Of Pranks & Princes

The week before the Ball flew by in a flit and flurry of rejections. Harry Potter had asked Cho Chang who was already spoken for, Patty was politely turned down by Adrian Pucey, and of course, Emily still felt residually burned by Roger’s rejection.

Still, the Ball was all anyone could talk about, and Emily tried to filter conversation for literally anything else, but it was no use. The girls constantly gushed about their attire and their makeup. The boys compared dates. And Emily had no escape from it all.

The day before Christmas Eve, Professor Flitwick called the Ravenclaw fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh years to the Charms classroom for what he called an emergency meeting just before lunchtime. Violet carried a handful of books, even though the school was on holiday, and passed Emily her Potions text to use for the essay Severus had so kindly assigned.

For the entire walk with Violet down to the third floor, Emily could feel her heart pounding in panic. Her hands were so clammy it was like she had just dipped them into the Black Lake, and she was nervous she would let Violet’s book slip from her grip altogether. She tried to act normal, but it was hardly convincing.

“What’re you so worked up for?” Violet asked, shifting the weight of three textbooks to her other arm.

Emily wanted to confess her dread towards seeing Roger, who she knew would be there, but Violet didn’t know what happened between them the week before — nobody did. And for now, to save what little was left of her pride, she wanted to keep it that way.

“Just unusual for Flitwick to use the word ‘emergency,’” she said with a slight shrug as she tried to calm her heart rate. “Wonder what for.”

“Probably just the standard ‘behave yourself in the presence of our guests’ spiel.” Emily could feel Violet’s eyes scanning her face. “You sure you’re okay?”

Emily nodded, pursing her lips into a hard line across her face. She glanced around for Roger before she answered. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Then stop being so weird!” Violet slung her arm across Emily’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “It’s nearly Christmas — and the Ball!”

She had to stop herself from cringing at the word. For a moment, she had let herself forget about the Yule Ball… and the fact that she no longer had a date. And meanwhile, Roger had Fleur Delacour, a Champion and beautiful, to boot.

“Em?”

Violet’s voice snapped her from her stupor, and she nudged towards the door as the students entered the classroom.

Inside, Flitwick was dressed in fine sapphire robes with a garland wrapped loosely around his neck and a tall black hat perched atop his head. The desks were all pushed tight against the wall, leaving the centre of the classroom in empty space.

“Welcome, welcome,” he said and walked to the side of the room, “file in now. Boys to the left, girls to the right, please.”

“What’s the emergency, Professor?” asked Allison as she closed the door behind her, and Emily felt her chest tighten upon the realization that even Head Girl didn’t know what this was for.

“As you all know, the Yule Ball will be held in two days’ time. It’s customary for the Champions to participate in a waltz and for the rest of the students to join them partway through.”

“A waltz?” Sarah Fawcett asked, incredulous. “We don’t know how to waltz!”

A wide smile parted Flitwick’s lips. “Indeed, Miss Fawcett. That’s precisely why I’ve brought you all here.”

With a flick of his wand, a phonograph materialised by his side.

“Might I have some volunteers?” Flitwick asked and scanned the room. “Miss Prince and Mister Davies, perhaps?”

Emily felt her heart drop and watched as Roger pushed through the crowd, almost as if it didn’t faze him at all. She moved, though slowly, hesitantly, begrudgingly, to join him.

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have surprised her: they had been a couple, after all, and were both prefects together. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Mister Davies,” Flitwick started, and the two needed to look down to see him. They stood facing each other but not looking at each other at all. “If you’ll please, take Miss Prince’s hand.” And they did. Emily tried not to reel at the touch of Roger’s skin against her own. “Good, now put your hand on her waist please, and Miss Prince, set yours on Mister Davies’s shoulder.”

They matched position as instructed, and Emily still couldn’t look Roger in the eye despite their proximity.

“Excellent!” Flitwick whipped his wand again, and a record played from the phonograph, its light airy melody filling the classroom. “Now, the standard waltz timing is in three.” He used his wand as a conductor’s guide. “One – two – three… one – two – three…”

Emily stepped in time with Flitwick’s counts, and Roger led her body with his. She hated being so close to him.

She parted her lips in a grin and let her eyes wander around the room, though she couldn’t help but focus on Roger, the slump of his frame, the dull look in his eyes.

“Just fake it,” she growled through her forced smile. She didn’t plan to draw attention to it; the words just erupted from her lips. “I’m not dealing with this right now.”

