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"ARE YOU GOING TO THE THE BALL?" hermione asked casually, flipping over her page. "the, um, the yule ball.."
"i haven't got much choice. i'm being coerced by eudora." paris said, scribbling down some notes with her quill. "she's already going with blaise."
"oh, i expect you're going with draco?" she asked, looking up slightly.
"god, no— gross." the brunette shook her head violently. "he's going with pansy. goyle, dean and one durmstrang student invited me." she explained. "of course i said no to goyle. that's disgusting. dean is lovely, but he's not my type, and the durmstrang...? he stank of onions."
hermione chuckled at paris' descriptions. "not your type? who is your type?"
there was silence for a moment as paris pondered whether to answer the question, or to just stop talking. she went with the second option.
"—i'm going with viktor krum." hermione gushed, excitedly putting down her book, looking as if she had been holding it in as a secret, and was just desperate to tell somebody.
"oh?" paris frowned, jealously beginning to bubble up in her blood. "don't you think he's a bit... you know, old for you?"
"is that what you think?" hermione furrowed her eyebrows.
"yes, that is what i think, actually." the girl crossed her arms, putting down her quill. "i also think he's a himbo who relishes all the attention he gets. didn't know he was your type."
"how do you know what my type is?" hermione snapped.
"i don't know, but i thought you'd at least have some standards."
the gryffindor scoffed, rolling her eyes. "i have standards!"
