𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞 | 𝐃𝐌

THIRTY EIGHT

AN: trigger warning!
negative comments on body image.
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ꜱᴘᴏᴛɪꜰʏ ᴘʟᴀʏʟɪꜱᴛ ʟɪɴᴋᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʙɪᴏ

♱

D A V I N A

You would think we were being released from this Hell hole of a school with how many smiling students walked down the hallways, but no, it was all just for a silly Ball. Which I reckon is purely for show because Harrington wants to make a good impression on Lainey and Bo who have been lurking in the shadows for a week now. Always watching. Waiting. They have interviewed everyone now and I guess they are waiting for the killer to strike again.

Clearly, Ghostface's are smart because they haven't struck again. And they haven't visited me since number two showed up in my dormitory. I hope Lainey and Bo catch them only so I can see who the bastards are.

I was making my way to the third floor of the castle where apparently we had dresses and suits to choose from for the Ball. Each year is allowed half an hour to pick out something for the ball today since none of us have ball gowns with us. This was not supposed to happen. And we can't leave the school to go buy a dress.

I'm walking behind a group of girls talking about how they have already been asked to the Ball and how they can't wait to choose the sexiest dress they can find. It was impossible to hide my eye roll. I'm glad I had no friends at this school to discuss such pathetic things.

What about Draco though? A voice whispered in my head, Isn't he a friend—A special friend?

The girls and boys were split off into two separate rooms. One of the larger classrooms had been emptied of its desks and chairs and instead was now filled with rows of gowns and heels. Jesus—. Gasps filled the air as we walked in and eyes darted to the rows of colours, patterns and materials lining the classroom. It all looked too colourful for my taste.

I gripped the strap of my bag tighter as I walked in and saw two women standing at the front with McGonagall, "Girls, gather please," she said in a croaky elderly voice.

I remained hidden behind the ground of about twenty giggling girls but still managed to catch the eyes of Daphne who was grinning at me with cruelty glistening her eyes as Pansy whispered something in her ear. Let me guess, they're calling me a slut. . . I sarcastically smiled and then looked away. I'm tired of this.

"This is Madam Giselle and her stylist Céline," McGonagall turned to the women beside her. Giselle was an old woman but my god was she beautiful, her gray hair was tied up in a loose bun with strands falling down her perfectly sculpted face, lined with divine age. She smiled, her full rosy cheeks pushing up her rectangular-shaped glasses.

"These are Giselle's designs and she is kindly offering to lend out her dresses for the evening," McGonagall announced to us all, "and her stylist Céline is here to help you find your dress. This is far more than is deserved."

Céline was younger, maybe not much older than I. She was beautiful, from her dark skin to her curly black hair which fell down her slim body. She was dazzling—honestly, it was hard to look away from her impossible beauty. Where in heaven did Harrington find these women?

"My lovely Céline helped with a few of these designs as well," Giselle spoke in an elegant French accent which made me feel like she was royalty, "—and has a few dresses she would like to find their perfect match on one of you lucky girls. And My—you will be lucky if she chooses you. The dresses are exquisite."