"Isn't there a phrase for this?"

"I believe it's called ageism."

"Right!"

As the Head of Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall sits in her office, her quill scratching against a piece of parchment willfully.

"Ms. Tonks, Mr. Weasley, I don't see an issue with this request." She finally meets up and meets our gazes. "As the youngest of the professors, we've all deemed you two fit to provide a waltz lesson to the houses — and yes, that includes the Slytherins."

The redhead lowers his hand and opts to grumble under his breath.

"Shouldn't we put a vote for this? There are far more qualified professors —"

"It was a unanimous decision amongst the other professors."

". . .are you attempting to wind us up, Minnie?"

"I haven't a clue of what you mean, Charles."

He grows beet red at the mention of his full name — one that has only ever been used by his mother and the occasional sibling.

"Do we at least get anything out of this?"

"I've looked past the frequent trips to the kitchens in the late hours of the night"

This time, I seal my lips and keep quiet.

"Filch will give you access to the old gramophone, and you have free reign of the entrance hall only for lessons." Her hands fold, one on top of the other. "Any questions?"

"Nope."

"Uh-uh."

"Shut the door behind you."

Charlie and I stutter out of the office and abide by her last words, letting the hinge squeak until it fully closes.

He runs a hand through his ginger curls. "Well, how should we go about this?"

"Pair up houses so we only have to hold lessons twice." Three of my five fingers bend. "But before we begin, you will need a lesson."

"What makes you say that?"

"You're not the most graceful of the Weasley clan."

––––––––––

The gramophone crackles to life, not having been touched in the last century, I presume. Filch fiddles with the dials as I address the students of Gryffindor and Slytherin.

As soon as I open my mouth, Filch plucks Mrs. Norris from a nearby table, grunts a quick "that should do it", and takes his leave.

"I'm sure the heads of your houses have announced the Yule Ball." My palms brush against the fabric of the plain skirt. "Simply put, it's a dance."

"McGonagall and Snape have likely threatened you to put your best foot forward and not besmirch the school of Hogwarts by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons."

Charlie attempts to mimic the flat tonality of Snape and the pointed expressions of McGonagall, drawing miniscule snickers from either side.

"Now, the professors have unanimously nominated me and Charlie —"

"Behind our backs —"

"To hold a lesson for the art of the waltz."

Outbursts break throughout the hall, girls whispering to one another excitedly and boys groaning at the very mention of a waltz.

"Quiet!"

Charlie's rattling voice echoes, one he's only ever used for the Quidditch team during his years as captain.

"This will be nothing like the bashes the common rooms have witnessed. There will be no toddy or liquid courage of any sort."

"Unless you manage to spike the punch bowl."

"Don't encourage them." My left hand smacks against his thick forearm.

A corner of his lips twitches in amusement. "Spiking the punch bowl would save us from having to do so."

". . .you may have a point."

His hands clasp behind his back, and he walks towards the center.

"Boys, your role is to lead the dance — when it comes to turns, lifts, anything."

"And girls, you will follow. Rather exciting, I know."

"Ms. Tonks." A hand outreaches towards me. "Would you care to join me, please?"

A few girls release simultaneous "aw"s when I take his hand in acceptance and he instantly tugs me into his embrace.

"Now, pay attention, lads." A hand secures at my waist. "You want to cup your date's waist — not too high and definitely not too low."

"Ladies, your hand will fall on his shoulder delicately."

"And your other hands will meet, one hand holding the other in the air."

Sparing a glance of his shoulder, I lift a pointer finger into the air and swish it in one fellow movement. The needle slips onto the record, and music booms through the horn.

"All movements are down in counts of three."

One, two, three. One, two, three.

Charlie guides me through the dance, our eyes never leaving one another as our feet glide over the floor.

"You're rather light on your feet, Della." His whispers nip at my ear. "I don't recall such swan-like movements at our fair share of gatherings."

I smile over his shoulder at Harry and Ron before stating: "No one ever asked me to dance. Had I been given the opportunity, who knows."

"Then, let me be the first to say — or should I mean ask. . ." A pause breaks his words. "Allow me the honor of accompanying you to the Yule Ball, Ms. Tonks?"

"It would be my pleasure." My cheeks glow.

"Everybody, come together and join us!"

The girls are the first to rise to their feet, though the boys are far more hesitant. A nasty glare shoots in the direction of the rest of the younger Weasley boys and Harry, to which they bolt out of their chairs.

"Would it be better if we gave them individual pointers?"

"I'm rather pleased with where we are at this very moment."

"Do you live solely to make me blush, Char?"