The Last of the Mhyrriad

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH

Of Dancing and Daring

Cerise stood in front of the mirror. Muggle makeup was such a pain, but you didn't get the same results with the magical type. She glanced at her wall clock. Five forty-five. She was meeting Oliver in and Hour and ten minutes at the Grand staircase. Well, that's what he thought anyway. She didn't intend upon arriving for five minutes afterwards so that they could arrive at the ball at exactly Seven O three, just as everyone was entering. But Oliver wouldn't approve, he didn't like a lot of attention unless it was on the Quidditch pitch or in the bedroom, best do it secretly.

Looking at herself in the full-length mirror, Cerise felt something was missing. She held her hands in front of her and spun golden glass formed a glittering orchid on a black ribbon. With that and her orchid-gardenia perfume, she could be home. Tying it around her neck she thought,

'Now if I can just find something to do for the next hour and fifteen minutes...'

Oliver tapped his foot as he waited at the bottom of the grand staircase. He had micro managed his grooming so that nothing, from his dark brown hair to his grey-blue dress robes was out of order. If he had been a Muggle, he may have had been diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder.

Finally, he saw her at the top step. She was breathtaking, clad in scarlet dress robes that fit like a glove, with a mermaid bottom skirt, sleeves slightly flared at the wrist. Her neckline plunged in a deep V to the spot below her breasts where the ribs met. Around her neck, the spun orchid, sparkling like a diamond and set off by her rich hair, set in loose waves. She smiled at him with Cherry-red lips and placing a manicured hand on the railing, glided down the stairs, exposing gold stiletto sandals beneath the folds of her skirt.

"You look gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful." Taking his offered arm, her kohl-rimmed eyes dancing, she murmured,

"You don't look half bad yourself, lover boy. Shall we carry on then?"

She had timed everything perfectly. The ball had not entirely commenced, but everyone was seated at white clothed tables. As they entered the Great hall, a hush rushed over the students. Heads turned as their young professor walked steadily down the aisle between the tables, the stunningly beautiful student teacher on his arm. They took seats at an empty table for two near the front, and the conversation rose again. At Dumbledore's lead, the hall ordered their meals from the woodland sprites hired for the occasion.

Fleur seemed to have taken and active part in the planning of the event. In the Four Corners of the room were diamond ice sculptures of a lion, eagle, badger and serpent. A chorus of water nymphs provided dinner music, and fairy dotted garlands ran around the room.

Oliver watched Cerise chewing her filet mignon. He couldn't believe that he, Oliver Archimedes Wood, was the escort of the most gorgeous woman in the place. Oh, yes, Fleur was certainly enchanting, but she didn't have the charisma, the attitude, and the pure sex appeal of his love. He also preferred brunettes.

Cerise, over Oliver's shoulder, saw Fleur flirting with her newest toy-boy, a Beater of Italy's Quidditch team, Giuseppe Fiori. She had been babbling about him for ages, and Cerise could see why. Tall, tanned and chiseled, the Italian looked like a model for the Muggle magazine, Vogue. But he didn't hold a candle to her Oliver. Though her lover wasn't a pretty-boy, he was a ridiculously attractive man who reeked of sexiness - was it the Scottish accent? She smiled at him as he twirled his pasta absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving her face.

At half eight, the food magically disappeared, and the choir sang its last wavering note. A group of witches took the stage.

"Who are they?" Cerise was unfamiliar with British Rock Bands. Knowingly, Oliver said, "The Weird Sisters. They're quite popular on the WWN. They played at last year's ball according to Potter. Let's dance." He reached for her hand and led her to the floor where several couples danced to a slow beat. Her arms in the familiar spot around Oliver's neck, Cerise noticed pairs of those that she knew. Harry was snogging with Cho in the corner, Ron and Hermione rotated near the stage, Ron angrily eyeing Ginny who was pressed up against Draco Malfoy. Fred and Angelina, and George and Alicia were weaving around the floor, viciously and 'accidentally' breaking couples apart.

"Eeeeeeew!" Oliver whipped his head around to see what was disgusting her partner. Closer together than any of the students were Snape and Trelawney, while McGonagell and Dumbledore looked on disapprovingly. Even though they were even closer.

She laughed, then stretched her neck to kiss Oliver's chin. He looked down with a grimace.

"I think I'm mentally scarred for life."

"Then don't look, silly." A faster, Latin beat took up. The students uncertainly took to the sides.

"The British don't know how to dance, hm?"

"This one does." And he led her to the center of the room with a smirk. Oliver was suddenly thankful for the dance lessons his mother had put him though as a boy. She had decided that her son would one day have to take his place at the great gala events she often held at the Wood Manor. Fortunately, he had so far managed to avoid his mother's balls, but he was glad to put his skill to use here at such a relaxed environment. And the girl could dance. Her hips rotated to the salsa beat, her hand lifting her skirt to show off her fast fancy footwork.

As the last note played, a round of applause erupted from the hall. Oliver laughed as Cerise took her bow, slightly out of breath. He pulled her close and kissed her, hard, on the lips. If Trelawney and Snape were doing Godknowswhat in the rosebushes, he could kiss his... girlfriend... whenever he pleased.

A slow waltz struck up. Cerise broke off the kiss, taking his hand with her left and placing her right gently on his shoulder. Couples crept back to the dance floor, making paths for Neville Longbottom, who managed to step not only on his partner, Eloise Midgen's toes, but on everyone else's as well.

The clock struck eleven-thirty. Cerise was nestled in Oliver's arms, sitting on his lap on a stone bench in the entrance hall. Easing her to a standing position, he then led her out of the Great Doors, indicating that they should be silent. The crossed the snow-laden grounds to the Quidditch field and Oliver conjured up a woolen blanket, which he lay next to the pole of a scoring hoop. She sat herself between his legs, leaning back against his chest, her eyes half closed. She felt him fumble in his robes for a moment, then put one arm around her waist.

"Cerise?" She turned her head slowly. He brought out a small velvet box and began to open it as he murmured,

"Will you marry me?" On a black satin cushion lay a ring of white gold with a large black diamond. Upon closer examination, it was a thousand tiny diamonds that built up...

"An orchid? Wherever did you come up with that?"

"I, uh.... Noticed a bit of an obsession of yours." He slipped it onto her finger, then turned her around so that she straddles his abdomen and rested her head against his collarbone. After a moment,

"It had to be in the Quidditch field, hm?" Confused, Oliver raised one eyebrow.

"One of the most romantic moments of your life, and it has to be on a Quidditch field." He gave her his lopsided smile and said,

"Where else? How about getting married on broom - "

"No."

"On the field at least?" She laughed.

"We'll see." This seemed to appease him.

"I love you." She kissed his cheek in response.

"I know."