Magic? || Years 1-5

Holiday Special

Amisty stared at the letter in her hands, perched on the edge of her seat, unable to process what she was reading.

Draco's familiar green penmanship winked up at her, the last tail of his signature smudged.

The little imperfection was the only thing grounding her, reminding her that this was real.

Dear Amisty,

I know this is short notice but I just spent a good three weeks trying to convince my parents to let me do this. There's a Ministry function coming up this Saturday and I was wondering if you'd like to go with me? You certainly don't have to, but if you don't I might have to go with Pansy and I know how much you hate the mere idea of that. It's a formal event, yes, but my mother is willing to lend one of her dresses to you. She's reading over my shoulder at the moment, actually, and wants me to tell you that she really did like the dress you wore to the Yule Ball if you feel uncomfortable wearing one of hers. Owl me back with an answer as soon as you can.

I hope to see you soon, Draco

Of course she had replied with a yes. The second Echo flew up and out of reach, though, she was starting to regret her decision.

Her owl definitely knew that was going to happen and was well out of the way before she could even try to take back the letter.

And now she was sitting in her house, freshly cleaned, waiting for Draco to arrive with his mother.

Lucius Malfoy had to be at the function early, a relief to Amisty, knowing she wouldn't have to face his cold expression he always gave her whenever she was within a ten-foot radius of his son. Mrs. Malfoy was much nicer, though a bit harsh with her words occasionally.

She always apologized, which was nice.

Of course, Amisty had politely declined the offer to wear one of Mrs. Malfoy's dresses, preferring the one she owned and the security it gave her.

The golden crown Hermione had given her the night of the Yule Ball was left in the box, she wasn't quite sure how everyone there would react to her wearing it. Especially given the lack of organization she had over her appearance, lost without Hermione's assistance.

There was a soft knock at her door. She took a deep breath, bracing herself as she forced her feet toward the door and curling her fingers around the brass knob. With a turn of her wrist, it was open, and she was to face -- er -- more like face to chest with Draco.

"Hello, Amisty," Mrs. Malfoy greeted her warmly, her icy blue eyes scanning down her appearance. "You look very nice."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," She did what she hoped was a curtsy. "You look beautiful as always."

In fact, she felt as if she were a speck of dirty ruining the beauty of this mother-son companionship.

They were both radiating power, elegant and poised and graceful, both stunning in black, the color stark against their pale skin. And then there was her.

Freckled and tan and in a colorful dress that sparkled. She felt childish, nothing at all like how the partner of Draco should look.

She should've denied his invitation, she should've let him go with Pansy. At least she would know what she was doing --

Her thoughts were interrupted as Draco gently pulled her to his side.

Mrs. Malfoy had kept talking, unaware of her overwhelming thoughts, and apparently they were getting ready to Apparate to the Ministry.

Mrs. Malfoy held onto their arms, and Draco took it upon himself to clasp Amisty's fingers in his own. Just as they were about to leave, he met her gaze and squeezed her hand.