𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 - 𝐝.𝐦.

𝟎𝟐𝟎 - 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡

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why r ppl actually reading this
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"Where did you go?" Pansy demands with a great scowl on her face. "I told you not to leave my side."

I lift my eyebrows, my lips twitching as I try not to smile too hard—it'd probably earn me a purple-nurple from Pansy knowing her.

"Damn, Panz, I just went to go get some water. When did you get so possessive?" I can't help but grin, and she gives me a deathly glare.

"Fuck off," she huffs, crossing her arms and turning her head to look out at the ballroom, mean brown eyes glaring at every person who walks past us.

"Aw, don't be like that," I chuckle, draping my arm over her shoulders. "You know you'll be okay if you're alone for half a minute, right?"

Pansy scoffs. "Why, so Damien Volant can try to talk to his soon-to-be sister-in-law? No thanks. He and his snooty family can stay out of my ass."

"I don't get what your issue with him is," I say, pursing my lips slightly. She only crosses her arms tighter and look away, lips pressed tightly together.

Poppy Parkinson's engagement party is not so much a party as a ball. The Parkinsons' eldest daughter is twenty-two now and has finally gotten engaged to a worthy Pureblood man. Honestly, it's late compared to most engagements. Typically, parents will marry their children off by the time they're twenty years old.

The party is in the ballroom of the Parkinson manor, filled with Purebloods from all over the world dressed in their most expensive clothes and jewelry, all trying their hardest to steal time away from Poppy and Damien, or maybe their parents, to congratulate them and most likely make a business deal of some sort. The Parkinson's are major investors, so their money is sought after rather wildly.

I sit with Pansy in a corner of the ballroom sipping on water while she hordes a tray of hors d'oeuvres to herself, constantly slapping my hand away any time I try to reach for one. My family arrived a bit early, so we're both waiting for the Zabinis to arrive.

"His parents greeted me when I came," I say, eyeing the pancetta crisps on her tray. "They seem pretty nice."

"They're disgusting," Pansy snaps, throwing me a look like she's offended I'd ever call the Volants anything but ingrates. "I hate the French..."

"Didn't you have a secret thing with that girl from Beauxbatons last year?"

"That's besides the point."

I shoot her a grin, but she ignores me. Pansy just huffs and sinks lower in her chair, sulking much like a little kid who didn't get to have candy for dinner. I can tell that she took next to no part in getting herself ready for this party. I'm assuming it's her parents that put a Hair Lengthening charm on her, because her black hair, usually choppy and hardly grazing her chin, is sleek, straight, and reaches her waist, and her bangs are neat and trimmed. She's wearing the frilliest, most gaudy pink dress I've ever seen, the kind of shit she'd never get caught dead in. I remember last year during the Yule Ball, I'd gone shopping with her for a suit she could wear, but she ended up wearing a dress since she wasn't out yet. It was simple, though, black and simple rather than something made for a porcelain doll.