Until the Stroke of Twelve
“Hey – Sally-Anne!”
For a moment I couldn’t see Terry in the crowd because Stephen was cutting across him. Then Terry was grinning down at me, his square chin crushing the high collar of his grass-green dress-robe.
“You’re here,” he said. “So much for all the strange gossip about you!”
I smiled back at him. “Of course I’m here,” I said. “I’m sure the gossip would make a great work of fiction. Are you having a good Christmas?”
We were still talking about how Terry’s family celebrated Christmas (it turned out that his parents weren’t Christians and they were highly bemused by his churchgoing) when Professor McGonagall called us into the Great Hall. Terry. I followed Megan and Wayne, who were apparently together after all, to a small table.
“Sally-Anne Perks!” There was nothing subtle about Cecilia’s screech. “Sally-Anne, what are you doing here?”
Cecilia was draped in jade-green silk. Madam Black’s pearls were wrapped three times around her throat, and her dark curls were cascading out of something silvery. She was leaning against Theodore Nott, a stringy boy who kept his hands in his pockets.
Terry replied easily. “Sally-Anne is favouring me with her company for the evening. What are you doing here, Cecilia?”
She ignored him. “Sally-Anne, you’ve just backed yourself into the world’s smallest corner! Mummy told you not to come tonight.”
I felt Terry’s voice nuzzling my ear. The words sounded like, “Answer not a fool according to his folly…”
I laughed for no reason. “Cecilia, we’re going to sit down now,” I said. “Have fun with Theodore!” Somehow, that seemed a hollow thing to say, because Nott looked thoroughly bored by the whole exchange. I glanced their way again as I took the seat next to Megan, and Nott still looked bored; I wondered why he had invited Cecilia. Michael Corner sat down next to Terry and introduced his partner, an eccentric-looking blonde, and the Yule Ball had begun!
To my left, Megan and Wayne were whispering together in Welsh like lovers. Perhaps she liked him more than she was admitting. I hoped so, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Next to them, Longbottom was apologising to a redhead. Michael was staring at Longbottom’s partner as if his eyes would pop out of his head, and Michael’s partner did not seem at all concerned about that; she was watching them as if they were actors on a theatre stage. Opposite me sat Tracey Davies, a sulky, curly-haired Slytherin, who was apparently Zacharias’s dance-partner.
“Are you a good dancer?” she asked the blonde.
“No, dancing isn’t really my thing. I trip over my own feet.”
“Yet you bothered to turn up!” snorted Tracey. “Didn’t anyone tell you the point of a ball?”
Ignoring this rudeness, the blonde serenely replied, “I’ve been looking forward to the company.”
“So have I!” chimed in the redhead, smiling broadly at Longbottom. “But I love dancing too.”
I exchanged a grin with Megan. I knew she couldn’t wait to be let loose on the dance floor – and nor could I.
But when the feast was cleared away, and a waltz finally soared out of the cello, we still couldn’t dance, because the champions had to open the ball. My feet were tapping against their will as the four champions and their partners swayed across the hall (Harry Potter looked very uncomfortable). Terry winked at me and I blushed; I hadn’t meant to be so obvious about my impatience. But why had we come to a ball, if not to dance?
The teachers followed the champions onto the floor (I was so glad that I wasn’t dancing with Karkaroff or Snape!), and we were watching them for three long minutes before the exchange students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang began to stand up. I hoped Terry would stand up next, and Wayne was trying to pull Megan onto the floor almost before the music changed, but before we could move, the floor was flooded with sixth- and seventh-years.
“Skank!” remarked Wayne to Michael. “Everryone is now equal, is it? Who did claim that?”
“This is us, Tracey!” shouted Zacharias.
Wayne and Megan followed them into the waltz. A crowd of our classmates swirled past. Terry stood up and held out his hand. As I took it, there was a final crash on the drums, and the music stopped!
The dancers clapped. The Weird Sisters began to play again.
Terry did not falter. “All right – there is a time to dance! It’s a jive.”
