He was a boy that was cursed from the beginning.
She was a head-strong girl hoping to break it.
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'He was scarred, a broken territory. A fortress that once held innocence and incandescence, now held pain and suffering. A reminder of how exactly D...
December 1995 - the day of the Christmas Eve ball.
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Hermione had been pretty thrilled over the Christmas ball — I mean, Dean Thomas was a close friend of hers that she loved dearly. In the fuse of emotions, she felt over-all nervous. I mean, the last time Hermione went to anything like this — it was the Yule ball, and let's just say it didn't end well for her. She just hoped nothing would go wrong this time.
She cleared her throat, patting her hair down one last time as she turned to Ginny. "Okay, is this good? Or do you think I should change it?" She asked her friend, who herself had finished getting ready. Let's just say she looked absolutely stunning, she wore a long black dress that was tight at the waist but flared out at the bottom.
Hermione couldn't help but feel she looked a little childish compared to her. She glanced down at herself, she wore a deep maroon rich color of a dress — it had ruffles and wasn't too tight, her curves still a little hidden. The witch was never one to feel self conscious about herself, I mean, why would she? She swallowed thickly before turning back to herself in the mirror.
"Hermione Granger," bellowed Ginny. "You stop that right now."
She pressed her lips to a thin line, "but-" her friends red eyebrows rose, "but nothing Hermione!" She exclaimed, then walked up to the witch and grabbed her hands, looking into Hermione's pitiful eyes.
"You look stunning, Thomas will love it, I love it and so will everyone else." Ginny chimed, before hooking her arm with Hermione's, a snug smirk on her face. "Shall we?" She giggled.
Hermione deciding she had enough of feeling self-conscious, she nodded her head profusely — trying to take in her friends words. "We shall." She replied, before they both took off into the night — not knowing where it would take them.
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Hermione's high-heels clicked and echoed in the walls as she made her way to the ball-room. She had been on her own now, her friend had found Harry and took off with him — Dean had told her that he would wait for her in the ball-room. She pushed away any negative thoughts of the night going wrong, I mean, what if it actually went well?