For a moment, he looked almost forlorn, staring past her. “Should we really have to?”

He had already moved beyond her; she could see it in his face, though that was hardly what bothered her.

It wasn’t that Emily was hung up on Roger. In fact, there was a part of her that was grateful to be rid of him. The distance she had carved between them wasn’t fair, and it was only right for him to try for someone else, someone better, maybe. The separation was freeing, almost. She didn’t have to worry about Roger or how Roger would feel or what Roger would think or how to be polite when admitting to Roger that she hated his every move. There could maybe even be normalcy with the twins again, now that Roger was out of the picture.

But it was hard, too, to acknowledge that she had been dumped. It was embarrassing, a dirty little secret she had kept to herself for the past week. But the deadline for the Ball was quickly approaching, and at this rate, she wouldn’t even be going — and what then?

Emily and Roger looked as intended, spinning together around the classroom, like they were still together, like they would be doing this just two nights from now as they did here. Nobody suspected any change — or if they did they gave no indication. Violet smiled at them, none the wiser about the way Roger’s plans changed. And the way Emily’s plans would still need to, and quick.

“You know I’m sorry,” he finally said, and he spun her in a way that was showy and intimate. Flitwick seemed giddy at the sight. “I’ve told you that.”

“You’ve said a lot of things, Roger.” Her shoulders tensed, but she did her best to maintain her composure.

Flitwick tapped his wand to get the attention of the remaining students as he partnered them off, but Emily was too busy stewing at Roger to notice as the floor filled up around them. She silently begged for Flitwick to show her some mercy.

Violet was partnered with Nathan Heidt who may as well have had two left feet, and she led him through each move with the grace of a practiced ballerina. Though the moves were backwards, their dance was so elegant, no one said a word against it.

“Wonderful, wonderful!” cried Flitwick, and he swayed on his own near the phonograph before he caught glimpse of a fifth year couple. “Hand up, please, Mister Gorman; it should be a wand’s length up from its current position.”

He hummed the counts as the students swayed gracelessly across the classroom floor.

After another agonizing few minutes, Flitwick dismissed them all, gushing politely about how fantastic they would look at the Ball.

“So who are you going to the Ball with?” Roger asked as he dropped her hand.

Emily’s jaw flexed. “Don’t be an arse.”

“I’m being serious, Em.” He set his hand beneath her chin and lifted it so her eyes met his.

She slapped his hand away from her and grabbed her Potions text before turning on her heel. “Shove off, Davies.”

Emily had already long lost Violet by the time she got to the staircase to head to lunch. She could feel the embarrassed heat radiating from her cheeks and tried to shake it away.

At the same time, she felt free, removed from Roger. Her fingertips still stung with her slap, but it was worth it to feel so liberated. She had waited so long, trying to cling to the fantasy that everything was fine, even when she knew it wasn’t. Now she finally had the chance to really think about what she wanted — or maybe who. The heaviness in the pit of her stomach as she headed towards the Great Hall, towards the Gryffindor table where she knew he would be, didn’t help ease her anxieties.

Maybe she had waited too long, and everyone would be taken already. Violet found a date in a tall, handsome Durmstrang boy named Edvard, as Emily had sagely predicted, and Amina and Patty were going with twin Beauxbatons boys. She heard rumours that Lee Jordan had agreed on a ‘just friends’ arrangement with Alicia Spinnet, who had bit the bullet and asked him herself. Emily didn’t know what the twins had planned, though she knew what she hoped, even if she didn’t totally understand why.

Although it was a Friday, it didn’t feel that way — it hadn’t for a while. She couldn’t remember the last time she hung out with the twins after Potions, though she knew it had been over a week since the outburst in class, since her pushing him away, since Roger dropping her on her arse…

Emily was initially fuelled by a nauseating mix of aggravation and embarrassment, which morphed to near-panic the closer she got to the Great Hall.

She had the entire conversation planned and rehearsed in her head, but it wasn’t enough to put her at ease. Not until she finally asked. Not until he said yes.

“How about a truce?” she practised under her breath, the words brushing coolly against the back of her teeth. “No. I'd like a truce..." She sighed before continuing, "so maybe we could go to the Ball together.”

It seemed so easy in theory, with the weight of Roger lifted off her shoulders, but the words were still stiff and heavy and difficult.

