for editing

dance dance we're falling apart to halftime

"Take your seats," said Professor McGonagall.

She was sitting on the Headmaster's chair with all the eighth-years congregated at the Hufflepuff table.

Oona was sitting beside Harry, exhausted eyes blinking slowly, and Hermione sat beside her. Nose scrunched with concentration, Oona tried to braid Hermione's impossibly bushy hair and kept trying even when the braid refused to stay, popping out of place every time Oona thought it was pinned.

Ron was on the other side of Harry, shooting the occasional glare at Oona after Hermione had decided to sit with her instead of Ron. Just as exhausted as Oona and very annoyed with Ron for his bitterness, Harry slumped his head into his arms.

In front of him was Olivia Monge, who didn't even bother to look at McGonagall, and kept a narrowed glare on Harry the entire time. Whenever he looked at Oona, the glare would deepen. Harry couldn't care less, but he was starting to get rather annoyed and shot her more than a few glares back.

The boy who was in Oona's compartment on the train, who Harry thought was Charlie but not entirely sure, was sitting next to Olivia. Admittedly, he looked very reluctant to be sitting beside her, and looked over at Oona at the same times Harry did.

"As you have probably figured out by now," said Professor McGonagall in a ringing voice, "I have gathered all eighth and seventh years here today. And as you've heard earlier, these years have been integrated due to lack of eighth-year students."

Draco Malfoy, who had been distractedly cleaning his nails, scoffed. "Lucky bastards."

Pansy Parkinson, looking scandalized, turned sharply to him. "They're not lucky! They're dead!"

Malfoy shrugged. "What's the difference?"

"Parkinson! Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall barked harshly, and they fell quiet. She inclined her head to a tiny man in the back of the Great Hall, and pursed her lips tightly. "Professor Flitwick, if you could, please."

Hopping on his heels, Professor Flitwick scurried to the front of the Great Hall, narrowly avoiding being tripped by a laughing Slytherin. Once he arrived by Professor McGonagall's seat, he raised his wand to the ceiling.

Gasps and scoffs alike filled the Hall. From where Professor Flitwick traced his wand, thick tendrils of red and green tinsel fluttered over the ceiling, hung with large gold ornaments of various shapes and sizes. Long streams of water hardened into blue icicles, leaving little droplets of water to fall onto the students. One particularly fat drop landed on Ron, who swore and batted the air with his hand, earning him a sharp glare from McGonagall. Green mistletoe sprouted from the ends of the shimmery rope, and little flakes of snow fell from where tinsel intersected with each other. One snowflake landed squarely on Oona's nose, causing her to sneeze until it flew away.

"'Tis the season!" Professor Flitwick squealed to general applause, clapping his hands.

It took him a full minute to calm down enough to sit in the chair beside McGonagall, though his fingers still danced excitedly on the long table, watching the students reactions to his handiwork.

"Yes. It is officially Christmas season," said Professor McGonagall drably. Her voice was monotone and flat, sighing at the lavish directions and raising an eyebrow as Professor Flitwick squeaked with excitement.