Umbras ? Harry Potter

Attn: A picture of the dress is located at the bottom of the chapter <3

December 24, 1994 • Hogwarts

Despite the towering stack of holiday homework the fourth years had been assigned, Ciara hadn't seen much effort being put toward it—not in the Slytherin common room, at least. The dungeons had taken on an oddly festive feel, colder than usual but flickering with candlelight and the occasional enchanted ornament that someone had dared to sneak past Snape. Most of her housemates had decided that the week leading up to Christmas was better spent lounging in overstuffed chairs, trading gossip, or playing games that inevitably ended in someone storming off. Even the usually stoic seventh years had relaxed—just a bit. She'd overheard Draco laughing more times in two days than she had in all of November.

Of course, the real chaos, as always, was spilling out of Gryffindor Tower. Ciara had passed a group of them in the corridor earlier—someone had erupted into feathers mid-laugh, and the rest had scattered, shrieking with laughter. Word of Fred and George Weasley's Canary Creams had traveled fast, even to the Slytherins, who now watched every sweet from the Gryffindor table like it might explode. She wasn't entirely sure how they hadn't been banned from the kitchens yet.

Ciara, for her part, was happy to let the days pass in a sort of pleasant haze—avoiding homework, dodging drama, and waiting for the one event that seemed to be all anyone could talk about: the Yule Ball.

Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid's cabin, while the Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

"It is too 'eavy, all zis 'Ogwarts food," they heard her saying grumpily as they left the Great Hall behind her one evening. "I will not fit into my dress robes!"

"Oooh there's a tragedy," Hermione snapped as Fleur went out into the entrance hall. "She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn't she?"

"Hermione — who are you going to the ball with?" said Ron.

"I'm not telling you, you'll just make fun of me."

"You're joking, Weasley!" said Malfoy, behind them. "You're not telling me someone's asked that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?"

Ciara, Harry and Ron both whipped around, but Hermione said loudly, waving to somebody over Malfoy's shoulder, "Hello, Professor Moody!"

Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.

"Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy?" said Hermione scathingly, and she, Ciara, Harry, and Ron went up the marble staircase laughing heartily.

"Hermione," said Ron, looking sideways at her, suddenly frowning, "your teeth..."

"What about them?" she said.

"Well, they're different... I've just noticed..."

"Of course they are — did you expect me to keep those fangs Malfoy gave me?"

"No, I mean, they're different to how they were before he put that hex on you... They're all ... straight and — and normal-sized."

"Well... when we went up to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk," Hermione said, gesturing between herself and Ciara, "she held up a mirror and told me to stop her when they were back to how they normally were." She paused, her grin growing wider. "And I just... let her carry on a bit." She smiled even more widely. "Mum and Dad won't be too pleased. I've been trying to persuade them to let me shrink them for ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they're dentists, they just don't think teeth and magic should — look! Pigwidgeon's back!"