Come Together

5. fashion - david bowie

December 1985

"Utterly ghastly," you said, making a face at the dress your friend, Violet, pulled from a rack in a shop in Hogsmeade. It was the Yule Ball, and you still hadn't picked out an ensemble for the dance at 8 that night.

"What will John be wearing?" Violet questioned, with a small, mischievous smile. You both giggled. John was your date to the event, and you asked the Slytherin the previous weekend. He was a handsome fifth year prefect, but horribly shy. You had met at the Sorting Ceremony in September, and became friends throughout the school year, yet staying only as good friends, while you flirted throughout the autumn. But, being the slightly boisterous Hufflepuff you were, you decided to ask him to the dance in the middle of breakfast last Saturday.

"He's wearing a black suit, and a green velvet bow tie. Isn't that so Great Gatsby? I can't wait," you gushed, your head leaning down to rest on the clothing rack next to you.

"Fantastic, great. So should we look for something green to match? What a Slytherin move to wear green to a dance. We get it, hiss hiss," she rolled her eyes. You and Violet became friends after a particularly embarrassing incident in Transfiguration. You two never told the full story, only explaining the ending, that- she ended up with my chicken's beak, and I had her pig's snout!

"Do I really have to match with that abhorrent house? How about a devilish black? Or present some house pride of my own, with something yellow? If every other bloody house can have a hard-on for their founder, so can we! We love you Helga!" you joked, pulling out a bright yellow mini skirt that looked straight out of the sixties, with neon pink flowers. You stick out your tongue in distaste.

"Vile! How is John," her voice dropped to a whisper, "or Professor Snape,'' it rose to normal volume, "going to notice and appreciate your beauty in a simple miniskirt? I recommend a simple green dress, with some fantastic shoulder pads."

You immediately cackled at her words. "What?" You barked out a laugh. "Professor Snape? I'd rather bite it than go with him," you giggled, imagining your teacher dancing to Bennie and the Jets, or worse, Thriller.

It was immensely difficult and repulsive to think of your teacher in a romantic way. Snape? With his brooding glare and his funeral march? Just yesterday, he had commended the elixir you were working on, and assigned a detention because right after he gave you full marks, you accidentally spilled the entire potion on his sleeve while leaning over to high five Violet, causing his sleeve to melt off.

"I'm only joking. He does favor you, but that could be because he's jealous of your Potion talent," she replied, pulling out a very distressed and old dress. "How about this one! It has character!"

"Um, Violet? It's the 1980s, not the 1880s. It would be great for a Death Day party, though." You grimaced. "Also, he definitely does not favor me. He gives me detention almost every class, for the measliest of jokes."

"Rose." She clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. "Haven't you noticed that almost everyone gets house points taken away, but you get detention? He wants to spend time with you outside of class! Not only that, but usually detention with Snape is utter torture. For you, though, he literally lets you do whatever you want, as long as it's in the classroom. You can do other homework, ask him questions. Occasionally he'll make you organize, but you like to organize, and he knows it! Everyone else has to scrub cauldrons, without magic, or polish, or some other grueling task."

You never really thought about that. It was true, though. When comparing his to Professor Sprout, for example, the favoritism was obvious. In Sprout's detention, she made her students fight feisty plants, usually coming our red, sweaty, and caked in dirt. While Snape's detention was like hanging out with a friend. Really, even if you didn't get detention, you would probably go to Snape's classroom at the end of the day anyway, unless you had an exam the next.