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Yule Ball

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Straightening his bowtie and flicking a long, fiery lock of hair behind his shoulders, the Sixth Year ascended the stairs from the dungeons. The Yule Ball was a strange thing for the Slytherin boy; he had never really been one for social engagements. He found it somewhat boring spending the evening surrounded by either couples or sad, pathetic looking lonely people pining for attention from the opposite sex. He could not understand why people would put themselves through such horrors.

With this in mind it did beg the question: Why would he want to attend the ball himself then? The answer to this was simple: Fun. What other night of the year could he turn up at an event and jeer at all the silly little twits who stood standing around alone, sighing aloud? What other night of the year could he laugh at their stupidity and sneer at the moronic couples as they played kissy face with each other on the dance floor? Clarence would make his appearance at the ball regardless of the fact that he was without a date. In essence, the boy felt like he didn’t need one. Who needed a date when he looked as beautifully regal as he did? Besides, it was hard to find someone who could match him in both looks and elegance.

Smoothing out the creases his shirt, Clarence Ballard entered the festively decorated ballroom. The clash of colours, the reds and greens wreaked havoc on his senses and he detested it. The two colours did not work well together as far as the Slytherin was concerned; warm and cool – opposites that just seemed foreign to him. But then, the boy’s entire wardrobe consisted of Slytherin green and different tones of black, grey or white.

The redhead breathed out a loud sigh to show his displeasure at such frivolous spending on somethin...

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...ta’s lap and ask him for a snog, although I doubt I’ll get anything more than a punch from you.”

The words were, of course, spoken in jest. Clarence knew both of the boys well enough now to say such things. Reaching into his pocket, the boy checked to see if he was carrying the slim silver case he kept his smokes in and smiled.

“Why don’t you ask your keeper…” the boy said motioning to the professor. “…if you can take a toilet break, Maggotbreath? I’m sure you’re dying for a fag. Or you can just stay here for a bit and entertain me and Jameson with the line of girls.”

Clarence wondered if his roommate would go and have a smoke with him. A cigarette would surely settle things; they normally did. He stood waiting for a reply with his arms fold across his chest and hoping that some girl would appear so that he could watch the unfolding drama and laugh about it later.
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