Loyal | Tom Riddle

25: Jealousy

February arrived with hints of warmer air and sunshine, of spring flowers and soft green grass. The heavy clouds of winter dissipated, reinvigorating the slumbering castle grounds with gentle winds and fresh life.

"Valentine's Day," Dippet announced one morning, smiling down at his students as if they were all children of his own. Hushed murmuring sparked instantly, spreading like fire through their black-robed ranks.

"I've been informed," he continued in his old, nasal voice, "that you yearn for some festivities this year. . . ."

Someone let out a long, low whoop. The entire Gryffindor table smirked at Thomas Blackladder, who was beaming from ear to ear.

"So I've decided to host a ball," Dippet finished in as grandiose a manner he could manage to achieve, gesturing his frail fingers about in the air.

The whispering erupted into a certifiable roar, complete with cheering and wild applause. The old man smiled, pausing as he idly drummed his long, bony fingers against the table surface. Upon clearing his throat, the din quieted.

"I know that this is happening on very short notice," Dippet said, scanning the sea of elated faces once again. "But I suspect that you will all find ways around this surprise -- young people like yourselves always do, in matters such as these."

All the professors chuckled.

"The Valentines' Day Ball shall be hosted two weeks from now--" collective groaning sounded-- "and I am well aware of the fact that that particular Sunday is a school night, so I've arranged for that weekend to last three days."

The grumbling gave way to jubilation, even more frenzied than before.

"It shall last from eight in the evening until two. Dance lessons -- for those who want them -- begin next week. That is all, children. Run along to your classes."

✧ ✧ ✧

No one could concentrate throughout that morning's Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, so Professor Merrythought allowed them all to chatter amongst themselves, hoping that perhaps the excitement would die away -- but it didn't.

Divination proved no better, especially since Professor Trevil fanned the flames by indulging the giggling group of Hufflepuff girls in the back of her room with her making predictions of the ball's events.

"Ah, yes," she proclaimed airily, reaching out with a trembling hand. "Unexpected happenings. . . . so many incredible things, my dears. . . . it'll be a night to remember. . . ."

Suddenly, she turned to face the table where Arabella and Malfoy sat, talking to each other in low voices.

"And you two!" she smiled dreamily, clasping her hands as laughter shook her gaunt frame. "Oh, what the Fates have in store for you two!"

Abraxas glanced at her, derision flickering across his face. "Loony bat," he whispered to Arabella.

She kicked him swiftly in response. "Shut up! She's right there."

Trevil ignored their exchange, however, and absent-mindedly rubbed a speck of dust off their crystal ball. "The storm is brewing--" her long fingernails scraped down the glass-- "and the sea is churning. A familiar ship approaches under strange sails."

Malfoy furrowed his brow. "What do you mean--"

"Best to be ready before she blows," Trevil added enigmatically, smiling a small smile to herself before turning on her heel and sauntering behind an ornate cloth draped across a doorway they'd never noticed before.