Of course, as soon as Emily walked into the Great Hall that afternoon, as soon as she saw Violet waving her over to their house table, she saw him, and the words evaporated from her tongue. He sat next to George, of course, with his younger brother on his other side and Lee not too far off. They were mid-conversation, all jokes and laughter, and she was still a little bitter. She suddenly realized just how long it had been since they had even spoken to each other. George, on the other hand, was cordial enough to pass a whispered ‘hello’ in the corridor but careful not to ruffle feathers with Fred.

Fred’s voice rose suddenly above the chatter of the room. “Nose out, Ron, or I’ll burn that for you too,” he said and threatened his brother with a flippant wave of his wand. The prefect in her was tempted to dock points for blatant recklessness, but she pretended not to notice.

As Emily moved around and over towards the Gryffindor table on her way to Ravenclaw’s, she thought he saw her, though she had been trying to move discreetly for now, her hair curtaining her face and her body hunched over her Potions text. She wanted to talk to him, but after everything that had happened she didn’t know how to bring it up. Fred continued to his brother and his friends, “So… you lot got dates to the Ball yet?”

Had he heard?

It sure seemed like he had, with the way he eyed her as she moved, the way he punctuated the joke — if it even was a joke — with a haughty chuckle.

Ron replied, loudly enough, that he hadn’t found a date, and Fred was quick to add, his voice mocking, “Well, you better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones’ll be taken.”

Emily caught his glance with her own and stopped in place. Her whole body went cold as his eyes narrowed on her, her pulse raging between her ears.

“Who’re you going with then?” Ron asked, and Fred turned back to him.

It seemed as though they had been looking at each other for ages, but it was so much briefer than that—a moment in passing. Fred grinned at his brother. “Angelina.”

Emily walked on, her fists clenched tight to her book as she found her seat at the end of the Ravenclaw table next to Violet and made a shallow attempt and effort to focus on her Potions essay. She only got one sentence in before her heavy pressing on the quill tore a hole through her parchment.

“Oi! Angelina!” Angelina Johnson only sat a few feet away with only a handful of people between them, but his voice still echoed through the Great Hall. She turned from her conversation with Alicia Spinnet to look back expectantly at Fred as he asked, “Want to come to the Ball with me?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angelina smile as she agreed, and Emily dug her face back into her parchment, clenching her jaw so tight that her teeth ached.

It shouldn’t have bothered her so much, really. What did she care that Fred had a date, and now she didn’t? What did she care that it was Angelina? What did she care that it almost seemed deliberate, him asking in front of her like that?

She didn’t care. Obviously she didn’t. She’d find somebody else. She didn’t need him anyhow…

“What a right git, making a scene like that,” Violet grumbled as she leaned her elbow on the table. She had been reading her Muggle Studies textbook, which was laid out in front of her, open to a chapter on various muggle currencies and commerce. She turned to Emily and beamed. “But, honestly, who cares who he’s going with, Em? You’ve got Roger!”

Emily brushed her fingers along the feathers of her quill, her lips pursed.

Oblivious, Violet continued, “Do you know what you’ll be wearing yet? I know Amina and Patty need to go to Hogsmeade on Saturday to get shoes—I mean, Amina’s mum got her shoes already, but they’re truly dreadful, so either way we’re going, and —”

“Stop,” Emily said without looking back at her. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air between them. “Just stop.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Emily could see how taken aback Violet was. “What’s wrong?”

Emily just shook her head as she turned back to face Violet, and over her shoulder she could see him tripping over himself to talk to Fleur Delacour.

Violet turned to match her gaze and saw him too, letting out a loud gasp at the sight. Emily hushed her and pulled her back in towards the table.

“Are you just going to let him treat you that way?” Violet demanded, her eyes focused on Emily’s face, its pallor unsettling.

“It hardly matters now,” Emily grumbled and shoved her parchment back into the textbook. She tried not to think about it, but it was too much, and she could feel the frustration welling up in her eyes. “He dumped me.”

The news didn’t register at first, and Violet let out a set of rapid blinks in response until it all clicked.

She hissed, “He dumped you? Who does he think he is?”

She jumped up as if to go confront him, but Emily yanked her down.

“He thinks he’s a champion’s date,” she said through clenched teeth, and Violet fell back into her seat, stunned.

“Oh, Emmy…” Violet said and laid her head on Emily’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Emily paused. She thought about everybody else all paired up — Violet with Edvard, Lee with Alicia, Roger with Fleur, Fred with Angelina… “But don’t be mad that I’m not going to the Ball either.”

“Absolutely not,” said Violet, and there was such determination in her voice that Emily turned to look at her. “That’s like letting him win.”

