Remus Lupin | Valentine's Ball | Part IV

[February 14 - 07:00 PM - Tonight is the ball]

Remus Lupin couldn't believe how good the Great Hall looked all decked out for the Valentine's Day Ball.

Soft pink and gold streamers cascaded from the enchanted ceiling, floating candles casting everything in a warm, flattering glow. The house tables had been replaced with smaller, round ones dressed in blush-colored cloth, each crowned with flickering centerpieces.

“Blimey, and all this under Snape's direction?” he asked James as they stepped inside. “I can't believe you got him on the planning committee.”

“Being Head Boy has its perks,” James smirked as they headed to one of the round tables where the Valentine's Day feast would be served.

He and James were going stag — Remus by choice, James because he'd gotten shot down by Lily. Again.

“The food had better be good,” Remus warned as they sat. “The full moon is in a few days, and I'm feeling peckish.”

They joined Peter and Sirius and their dates. Sirius looked completely besotted, leaning in close to his date with that unguarded smile he only got when he forgot anyone else was watching. Remus felt a surge of relief that they'd called off the pranks when Sirius had gotten the last-minute invite from his crush.

As funny as it would have been to have a bevy of goblins carry in an ice sculpture depicting Snape and Malfoy in the throes of passion, or for half the chairs in the room to make farting sounds any time someone shifted in their seat, that might have derailed the romantic evening Sirius was hoping for. And Remus was feeling a little worn out anyway.

He was happy to hang out with his friends, listening to the band (seriously, what kind of name for a band was the Strange Siblings? Killer sound, though), and watching James try to woo Lily for the billionth time — even after she'd rejected his invitation to the Ball. Graduation was only a few months away, and there wouldn't be many more nights like this. At least, not at Hogwarts.

I'm going to miss this.

The food appeared on their table. Roast chicken with crisped skin, honeyed carrots, warm rolls with butter that melted instantly. And pudding. Proper pudding. Treacle tart, chocolate mousse, strawberries dipped in cream.

“Good shout, James,” Remus grinned as he shoveled in. “I was afraid when you insisted on planning the menu that it would be filled with spinach and healthy alternatives just to impress Lily. What was it she was eating the other day? Tofu and carrot chips?”

Remus shuddered. He was too much of a carnivore to face a vegetarian menu, especially this close to the moon.

Peter was already flushed and giggling beside his date, clearly having the time of his life. Sirius looked radiant, laughing easily, his attention wholly fixed on his date.

They look happy. Good. They deserve it.

The clinking of cutlery slowed as people finished their meals.

The music swelled.

The dancing opened with the couples James had selected to kick things off — completely unnecessary, in Remus' opinion. He suspected he'd devised that scheme just to torment Snape.

Sure enough, James smirked openly as Snape stalked onto the dance floor, expression dark and put-upon as ever, leading his date with stiff precision. Remus caught Sirius glancing across the room as well, noting Regulus escorting some impeccably dressed Pureblood who looked as though she'd stepped straight out of a society portrait.

“No doubt arranged by Mother,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

Other couples filtered onto the dance floor over the next half hour. James stayed at the table with Remus for a bit, chatting about tactics for the upcoming Gryffindor v. Ravenclaw Quidditch match. Then he spotted Lily across the room, no date in sight.

“Do you mind, mate?” he asked. “I'll be back in a bit. Wish me luck.”

James disappeared into the throng, off to try to woo Lily once more.

You have to admire his tenacity.

Remus stayed put.

The full moon was only a few days away. He could feel it already — a low hum beneath his skin, a restlessness in his bones. Dancing felt like more effort than it was worth. He opted instead for another helping of pudding, watching the room with mild contentment. He was about to hunt down Dorcas Meadowes — she was always good for a conversation at these things, preferring to sit and observe rather than be in the middle of the dance floor — when he noticed it.

A flash of pink near a group of seventh-year Ravenclaws.

Then another.

A Hufflepuff boy blinked in confusion as the ends of his hair shifted unmistakably to bubblegum pink.

Remus’ stomach dropped.

Across the room, a Gryffindor girl shrieked as her sleek, dark curls flushed rosy.

“Oh, for —” he breathed.

More heads were turning pink.

“Oh fuck.”

He set his plate down and scanned for James.

He cancelled the charms. He said he would.

But he couldn’t shake the creeping dread. He looked at his watch. It was nearly 9 p.m., the time that the suits of armor had been charmed to come to life. Pink hair was one thing, but if James had forgotten to cancel the charms on the armor...

He shoved through the crowd, weaving between startled students, and found James near the punch bowl — wand out, expression caught somewhere between horror and calculation.

“Mate!” Remus hissed. “The charms on the punch bowl and the armor — don’t tell me you forgot to cancel them.”

“Forgot is a strong word — ”

Before he could finish, a suit of armor near the staff table jerked violently to life, its visor snapping upward.

And then, to Remus' horror, it set its sights on Professor McGonagall. In a booming voice that could be heard through the entire Great Hall, it sang:

“Oh, Scottish lass of round, pert ass,

What I would give to take your class;

Your brogue is thick and your sharp wit,

Makes my codpiece a tight fit.

And when you shift to puss from miss,

It makes my feral senses twitch.

And now that I have come to life,

I beg you: please, become my wife!”

The Hall fell silent for half a second and then descended into chaos as McGonagall’s face turned a shade that rivaled the students’ hair.

“Oh fuck,” James said faintly. “I can still fix this.”

Another suit of armor began attempting a clanking, deeply inappropriate tango with Albus Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, who seemed rather into it, even plucking a rose from a centerpiece and putting it between his teeth.

Students were shrieking — some laughing, some mortified — as more and more hair turned pink in waves around the room.

And then — because the night clearly had not yet reached its peak — one of Aberforth’s goats, present for reasons no one fully understood, let out an indignant bleat after being startled by a lunging breastplate.

The goat bolted.

Straight toward James.

James, mid-counter-charm on the punch bowl, yelped as the goat collided with his legs. The bowl tipped and slipped from his hands.

Remus pulled out his wand, but there was no stopping the punch bowl's trajectory. It seemed almost to slow in the air as the enchanted punch cascaded outward and drenched {{user}} head to toe.

Silence.

Then chaos redoubled.

Remus barely registered it.

The shouting. The armor clanging. McGonagall’s voice cutting through the din. James attempting damage control while fending off an indignant goat.

All of it faded as Remus registered a new scent, more powerful than anything he'd ever smelled before. The punch had washed away whatever scent {{user}} had been wearing — or perhaps it had somehow amplified {{poss}} natural scent. Whatever it was, the end result was the same:

Remus had never smelled anything so wonderful in his life.

He was at {{poss}} side in an instant.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low.

He vaguely heard McGonagall yelling at James as professors and prefects contained the chaos, and the dancing resumed. He knew that, as a prefect, he should probably be helping, but he couldn't pull himself away.

Besides, {{sub}} need assistance. So I'm technically not abandoning my prefect duties.

“Let's get you dried off,” he said, pulling out his wand. “I'm quite good with cleaning charms; I think I can keep these stains from setting in.”

He took a deep breath, {{poss}} scent filling his nostrils.

Go ddrapia. I'm completely done for.