, Pocket. Just one, little dance,” he leans down to whisper the plea into her ear, sliding an arm around her waist.
The powerful trio of the husky lure of his voice, the warmth radiating off of him, and her lingering joy coaxes her into looping her arms around his neck.
“One dance, Weasley. Then I have to go back in to my date,” she huffs, feigning annoyance.
Lucy gasps in surprise as he abruptly sweeps them into a dance, leading them around the rose bushes to the hopping tune of the barely audible music. Lucy fights the urge to grin, fights the urge to laugh, fights the urge to kiss his cheek as they glide along. It is like floating, like their feet barely touch the ground as his body presses all the more closely. She can’t seem to recognize where he begins and she ends, only feeling separation when he gently goads her into twirling out before being pulled back in by his strong grip. Those moments when her body snaps back to his, she grins and lets a quick giggle escape, despite everything. He grins right back, his hand pressing into her lower back, his fingers pressing in just enough to support her and remind her just how closely pressed against her he is. For a moment, she wonders if she is dreaming, but then he spins her out again and the giddy lightheadedness that follows feels all too real.
Still relishing her first victory, she allows herself the moment and skims her hand down his biceps then around his upper back as he twirls them in a dizzying rush. She can only hang on for dear life as he lifts her from the ground and spins again, her pointed feet slicing through the air, a giggle on her lips. The music turns slow again, the song changing, and Lucy reluctantly starts to pull away. He slows them to a gradual stop but doesn’t release her, instead gripping her chin gently with one hand. And then, with his words, she can barely stand.
“Your Obliviate didn’t work on me.”