Dance With Me | A&B
@awearywood
“Augustus Caius Rookwood. Where in Merlin’s knee length beard have you been hiding all night,” demanded Bellatrix, marching up to the wizard, not caring about who he’d been speaking with as she shoved between them and poked his chest with a rigid finger. “Have you any idea how long I have been looking for you?” Not long at all, as a matter of fact, but that was neither important nor the point.
“I asked Fe--” the name was cut off by the reminder that she’d interrupted a conversation, “Jean, if he’d seen where you’d gone and he growled something about casing the gallery. Are you aware of how many galleries there are here?”
She stopped jabbing his chest and grabbed him by the tie, giving it a gentle tug as she informed him, “You are going to dance with me, Mr. Rookwood. You are the only one in the wedding party who hasn’t.” Another lie. Even polyjuiced into a handsome facade, she was convinced there’d been a faint ring of gold in Fenrir’s eyes when he’d growled at her at the mention of dancing, tightening his grip on Arielle Delacour’s narrow waist, pulling the small thing nearer as if Bella were threatening to pry them apart.
Werewolves. Territorial bastards, the lot of them. She hadn’t the foggiest idea how the little witch put up with it.
Wrapping his tie around her hand, she pulled him down to her, teeth bared in an adder’s smile as she said with lethal quiet, “Today is not the day to say no to me, darling Augustus. Either with you or your ghost, you will dance with me.” She uncurled his tie from her hand, smoothed it against his shirt, adjusted the knot to his collar, and smiled sweetly before prompting, “Shall we?” Bella grabbed his arm and squeezed it affectionately, a command in her gaze as she peered up at him, expecting him to lead the way.