It was forever at the most public of places where she felt that he saw her the most clearly. Perhaps only because everything seemed so heightened in her mind, that naturally he must as well. That did little to assuage the young witch's heart, whose longing for more than his hand and words could never be satisfied when surrounded by so many eyes. Halloween had taught her just how many lurked over shoulders and through the tinted glasses of drinks which she would have liked to preoccupy their holders just a bit more.
Why Millie had never thought to come here with him before now, attired as now in their very best, to spend their evening within an empty hall, came as a shock to her in retrospect. The fantasy made itself no less obviously known to her than the procession of the seventh-year girls, debutantes now, descending from the staircase in dazzling splendor to curtsy and twirl before her. And then it faded as she did, into the crowd around her and the weight of all their eyes, set so briefly upon the same procession as hers but with the promise of wandering to find her hand entwined with Ben's eventually.
"You didn't have to do this," Millie found herself genuinely surprised at Ben's thoughtfulness, though she had little reason to be. Had he ever been anything but the most upstanding gentleman at Hogwarts since they had met? The lines of verse on the dance card, her dance card, sent the young witch hurtling back into her fantasy, this time with a Great Hall decorated as clearing in the forest of her dreams. When she turned the card over, her eyes came back to the present with a vision of Benedict, not the fantasy or the evening's debutantes now, filling them this time.
A gentleman first in line on his gifted card, naturally.
Unlacing her fingers from his did not come easily. It was a necessary task, however, her hand had lingered too long as the procession of their older, finished classmates came to a close. Her lips drew into a thin line that did little justice to her nerves, or his, raising her hand up to reveal a dance card. It was as plain and unadorned as all the others, already hanging by a simple cord from her wrist. "All the girls, my apologies, all the women get one at a dance. Perhaps you were a bit distracted on the day we covered that in etiquette classes."
Now the young witch felt her lips curl into a smile, one she tried to make as warm and charming as he was. Suffering the headache and insomnia of OWLs found her trying, in the midst of it all, to cling to this one night in her future. Living it now, Millie wished she could capture it with a charm, stretch it out until forever eclipsed eternity somehow. All that had consumed her in that time, when she could no longer fret over the contents of her studies or the penalty if she failed, was a thought of sharing a dance with Ben here. One that Millie was going to see through with his dance card hanging from her wrist.
"Will you help me with yours? I would like it on my wrist instead." It seemed silly to expect him to come with the tools or material to do so, though perhaps they could make do with what they had in the moment. The young witch was tired of examiner prodding her for solutions to problems, but there was one part that she could do. A firm yank on the dance card freed it, with the tiniest of tears in its corner, from the cord on her wrist. Offering her wrist, and his card, back to him, Millie gazed up over the bare skin of her arm, filling her eyes with him in trust and anticipation.
Why Millie had never thought to come here with him before now, attired as now in their very best, to spend their evening within an empty hall, came as a shock to her in retrospect. The fantasy made itself no less obviously known to her than the procession of the seventh-year girls, debutantes now, descending from the staircase in dazzling splendor to curtsy and twirl before her. And then it faded as she did, into the crowd around her and the weight of all their eyes, set so briefly upon the same procession as hers but with the promise of wandering to find her hand entwined with Ben's eventually.
"You didn't have to do this," Millie found herself genuinely surprised at Ben's thoughtfulness, though she had little reason to be. Had he ever been anything but the most upstanding gentleman at Hogwarts since they had met? The lines of verse on the dance card, her dance card, sent the young witch hurtling back into her fantasy, this time with a Great Hall decorated as clearing in the forest of her dreams. When she turned the card over, her eyes came back to the present with a vision of Benedict, not the fantasy or the evening's debutantes now, filling them this time.
A gentleman first in line on his gifted card, naturally.
Unlacing her fingers from his did not come easily. It was a necessary task, however, her hand had lingered too long as the procession of their older, finished classmates came to a close. Her lips drew into a thin line that did little justice to her nerves, or his, raising her hand up to reveal a dance card. It was as plain and unadorned as all the others, already hanging by a simple cord from her wrist. "All the girls, my apologies, all the women get one at a dance. Perhaps you were a bit distracted on the day we covered that in etiquette classes."
Now the young witch felt her lips curl into a smile, one she tried to make as warm and charming as he was. Suffering the headache and insomnia of OWLs found her trying, in the midst of it all, to cling to this one night in her future. Living it now, Millie wished she could capture it with a charm, stretch it out until forever eclipsed eternity somehow. All that had consumed her in that time, when she could no longer fret over the contents of her studies or the penalty if she failed, was a thought of sharing a dance with Ben here. One that Millie was going to see through with his dance card hanging from her wrist.
"Will you help me with yours? I would like it on my wrist instead." It seemed silly to expect him to come with the tools or material to do so, though perhaps they could make do with what they had in the moment. The young witch was tired of examiner prodding her for solutions to problems, but there was one part that she could do. A firm yank on the dance card freed it, with the tiniest of tears in its corner, from the cord on her wrist. Offering her wrist, and his card, back to him, Millie gazed up over the bare skin of her arm, filling her eyes with him in trust and anticipation.
![[Image: uHwnE8q.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/V68t8zfV/uHwnE8q.png)