Malfoy's Moon

enemy's waltz

Stepping into the Great Hall brings such a strong sense of déjà vu that it's almost unsettling. The hall is unrecognizable, as it was a year before on this particular day. The walls are embellished with mistletoe and ivy, snaking its way up to meet the hundreds of fine icicles hanging from the ceiling precariously. In the far corner, three imposing trees take up space, adorned with shimmery ornaments, and snow clinging to the dark emerald needles.

Aside from this glittering expanse of ice, Astra's vision is momentarily blurred by flashes of whipping dresses and robes, their infinite colors contrasting the snowy hall. The room is thunderous with voices reverberating against the harsh walls that surround the students. Within the piercing chatter, classical piano music radiates outwards, the chords and tones mingling with the straining sounds of violin.

The music is captivatingly jovial, but she can't help but feel something darker, something more sinister lingering like some melancholic spirit.

Or maybe that's just the effect of the stinging knife she has up her dress.

"Do you think if you maybe stand there for long enough, someone will pity you enough to ask you to dance?"

She whirls around, and her gaze turns towards the sound of the voice. His voice.

He's lounging in an elegant chair just several feet away from her. Many of these chairs are set up along the edges of the room, but most of them are empty, their occupants busy out on the dance floor. Astra's eyes draw back to him, and she finds that he is wearing that infamous black suit, the one he is perpetually strutting about school. His platinum blonde hair is smooth as it always is, hanging just slightly over his forehead, and his startlingly silver eyes reflect something haunting as they pierce into hers. One hand is in his pocket, and the other clutching a glass tightly, perhaps inside it butterbeer or something stronger like fire whiskey.

As he's slouched casually in the chair, his legs wide apart and his head leaning against the wall, he exudes a look of extreme haughtiness. While some people Astra knows may find this appealing, she feels nothing but loathing, a look reflected by his own features as Malfoy stares at her.

And yet, this is her chance.

"Would that someone be you?" She responds.

"If you're asking me to lower my standards to you, then my answer is no." He scoffs, swirling the contents of his glass.

"Or maybe you're just too self-important to ask another to dance," she says, stepping closer. "And so, you're just confined to this little chair in the corner of the room, wallowing in your embarrassment."

The muscles of his jaw twitch briefly. "Whatever you're doing, Hawkings, it's not working."

"Always so obstinate." She says, tilting her head slightly. "Well, this is humiliating. A Malfoy, hiding in the corner."

"Don't." Malfoy mutters harshly, but Astra can see him tightening his hold on his glass.

She knows that Malfoy rarely loses his composure, and this control she has over him is suddenly empowering.

"Go on before I regret this," she says, holding out her hand.

There are several beats of silence before he finally takes her hand firmly. She's temporarily taken aback at the strength in which he holds her hand, as he almost drags her out onto the iced dance floor.

His hand reaches for her waist, while his other takes her hand, his freezing touch as cold as the stoic stare on his face.

And they begin to dance.

At first, she keeps her gaze at his chest or lets her eyes wander to a point above his shoulder. Anywhere but his eyes.

"Look at me," Malfoy says, his voice quiet among the chatter of other students dancing nearby and the strain of piano music.

"I'd rather not." She says coolly.

"It pains my eyes to do so too, Hawkings. But when you dance with someone, you look them in the eyes. Or do you not know how to dance?"

"I know how to dance," she says, affronted.

"Then look at me."

She would've rather drowned than obeyed Malfoy, but reluctantly, she meets his grey eyes and forces herself to maintain a look of calmness.

"You're a careless dancer," he says as he gives her a dangerous spin.

Far be it to agree with Malfoy, but she had to admit it; she's clumsy and uncoordinated on her feet.

"There's no need to grip my waist so hard," she says bitterly, ignoring his previous comment.

"You seem to enjoy it."

She blinks quickly, suddenly flustered. And the moment a flush creeps up her cheeks, she's fuming; infuriated that she let herself lose her composure even for a second. Malfoy was aware of what he was doing, but she couldn't let this be. Tonight, she was in control. Not him.

"If I'm so bad at dancing, then why don't you show me how?" She says, moving her hand across the collar of his suit, so that one of her fingers brushes against his neck ever so slightly.

As he stiffens, she takes a step backwards, still clutching one of his hands. The other dancers and the music and chatter might've even disappeared because it's only her and Malfoy in this strange reality.

He raises an eyebrow, his features contorted in a bemused look. Then, his grasp on her hand tightens suddenly and he follows her off the dance floor.

Astra can hardly register the absurdity of this situation; Draco Malfoy, following a girl he's loathed since he was eleven.

a/n: i'm in love with the song above <3