1.2 ARTEMIS | James Sirius Potter

xii. 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎𝖓𝖛𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

twelve
the dancing invitation

"The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament for centuries."

Artemis looked around the Great Hall, which only the Slytherins and students from the Ilvermorny house Thunderbird, occupied. The Americans sat on the opposite wall to the Slytherins looked either smug, bored or terrified. Only students from fourth year and above were allowed to attend, unless a younger student got asked from an older student to attend then they could, though Artemis thought that was rather creepy if the older student chose a student too young.

In the centre of the Great Hall stood her father and professor, walking up and down the line of students as he dutifully explained what the Yule Ball was and what would be expected of them. He had cleared the long oak tables and benches and piled them against each wall. Mr Filch stood near the teachers table with a very old and extremely pink gramophone. The caretaker was still wiping away the cobwebs and dust as it's been stored away since nineteen-ninety-four. Artemis sat in a row at the back with her arms folded and a frown etched permanently on her face. The Yule Ball sounded like an excuse for teachers to get drunk and for students to get laid. Her eyes scanned the row of Americans, wondering if her competitors would be present. Carson Kowalski, the blonde boy who always walked around the grounds with a bored expression, as if nothing—not even wizardry—could interest him. He stared right back at Artemis, unwavering in the gaze. It was so weird. Why was he staring so intently at her?

Draco stopped moving and spread his arms wide, Artemis thankful for a distraction. "The Yule Ball is a dance. And for it, you will need to find yourselves a partner." A grumble of annoyance travelled through the crowd of boys, the girls whispered quietly amongst themselves. "After the Champions dance, it will then be everyone else's turn with a date, to dance. Now—"

"Did you have a date to dance with, Professor Malfoy?" Fred hollered from the back row, his smirk widening as a couple of students cheekily chuckled at Professor Malfoy's hesitant response.

"As a matter of a fact I did, Mr Weasley," Draco drawled in his usual lazy tone of mocking, "though I can't imagine anyone with a single brain cell would want to go with you." The students laughed out loud in a chorus of mismatched laughter, and Artemis's mouth even stretched out into a smile for that she was glad her father had developed such a bond with the Slytherins, enabling both parties to have their fair share of back and forth banter in class.

She'd noticed it in potions class a month or two ago, after that horrific test he's set, he started poking fun at a few students, teasing them until they—meaning Camden and Fred—picked up the nerve to retaliate and when they did all Draco could do was laugh and applaud them. Since then nobody had been afraid of the ex Death Eater and almost every student in her potions class had enough courage to answer back with sarcastic comments or snide little jabs about being a Death Eater. The first Death Eater jab, by courtesy of Fred Weasley, had silenced the class so quickly Artemis feared breathing, but then her fathers eyes crinkled and he laughed, saying something about weasels and Fred definitely being George's son.

"Mr Filch. . ." Draco gestured to the caretaker and the room was filled with sound that Artemis could only describe as old. Classical music. We're they really expected to dance to classical music? Maybe they did that in the nineties, but it was two-thousand and three. "You are expected to waltz, of course. Mr Weasley!" Draco spun on his heel and pointed to Fred's sunken face. "Care to give a demonstration?"