Emily sighed and crossed her arms against her chest as she slunk down further in her seat. “It’s not a competition, Vi.”

“Like hell it’s not!”

“It’s not, really” Emily insisted.

“I won’t let him ruin this for you.”

Emily pursed her lips into a hard line across her face and took a sharp inhale through her nose before answering. “It’s not ruining anything. I just…” Her voice faltered, cracked. “I just don’t feel to go anymore.”

“You deserve to go and have fun too, Em. Not just Roger.” Violet leaned her head against Emily’s shoulder. “You should go.”

Emily conceded, “I’ll think about it.”

Violet’s lips turned to a smile. “That’s all I ask.” She stood up and gave Emily one last hug from behind before running off to make Hogsmeade plans with Amina and Patty.

Over the course of lunch, the Great Hall cleared out, and Emily wound up basically alone. She sat stewing, tapping her fingers against the cover of Violet’s Potions book and trying not to think about her shite luck.

Suddenly, a figure appeared beside her.

“If anyone asks, I’m trying to convince you to let me borrow Baron to send a letter,” George whispered, plopping himself down to fill the empty space next to her. He noticed her sulk and asked offhandedly, “Why so glum, chum?”

Emily let a scoff pass through her lips. She didn’t even turn to look at him. “As if you don’t know.”

He leaned closer to her, and she could just barely make out his outline in her periphery.

“Have I missed something then?” He paused. “You know, there are two of me here, so chances are you maybe told the other one…”

“You know damn well I haven’t told Fred anything.” Her voice had the low rumble of a lion’s growl, angry and defensive.

With a shrug, George admitted defeat. “Well then I’ve got nothing.”

Emily finally turned to look at him, saw the honesty in his expression, and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“You can tell me what’s up,” George said as he set a hand on her back. “Won’t even tell a single soul.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Emily sucked in a deep breath, held it in her lungs, then released it, before she spoke. “Roger dumped me.”

George’s face softened. “Why?”

“Because apparently French girls are more exotique or whatever,” she grumbled, and dropped her head into her hands.

“More exotic than our very own Hogwarts royalty?” he joked and pulled her into a hug. “What a dumb git.”

In spite of herself, Emily smiled. “I just… with this stupid Ball coming up…”

“You still going?”

“Why should I bother?” She let her head fall against the table with a frustrated moan.

“Because,” George said, nudging her at the shoulder; once she looked up at him, he continued, “I haven’t got a date either, and I’d at least enjoy going with a friend.”

“You serious? You’re not going with anyone?”

George smirked. “If I had a date, would I ask someone else too? That’s a Davies move; total shite.”

She chuckled, despite herself, and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Thanks, George.”

“Consider it a personal favour.” He shifted in his seat. “Don’t think I could go a whole night with Fred and Angelina together without some company.”

At the mention of Fred, Emily felt her heart sink into her stomach.

“Oh, right.” She took a strand of hair between her fingers absentmindedly and pulled at the dead ends. “Can’t much blame you for that.”

“Y’know what?”

Emily turned back to face him again. “Yeah?”

“I’m actually pretty excited for the Ball now.” He grinned, and she tried to match him. “Thanks, Em.”

And she was glad that at least one of them felt better…

>>>

Emily awoke on Christmas morning to a small stack of neatly wrapped gifts at the foot of her bed. There was a small one sitting on her trunk — from her mother, she could tell. It was wrapped in the same red and green striped paper that her mother had used for the last four years. Perched atop was a rectangle wrapped in the latest issue of the Daily Prophet with an elegant silver ribbon.

“That one’s from me,” Violet said, plopping herself down on Emily’s bed. She tossed her the present.

Emily was careful to save the paper, setting it aside to read later, and pulled the gift’s contents from its box. It was a deep indigo jumper, the same style as the one she often borrowed.

“I figured you liked it so much I should get you your own,” said Violet, beaming proudly.

Emily playfully raised her brow. “So I don’t have to borrow yours anymore?”

“Well, if that’s an unintended consequence, then so be it.” The corners of Violet’s mouth upturned into a smirk.

“I love it,” she said and pulled Violet into a hug. “Thanks.”

“Happy Christmas, Em.”

Emily jumped out of bed and moved her mum’s present to the floor as she dug through her trunk. She pulled out a small box topped with a bow and handed it to Violet. “Happy Christmas, Vi.”

Violet was a voracious gift receiver, and she tore the paper to shreds, dumping the box’s contents into her lap in a heap of cardboard and tissue paper. Buried beneath it all was a beautiful golden fountain pen.