I nodded, hoping that Aunt Odette’s crystal shoes were strongly charmed, as the Weird Sisters accelerated their beat. “Jive,” I whispered, almost mesmerised – and then almost thrown off-balance as one foot lurched backwards. Terry’s hand was strong around mine, so I let my other foot tap, then the first again… Then it hit me. The spell was working! The crystal shoes really did know the dance.
I relaxed as Terry swung me under his arm. The less I thought about it, the more forcefully the shoes bounced over the flagstones, and the less I tried to give the shoes any help, the more easily Terry and I were spinning after them. I dared to focus my eyes and found I was staring into Terry’s. He looked surprised by the speed at which he was throwing himself towards me and then kicking away, but a happy flush was driving through his cheek as we twisted into an impossible position and then sprang away again. We whirled breathlessly between two Slytherin couples and all-but cartwheeled over a table before Orsino Thruston’s cymbal sang a glass-shattering crash and the music abruptly halted.
My head was spinning and Terry’s eyes were sparkling. “You’re good at this! I’m amazed I kept up. Are you sure you’ve never had lessons?”
I was still gasping for breath. “Not me. It’s my shoes – a Christmas present.” I lifted the hem of the blue-grey dress-robe to show him. “They have a dance-charm. I’m not sure how it works.”
“Wow! The charm certainly works – and apparently for your partner too. I didn’t have to think about anything except keeping hold of your hand. Here we go – they’re starting up again.” He grabbed my hand as Thruston rolled out a steady rhythm.
“Foxtrot,” I said, recognising a piece I played on the piano.
The crystal shoes immediately swept across the floor even before Gideon Crumb’s bagpipes picked up the melody. Step– step – trot-trot – step – step – and-turn – I relaxed in Terry’s grasp, trusting that it didn’t matter whether or not we knew the dance, because my shoes would carry both of us on the rhythm of the bagpipes. Terry’s arms were around me in a ballroom hold, closer than the dance needed us to be, and I no longer noticed what our feet were doing because I couldn’t look away from his brilliant blue eyes.
“You must have been practising!” I told him.
“No, I’ve never done it before – apart from a couple of last-minute lessons with Madam Hooch. It’s all coming from your shoes.”
I glanced around the hall as Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass sailed past us flawlessly, but they weren’t speaking. I noticed that Geoffrey Hooper and Emma Spinks were staring into each other’s eyes as they swayed on the spot, but that barely counted as dancing. William Stebbins and Sylvia Fawcett were executing the foxtrot moves with a determined correctness, but their only conversation seemed to be giggled apologies for their mistakes.
“Yes, it must be the shoes,” I conceded. “Not many other people are managing to combine smooth dancing with meaningful conversation.”
“Or perhaps they’ve nothing meaningful to say.”
When the music stopped, we were lucky enough to finish up next to the refreshments table. Terry collected two glasses of fruit punch. Behind him, Theodore Nott ostentatiously asked for two tanks of mulled mead and passed one of them on to Cecilia without looking at her.
“That was impressive dancing, Perks,” he said, yawning. “Would you like to dance the next one with me? Boot will agree to a partner-swap, I’m sure.”
Cecilia’s mouth dropped open, but Terry spoke before she could voice a protest.
“If I have a choice, I’d rather be faithful to my own partner. Sally-Anne promised to spend the evening with me.”
I slid my hand through Terry’s arm, feeling a little sorry for Cecilia.
“Possessive, are we?” asked Nott.
“Yes,” said Terry and I together. I glanced sideways at him, suppressing a giggle, but he would not meet my eye until we were well clear of Nott and Cecilia. Music was rippling out of Herman Wintringham’s lute, and soon we were galloping around the hall.
It was becoming a game. Terry and I didn’t have to think about what we were doing, yet we seemed to be turning at double everyone else’s speed. I waved at Megan and Wayne as they passed, but they didn’t see us; they were panting to keep up with the rhythm.
“Oh, look at your friend Michael! I think he’s enjoying himself!”
Michael Corner was staring into the eyes of Ron Weasley’s sister, looking completely smitten. Terry swung me over a misplaced chair as if I were as light and limp as a rag doll – did those crystal shoes make me weightless too? – and then we swirled past a surprised Hannah and Ernie before we had time to recognise them. One couple who did seem to be fitting some conversation between elegant dancing was Justin and Susan.
