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florence cresswell Cresswell Mansion, 7:38pm
— Elegant music rung throughout the hall, the ballroom being a blur of fancy dresses and expensive tasting foods on silver platters.
it was probable that this was the most important pureblood ball of the year, seeing as though it would be the last one before the children were back on their way to hogwarts, leaving behind the strict (and in most cases, abusive.) supremacists homes they had been raised in.
the cresswell family had opted to hold the ball that year, prideful as they fed off of the compliments on their ballroom that had once been a place a little girl had dreamt of dancing in with a big flowy dress; now, the room haunted her, a horrible ache in her stomach every time she stepped foot in the room.
soft hands brought a stolen flute of champaign to somewhat chapped lips, her fingers subconsciously tracing over the delicately engraved designs on the crystal cup.
her fingers itched to pull at the (what seemed like) hundreds of bobby pins placed in her hair, pinning the formal bun in place, with small white flowers decorating the soft brown locks in some places.
the baby blue dress was silky, the off-the-shoulders v-line exposed her prominent collarbone, flowers littered around the top, leading down the waistline.
even in her heels, the dress reached her ankles, puffing out slightly at her hips. while the dress was soft and somewhat silky on the outside, the material on the inner side scratched against her smooth skin.
it was funny, she thought; her parents seemed to hate blue on her when it came in the form of her ravenclaw tie and robes, but had all but forced her into the light blue dress. she rolled her eyes at the thought.
she leaned against the wall, watching the adults and older teenagers twirling on the dance floor, suits and dresses spinning around, dizzying her brain just watching them. she brought the champagne to her lips, taking another sip.
at the sight of her mother standing across the room, her mood dropped even more, if that was even possible. a sour expression crossed her face as she tilted her head back, downing whatever was left of the sparkling drink clutched tightly in her hand.
"you look like you could use some more of that," a voice spoke up from her left, the sound of footsteps accompanying the voice as the speaker approached her.
she glanced to the side, a smile lighting up on her face at the sight of her somewhat-friend; none other than the infamous sirius black, two glasses of champagne in his hands.
