Malak Aboul Gheit is no stranger to suffering. To death. But she is neither a stranger to love.
The path of this young Egyptian witch as she joins Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy in 3rd year seemed uncertain, but she will soon be trapped i...
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To say Malak Aboul Gheit couldn't ballroom dance would have been a big understatement.
Most of the time, the Egyptian witch was not particularly clumsy, yet when put on a ballroom, the connection between her brain and body seemed to simply break and her limbs forgot that they were part of a whole, and instead of working together to achieve some degree of coordination, they made her move rather inelegantly and not always with the music.
Dance practice with Minerva McGonagall had painfully reminded her about it.
She had danced with George, given that the Beauxbatons students were not invited to the rehearsal. Malak wanted to believe that her lack of grace in dancing was due to the height of her partner, but her previous trials had not been successful neither.
George had said she was too stiff. Too nervous. Trying too hard.
Maybe it was true.
But all previous occasions that had required her to ballroom dance had been calamitous.
First, the wedding of her second cousin Samira. She had been appointed flower girl and she was to perform a small dance with the ring bearer at the tender age of 8. Of course, they did not prepare for it, and the ring boy ended up messing up with her hair, so in turn she had magically made his trousers fall to the floor and trip in front of the whole wedding party.
Second, the 400th anniversary of the foundation of the International Confederation of Wizards, just months before her grandmother's death. Given the terrible precedent, Fawzia had invested much more time than needed to teach a 13 year old how to dance, and she had insisted on the absolute need of Malak to be perfect.
She wasn't.
Viktor Krum remember all too well.
And third, well, the Tri-Wizard Tournament. And so far, it looked like it was not going to be much better than the other two.
"If you would just let go, and not overthink it," George had advised, "you would do alright. You know the steps. You just won't let me guide you."
"Harry does not seem like he is going to know how to guide me," she had retorted, catching the boy struggle from the corner of her eye. "He will need my guidance."
"Godric help us."
A sudden knock on the door of the 6-year girl's dorms brought Malak back from her thoughts.
Normally, Malak would have thought it was Rawia but since the start of the winter season, the other Egyptian had forfeited the Beauxbatons carriage for the warmth of Malak's bed. Well, except that one night. They had offered the other French girls a place with them, but only the Egyptian seeker had agreed.
It was well past curfew and Clémence and Clotilde were not nearly mischievous enough to skip it. Sometimes, Malak wondered how they had become Rawia's friends.
