❝ 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 isn't the only Londoner in Hogwarts, dreading summers under
the German air bombings, wondering if he'd live to enact his plans. Cue a girl living on borrowed time, who couldn't give less of a shit about dying.
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𝗗𝗲𝗰𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟯𝟭, 𝟭𝟵𝟰𝟰
The voyage up from the dungeons to the converted ballroom is nearly without incident.
Nearly.
They must make for a comical sight; two girls striding demurely in their enormous jewel-toned ballgowns, their heels click rhythmically against the tiled floor of the castle's corridors and the expensive fabrics of their dresses rustle like whispered lullabies.
Immediately following them, is a slip of a girl. She's seemingly floating, tiptoeing silently en pointe in pearl colored pointe shoes with no visible effort – if not for her face, she could've easily been her studio's Prima Ballerina Assoluta. Her ensemble takes up far less space than those of her companions but compensates for that with its near blinding luminosity.
They are also bickering about tits.
Specifically, Walburga and Druella debate vehemently about whether or not the other is showing enough cleavage to be historically accurate for her chosen time period – Elizabeth snorts as she surmises that both are showing far too much-
-and in her distraction nearly trips over her very, very expensive Acromantula silk coat.
She should've forced the girls to enlarge an old ballet costume for her, rather than let them talk her into this ridiculous decades' theme.
They only pause for a second, frantically ensuring that she didn't accidently rip the moon spun fabric – before descending into deranged cackles, gaining befuddled looks from the other opulently dressed students who are making the trip alongside them.
They pass several more shifting staircases and various portraits that compliment their outfits as they pass by – and empathetically ask if they aren't cold dressed like that – and Elizabeth is proud of herself for braving the trip with only minimal nervous tugging at the diamond collar around her neck. Before long, they are lowering the tone of their conversations as they reach the grand staircase that would lead them down into the ballroom.
How come down? You may ask.
Well, since Wixen kind is nothing if not dramatic, the faculty had decided to magic up a ballroom that would be suspended in the space between the first and second floor. With the entrance being on the second floor, that meant that anyone entering would get to experience a fairytale princess moment walking down a grand staircase – a pompous, dramatic entrance fit for pompous, dramatic people.
The boys are waiting for them by the entrance to the ballroom – and Elizabeth can already hear the sounds of a live orchestra and general polite humdrum emanating up from the ballroom.
