Her eyes were glossy with a suppressed sense of dread as she looked up at Ivan. His features were plastered with excitement mixed with an inquisitive confusion. (y/n) was trying her hardest to breathe steadily, to stop herself from succumbing to the pain she felt in her throat, to not crumble like a delicate statue right in front of the boy that sat before her.
She was suffocating in her own sorrow and gut wrenching pain; attempting to not drown under the waves of earth shattering disappointment.
Drowning. Even the deepest of waters couldn't bring her under compared to the stream of blood that leaked out of her cracked heart.
"So," she continued with a shaky breath, "what do you say? Come to the Yule Ball with me?"
Ivan looked like a word of agreement was stuck in his throat, but his body was fighting against it, holding it down with chains of...humanity? Guilt? Pity?
A noise escaped into his breath, almost like an airy laugh. Although (y/n) couldn't exactly tell what was funny about the whole situation. "I...don't mean to be a prude, but weren't you going with Harry? I mean, I feel like he'd be sort of broken up to randomly hear that you and I-"
"Who cares about Harry! let alone if his precious feelings are somehow shattered." (y/n) abruptly bursted. She immediately looked at the floor, her ears hot with embarrassment and lingering anger. She couldn't tell if she actually wanted to go with Ivan or if he was just the one guy that she could go with that would cut Harry deepest. "I'm sorry. I just mean...well, Harry I aren't exactly going together anymore. Something came up. Or rather someone."
Ivan shifted awkwardly, eventually placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. If you truly are asking, I'd be honored to go with you to the ball." He gave her a meek smile, kindness that could almost be considered fake if you looked hard enough.
(y/n) cringed at his words. What was she doing? It felt wrong. Like she was giving up on Harry too easily. Perhaps he really was telling the truth and all she did was scream at him to leave the second he tried to explain himself.
No. If he truly cared he would've fought harder to stay. He wouldn't have been with Romilda.
Romilda Vane. (y/n)'s new prey. Her new vessel for hatred and eventual jealousy. Romilda's face reminds her of what Harry apparently likes, and how she's nothing like her.