“Justin must have had dancing lessons,” I said. “He makes it look easy.”
“But Anthony – now, he’s about my standard.” Terry swung me almost down to a backbend and then caught me on the other side. “My standard when there are no magic shoes, I mean.”
Morag MacDougal suppressed a wince as a happy Stephen, hopping like an excited puppy, stomped on her toe, and the dance was over.
“Oh, sorry, Morag! I’m not knowing why I – ”
“You’re a good dancer, Sally-Anne,” said Morag, ignoring him. “Where did you learn?”
“Yes, you’re good,” Stephen echoed. “Will you dance one with me? Perhaps I can pick up a few tips from you.”
“Not tonight,” said Terry. “Tonight Sally-Anne is my partner.” He waited until Stephen had pulled Morag off to the refreshments before asking, “You didn’t want to dance with Cornfoot, did you?”
“No! Not unless it would be doing a favour to Morag. But she really doesn’t seem to mind about the foot-stamping. Morag’s like that with Stephen.” Everyone knew that Morag and Stephen, who were first cousins, had nothing whatever in common, yet they loved one another with the fierce devotion of Highland clansmen. It was Morag’s life-work to keep Stephen out of trouble, and Stephen’s life-game never to notice that any kind of trouble existed.
The next dance was a progressive, so for a couple of turns I did end up sacrificing my toes to Stephen’s feet (the crystal shoes blocked out most of the sensation). After twenty minutes of being skilfully turned by Justin, firmly held by Ernie, wonderingly followed by Anthony Goldstein, exuberantly swirled by Dean Thomas, enthusiastically clapped by Seamus Finnigan, experimentally stroked by Zabini, experimentally poked by Crabbe, and greasily breathed over by Pucey, I couldn’t wait to run back to Terry. My stepsister Ursula, festooned in a low-cut emerald velvet, grabbed possessively at Pucey and kissed him in full public view. I took no notice of whatever she was saying to him, or of the boys who were shouting across the hall to each other.
“So much for being faithful!” said Terry. “Come on, it’s a schottische next. This might be my only chance ever to dance one properly!”
We were having so much fun dancing the schottische that at first I didn’t notice who was standing behind Terry. I barely registered that he shrugged off a tap on his shoulder. Only at a second, more insistent tap did we pause our dancing to look up at Pucey.
“May I cut in here?” he asked.
“Sorry,” said Terry. “You’ll have to wait your turn and ask like a gentleman.”
Pucey did his best to take a gentlemanly tone. “I should particularly like to dance with Miss Perks now.” He held out his hand. “I’m sure Sally-Anne does not mind.”
My head was shaking before I knew what I was doing. I did mind and I didn’t really care if it was rude to say so, since I was fairly sure that Pucey didn’t even like me. What was his game? Before I could frame my objection, Terry’s arm was around my waist.
“Nice try, Pucey,” said Terry. “But Sally-Anne is my partner for the night. I’m not giving anyone else a turn.” When Pucey did not move, Terry and I walked away.
As soon as we found a spare space, Ursula stepped into it. “You’re Queen of the Midden tonight, Sally-Anne Perks,” she said. “You even feel you can afford to brush off the Puceys.”
“If that was brushing off, then Adrian Pucey brushed off the Boots first,” I said.
“Ha!” Ursula cawed mirthlessly, and her eyes narrowed with anger. “There are no Boots. But there are Puceys, and you have offended them! Whatever will Mummy say when she hears what scuts you prefer?”
“Yes, I do prefer my own partner,” I said. “Why did you want me to dance with yours anyway?”
Ursula’s cheeks became even redder, but she did not reply.
“Anyway, we want to dance,” said Terry. He took my hand and swept me back into the first clearing among the dancers.
Most couples were dancing happily without worrying about other people’s business. Eddie Carmichael was dipping a pink-faced Sophie, and Mandy Brocklehurst’s hair was flying loose as Robert Rivers swung her.
“You can tell that Sally-Anne’s had dancing lessons,” said someone behind me, but I never looked back to find out who.
The crystal shoes led us through a dreamy minuet and a breathtaking gavotte before I gasped, “I really must take a rest now!”