“It’s what muggles write with — well, fancy muggles, at least,” Emily explained after seeing Violet’s look of confusion. “It’s like a quill but without an inkwell.”

“It’s incredible.” Violet was starstruck, holding the pen in the palm of her hand with the gingerest care.

Emily smiled. “Glad you like it.”

“You’ve one more, you know,” Violet said, pointing to the red-and-green-wrapped gift on the floor. “From your mum, if I had to guess.”

Inside the familiar wrapping was a leather-bound journal pressed with a ‘P’. She opened it, and there was a note from her mother on the first page.

Dearest Emily,
Joyeux Noël!
Let this journal house your every thought, fear, and emotion. In this turbulent time, it is important to have record of the life you have lived, for yourself and for posterity.
I love you, ma chère.
Stay safe.
— Maman

In this turbulent time… Stay safe. Her mother’s note seemed ominous in a way that left her unsettled. She remembered the letters to Severus: Secrets. Julian. Debt. Dark. Danger. Magic. Home. Severus, I am so terribly afraid.

She thrust the journal underneath her pillow, shaking the thought from her mind, at least for now. She would write to her later. Maybe she’d even get some answers.

But for now, it was time for the Christmas Day breakfast feast.

In the Great Hall, she was nearly rushed by George, who seemed much less inconspicuous about talking to her this time. “Oi, Em! Happy Christmas!”

In her arm, she had gifts for Fred and George, which she had bought and saved from over the summer. They were small — just trick trinkets that she hoped they’d appreciate.

George handed Emily a lumpy package, wrapped in brown polka-dot paper. “It’s from Mum, to go with what you made last year, I guess.”

Emily fondly remembered the purple-coloured hat Mrs. Weasley had knit her for a gift the Christmas previous.

“These are for you… and Fred.” She swapped packages with him, feeling something else beneath his as she took it in her hand. George agreed to give Fred his so that she wouldn’t have to.

“Got you a little something as well,” he said. “Well, ‘s’from Fred too, I suppose.”

The package beneath was an unwrapped tin of treacle fudge adorned with a cheeky note: This is definitely not poisoned. – F&G.

“Thanks, George. I’m sure somewhere there’s a silly ‘it’s sweet, like you’ joke to go along with it.”

George let out a light chuckle. “Of course.”

Emily tried not to glance over at Fred, who sat at the Gryffindor table with Angelina Johnson. But, of course, she did anyway, and she saw them side-by-side. They were talking, though she wasn’t sure about what.

“And, hey, I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

She turned back to George who was beaming, with his and Fred’s gifts tucked neatly under his arm. “Eight o’clock sharp.”

Once she sat down for breakfast next to Violet and Amina, Emily opened the gift from Mrs. Weasley, though she had a suspicion of what it was. When she tore open the paper, something fell from between the folds of fabric, and as it hit against the table top, Emily let out a surprised gasp.

Amina rushed to pick the thing up, setting it gingerly against her palm and holding it out to Emily.

It was a locket, adorned with a silvery fleur-de-lis on its front, hanging from a long chain.

“Merlin’s beard, Em, it’s lovely.” Amina looked from the locket to Emily and back.

Violet’s response was more pragmatic: “Who’s it from?”

Mrs. Weasley was a lovely knitter, but fine jewellery wasn’t normally her style. Still, Emily was immensely grateful, and she conceded, “I don’t know exactly.”

“Well you should wear it,” Amina decided, jumping up and putting the locket around Emily’s neck. “No use letting it go to waste, yeah?”

Emily held the locket’s pendant in her hand, running her fingers against the engraved design. “Yeah…”

Before breakfast was over, she had one more thing to do once Angelina was gone…

“Hey.” Emily took hesitant steps toward Fred and tapped his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“For what?” he asked with a face full of porridge. He wore a doe-eyed expression, like she had surprised him with the sentiment.

“For the fudge.” She wanted to ask about the locket but decided against it.

“Oh.” He looked down at his bowl, spinning the spoon around its rim. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

She stood awkwardly over him, an uncomfortable tension interrupting what little conversation they had. The fabric of her new jumper scratched against her, the metal of the locket burning against her skin. “There’s something for you — just something little — with George.”

“Okay.” He didn’t look at her, didn’t move to get up. He hardly seemed to notice what she had said at all.

Emily took a deep breath and went to leave. Over her shoulder, she looked back at Fred and said, her voice little more than a dejected whisper, “Happy Christmas.”