Chance Encounters (HP, Gen, G)
For some reason, harry_lover88, your love for Romilda crossed my mind and this little bit came to me. I hope you enjoy.
Romilda took a moment smile in the mirror and savoring her reflection before heading out of the dorm to the Slug Club’s Christmas Party. She was in perfect form, properly on trend, dressed in the height of Muggle fashion. Her dark, glossy hair was smooth, shiny and lifted with just the right amount of bounce. Her lips were the right shade of crimson, festive and alluring. It was her seventh year and she was more than ready to see and be seen. Especially on the arms of the Savior himself. A dab of her specially brewed perfume at her pulse points and she was ready. Ginny Weasley could eat her heart out; when Harry Potter saw her tonight, he wouldn’t be able to resist her.
As her father always said, “Leave nothing to chance.”
With a last check of her reflection, she twirled in her tall, spell-cushioned heels and headed to the party.
With a forced smile, Romilda listened as Percy Weasley, special assistant to Minister Shacklebolt, blathered on and on about file indexing. This was the special surprise guest Professor Slughorn had promised them? A third-rate bore? She was ready to poison herself to get out of this party and back to her dorm. At least she could work on the Arithmancy formula she was devising to calculate dosage for her variant on Pepper-Up potion. Stifling a sigh, she tuned into Percy’s pompous dialogue.
“..And of course, I had to tell Kingsley, I’m so sorry, Minister Shacklebolt-” Percy said with a self-important laugh.
“I’m so sorry, Peter-” Romilda began with what she hoped was a polite grimace, when he interrupted her.
“Percy. I’m Percy,” he said with a buzz of irritation.
“Whatever,” Romilda replied with a wave of her hand. “I have to go. See you around, yes?” she added over her shoulder as she made a beeline for the punchbowl.
She refilled her cup and glanced around the party. She could see knots of students gathered around the various guests invited by Professor Slughorn. Not a single one of interest to her. Not a single potential contact or advantage for her. She had her apprenticeship lined up already with Master Medici in Florence. All she really wanted to was to lay the groundwork - okay, seduce - the most desirable, powerful man in the world. She was seventeen, gorgeous, and dressed to kill. Was that too much to ask?
Shaking her head to clear away those thoughts - as her mother always said, “Stay positive. Boys don’t like sad women.” - she retreated to a shadowed corner to regroup. Securely shaded, Romilda tried to nestle deeper into the cover provided by the potted flutterby bush. And bumped into a wide, well muscled chest.
“Excuse me,” a rich tenor said with amusement.
Romilda turned around and found the wide chest was indeed as muscular as it had seemed. Looking up provided her with a view of a craggy, handsome face, topped with a rakish mop of auburn hair. The smile hovering at his lips promised a wicked sense of humor and Romilda found her own lips quirking in response. Taking a step back, Romilda stuck out her hand.
“Romilda Vane.”
He took her hand in his and instead of shaking it as she expected, he brought it to his lips and kissed it.
“Cormac McLaggan, at your service.”
Romilda smiled. Maybe tonight wasn’t such a waste after all.
Romilda took a moment smile in the mirror and savoring her reflection before heading out of the dorm to the Slug Club’s Christmas Party. She was in perfect form, properly on trend, dressed in the height of Muggle fashion. Her dark, glossy hair was smooth, shiny and lifted with just the right amount of bounce. Her lips were the right shade of crimson, festive and alluring. It was her seventh year and she was more than ready to see and be seen. Especially on the arms of the Savior himself. A dab of her specially brewed perfume at her pulse points and she was ready. Ginny Weasley could eat her heart out; when Harry Potter saw her tonight, he wouldn’t be able to resist her.
As her father always said, “Leave nothing to chance.”
With a last check of her reflection, she twirled in her tall, spell-cushioned heels and headed to the party.
With a forced smile, Romilda listened as Percy Weasley, special assistant to Minister Shacklebolt, blathered on and on about file indexing. This was the special surprise guest Professor Slughorn had promised them? A third-rate bore? She was ready to poison herself to get out of this party and back to her dorm. At least she could work on the Arithmancy formula she was devising to calculate dosage for her variant on Pepper-Up potion. Stifling a sigh, she tuned into Percy’s pompous dialogue.
“..And of course, I had to tell Kingsley, I’m so sorry, Minister Shacklebolt-” Percy said with a self-important laugh.
“I’m so sorry, Peter-” Romilda began with what she hoped was a polite grimace, when he interrupted her.
“Percy. I’m Percy,” he said with a buzz of irritation.
“Whatever,” Romilda replied with a wave of her hand. “I have to go. See you around, yes?” she added over her shoulder as she made a beeline for the punchbowl.
She refilled her cup and glanced around the party. She could see knots of students gathered around the various guests invited by Professor Slughorn. Not a single one of interest to her. Not a single potential contact or advantage for her. She had her apprenticeship lined up already with Master Medici in Florence. All she really wanted to was to lay the groundwork - okay, seduce - the most desirable, powerful man in the world. She was seventeen, gorgeous, and dressed to kill. Was that too much to ask?
Shaking her head to clear away those thoughts - as her mother always said, “Stay positive. Boys don’t like sad women.” - she retreated to a shadowed corner to regroup. Securely shaded, Romilda tried to nestle deeper into the cover provided by the potted flutterby bush. And bumped into a wide, well muscled chest.
“Excuse me,” a rich tenor said with amusement.
Romilda turned around and found the wide chest was indeed as muscular as it had seemed. Looking up provided her with a view of a craggy, handsome face, topped with a rakish mop of auburn hair. The smile hovering at his lips promised a wicked sense of humor and Romilda found her own lips quirking in response. Taking a step back, Romilda stuck out her hand.
“Romilda Vane.”
He took her hand in his and instead of shaking it as she expected, he brought it to his lips and kissed it.
“Cormac McLaggan, at your service.”
Romilda smiled. Maybe tonight wasn’t such a waste after all.