“Don’t you want to try the bourée? It’s said to be the most difficult dance of all.”
“Hush, don’t say the name of the dance out loud, or the magic shoes might not give us a choice!”
“You could always take them off.” Terry handed me a Butterbeer and we sat down to watch the brave dancers who wanted to attempt the bourée.
The girl on the next chair suddenly jumped up with a furious scowl on her face: it was Ursula. “Come on,Adrian!” she hissed to Pucey. “We’re dancing!”
“Was there a pin on Ursula’s chair?” asked Terry.
“No, it was because of me. She doesn’t like me, remember? She’s angry that I even turned up tonight.”
“And that you snubbed her partner by refusing to dance with him,” Terry remembered. “Why would your stepsister’s boyfriend leave her to ask you?”
“I don’t know if he’s a real boyfriend.” I considered for a moment. “They certainly seemed to be cooking up something together. I think Ursula might have told him to ask me. But if I haddanced with Pucey, Ursula would have complained that I’d stolen her escort.”
“Now she’ll just have to complain that you dance with Muggle-born riffraff.”
“But if I’d come to this ball with a pure-blood, then I’d have been in trouble for reducing the pool of eligible bachelors available to the pure-blood girls.”
“Some people are never satisfied,” Terry agreed. “Your family does seem to be taking this ball very seriously. Did I miss something? I thought this dance was just for fun.”
“I think Ursula’s friends see it as their first step into polite society, so they have to be seen with a prestigious partner.”
“What do witches and wizards do,” asked Terry, “when they don’t want to enter polite society?”
I laughed. “Grow up normal, I expect! Work for a living. What do you want to be when you leave Hogwarts?”
“A healer or potioneer – perhaps a spellcrafter. Any career that makes the world a better place. What about you?”
“I’d like to do something that makes people comfortable at home. Write cookery books or sell children’s clothes or design furniture… No, there’s no money in that. If you want to work in furniture or spellcrafting – in lots of trades, really – you have to know someone who’s already in the business. They give all the jobs to their friends’ children.”
Terry looked disconcerted for a minute, then he laughed. “I have a lot to learn about wizarding society. How do Muggle-borns usually get jobs?”
“By brain-power. They earn Ministry positions or set up their own businesses. If they can’t do either of those, they find menial jobs in the large firms – in Spencer’s or Woolman’s or Cloaca Harington.”
We spent so long discussing the workings of wizarding society and the difference that it might or might not make to know the right people that we nearly missed the call for a Conga. William Stebbins was pulling Sylvia Fawcett into line while Seamus Finnegan and Lavender Brown raced straight past us, and the musicians repeated, “Come on, everyone –Conga!”
Terry put his hands on my hips, and I put mine on Michael Corner’s. At the front of the line, Professor Dumbledore kicked up his heels, while Professor Flitwick clung to his robes, his feet completely missing the floor. The crystal shoes began to shuffle, then to kick an instant ahead of the beat, and Harold Dingle yelled.
“They raise their voices and shout for joy,” Terry whispered in my ear. “Wait for the dominoes to topple.”
When the Conga collapsed, Blaise Zabini was hovering near me.
“You are a charming dancer, Miss Perks,” he said. “Have you forgotten that you originally promised to go to this ball with me? Come, make up for lost time and give me this final dance.”
Terry and I looked at each other with suppressed smiles. I took Terry’s arm, wondering if there was any point in even replying. Then a furious Daphne Greengrass marched up and seized Zabini’s shoulders. A scowl crossed his face, but he hastily wiped it.
“You’re popular tonight!” Terry whispered, taking me in a ballroom hold. “Is this dance a Strathspey?”
“Perhaps Aunt Odette put a popularity spell on the shoes,” I said. “We’re lucky that this is a Strathspey, or we’d be dancing the wrong steps by now.”
“No, it isn’t the shoes. You always were…er… the best sort of person!”
“So were you,” I replied automatically.
