The music pulses about the hall in a sweet lullaby. It’s fresh and bouncy, and it induces laughter from us all. I can’t help but giggle as Hermione’s mahogany mane swirls about her shoulders as she spins, and Ron. Dear Ronald stares in admiration. It is only a matter of time.
The Yule Ball is needed, very needed, snow is falling outside the ceiling tells us so, and in my arms is the chosen one. Or Harry. Even though I’d honestly think that tattooing the chosen one across his forehead would be funny, he silences my words with his kisses. |