As we floated away on the wafts of the Strathspey, I wondered what it would be like to be all grown up and married to someone like Terry. For a moment, I understood why some of the older girls had already decided whom they were going to marry. It made sense of why my stepsisters were taking this ball so seriously, even though I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to marry Nott or Pucey. But Terry… There would be lots and lots of girls who wanted to marry Terry…
The music faded away at the slow tolling of a clock. It was midnight, and the Yule Ball was over. We stopped dancing, and most people seemed to be clapping. Terry was smiling at me, his eyes still dancing. On the final stroke of twelve, a cold breeze whistled through my bare shoulders.
Bare?
Terry’s face was startled, and as I glanced down, I saw that my skirt was orange.
The beautiful blue-grey robes had vanished. My pumpkin-gold skirt was once again knee-length at the front, calf-length at the back. The sleeves had disappeared. There was only the sleeveless bodice’s halter-neck…
… The indecently low-cut bodice. It wasn’t really a neckline at all, just a split bodice.
No wonder Terry was shocked. I might as well be standing there naked! I wanted to run, but my feet were rooted to the floor.
“Accio!” Terry’s soothing voice was penetrating my embarrassment, and a tablecloth from the punch table sailed through the air. “Here, wrap this around yourself. Those corridors are chilly. Was that costume really all charm-work?”
I nodded as I draped the punch-stained tablecloth over my shoulders.
“I’m impressed! That was a stunning constellation of charms, and it looked so real. I don’t know why the other girls wasted their worldly mammon on dress-robes tonight – a few charms would have scrubbed up the school uniforms to Twilfitt standards.”
I had to laugh at that. I couldn’t imagine dancing in the school merino; I would stew in my own perspiration. Whereas now I was shivering…
The hall was emptying around us. The Weird Sisters were packing away their instruments; only a few students were brash enough to try to prolong the ball artificially. Blaise Zabini was marching straight past us without glancing left or right, but his shoulder gave mine a hard shove as he passed, and I stumbled. Terry caught me.
“Anything wrong, Zabini?” asked Terry –for Zabini had stopped a few paces ahead and was glowering at us.
“Go to Hell.”
“Can’t,” said Terry cheerily. “I’ve already been assigned elsewhere. Can we help you with anything?”
Zabini’s reply was so rude that I didn’t properly understand it; but Terry steered me across the deserted hall, looking even more embarrassed than I had been when my dress-robe charms broke, so I didn’t ask about it. I let him take me into the Entrance Hall as far as the Hufflepuff door, where we both stopped, a little uncertainly. My heart was beating and for a moment I was shy of Terry.
“Good night,” I said, recovering my manners. “I’ve had a wonderful time. Thank you so much for being my partner.”
“Thank you for being mine.It was a good party.”
“Yes, it was. Do you think they’ll hold another one next year?”
He shrugged. “If not, we’ll just have to find ourselves a school-holidays ball. Good night!” He tapped my arm lightly and disappeared up the main staircase. I opened the Hufflepuff door, savouring his words as I tripped down to the cellars. Another ball! Next year! Even if we had to look for one! I might not have found the right dormitory if my friends’ voices had not been echoing beyond the barrel-top door.
“So do tell us, Susan,” Megan was saying. “Did Justin kiss you?”
“Of course not; we only went as friends. But we had a lovely time together! Megan, do you want to tell us about Wayne? Did he kiss you?”
“He did try to,” said Megan meaningfully, “but I did take it on the cheek. Hannah…”
As I opened the door, Hannah, Susan, Megan and Sophie were half-undressed and combing out each other’s hair. Hannah was blushing and gave a tell-tale nod.
“But, goodness, I can’t have been thinking! We have to share lessons together next term… I hope we’ll still be friends! Sophie, did you… Did Eddie…?”
We never found out whether Eddie had kissed Sophie, because at that moment, they all saw that I had entered. Instead of replying to Hannah, Sophie asked, “Sally-Anne, why are you wearing a tablecloth?”
“Oh.” I slid it off, to reveal the pumpkin-gold cocktail dress.
Susan groaned. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry!I was thinking so hard about the charm needing to last until midnight that I ended up making one that lasted only until midnight.”
“It’s all right. Terry thought it was a really good charm.”
“Oooh, Terry,” said Megan. “So tell us. Did he kiss you?”
“Sally-Anne!” interrupted Sophie. “Yer’ve lost a shoe. Why ’as only one of them glass shoes survived midnight?”