Practice Makes Perfect (Open to one)

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Summer hadn't even started yet and already Sienna had received her first summer homework assignment from her parents. She was to attend a ball of one of their upper-class muggle friends and obtain the journal of their son, which was somewhere in his room. If it were a test or an actual task, however, Sienna wasn't sure. Sometimes her parents set things up in such a way that she would fail, simply so they could teach her from her mistakes. Other times, there was nothing important about the item to be retrieved, and it was simply to see if she had been paying attention in her previous lessons.

However, every so often, it was the real deal, and Sienna wasn't about to goof off and possibly ruin something important.

And so, one Wednesday evening, leaving her homework on the desk in her common room, Sienna made her way to the dance room. It was to be a ball, and if she were to have any chance of getting into the bedroom of their son, she would have to be very, very convincing. Practice, therefore, was vital, both her dancing and her other, more subtle, moves.

Working with a new dress, she had to figure out how far to bend over and which positions revealed what. She would also need to ensure that she didn't give too much away or too little, and so, stepping into an empty room with mirrors for dancers to see themselves, Sienna got to work.

First, she turned around, mimicking a spin one did when showing off the dress. It riled up just a little, and she noted that with a satisfied nod. Next came the slightly more strenuous part, and for the next ten or so minutes, Sienna practised bending down in as many ways as she could think of, each time pretending to pick something off the floor. When she finally figured out which worked best in exposing just the right amount, she moved on to other things.

Before she could, however, the door to the room began to open and, quickly, she began to slow dance, so it would seem as though she'd simply been there to practise it instead of anything else. Pretending to be caught up in her movements, she kept an eye on the mirror to see who was entering.

Guest

Ambroise had been meaning to take a trip down to the arts room, but maintaining his grades and class workload had kept him confined to the library as of late. He'd recently heard a rumour that the teachers all saved their hardest tasks for the last few days of classes and the young man was beginning to see this as fact rather than fiction.

However; as one of his final hoorahs of the year, Ambroise had decided that the closing paragraph of his Muggle studies paper could wait a couple hours or so. If this had been a paper for any other class, the Pureblood's mind would not have allowed the respite. But it was not as though Muggle studies would have any impact on his future as a well-respected member of the Pureblood community. In fact, he was unsure of why he'd even enrolled in such a class.

It was not as though he would need to know the names of past mudblood figures. Characters such as Robinhood and Gandhi disgusted him. How could one waste his time and his youth on making sure that everyone except for himself was prospering? If anything the only thing a man should care for the survival of is himself and his legacy. The only muggles who somewhat had the right idea were upstanding citizens such as Andrew Jackson or Donald Trump. These men knew how a world should be run. Feelings had little place in politics.

He'd entered the arts room in one of his less formal outfits, a grey suit jacket paired with matching slacks (of course) and a crimson pocket square, because what fool would go dancing without a pocket square?

Ambroise's parents had informed him that there would be many events this Summer that involved dancing and his attendance was ~~required~~ incouraged. It seemed that brushing up on his moves before these image-shaping events would be more than appreciated by the Durand family.

As he rounded the doorway to the dance room, he noticed the sound of feet already moving about; more than likely someone else was in need of a waltz refresher. Knowing that he would now be approaching a fellow student, Ambroise straightened his posture and held his head with a bit more height. He would not appear out of focus to anyone, especially not to someone who may one day try to take him down.

His muscles urged him to relax as the feet were realized to belong to a female, but the Pureblood made sure to maintain his masculinity. He could see her face through the mirror, a reflection of nothing less than pure beauty. He wondered if she'd been at Hogwarts long, and if so he wondered how he'd never seen her before. Surely Ambroise would not forget such a face.

The boy told his thoughts to slow down; to remain calm. He knew better than to be intimidated by a girl. He would not chase after her hand, because any fool who thought he could chase a woman was sadly mistaken. The man always ended up the mouse. And a mouse was something that Ambroise Durand refused to be.

"In need of a lesson?' He asked the girl, watching carefully as she moved around in a dance of sorts. "Looks as though you were taught to dance by a deaf man." his eyes glazed over like china, making sure that he looked both amused and serious at the same time.

"One-two-four five-two-seven," he mimicked, imitating her offbeat rhythm. Was her rhythm off beat? He had no idea, but it was an easy thing to attack. No-one truly knew what numbers were supposed to be said while counting the beat.

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The male entering was in a suit, and internally, Sienna raised an eyebrow. Sure, she was in a rather formal dress herself with matching... everything, but what reason did the male have for dressing so proper? She was practising, not dancing but the entire outfit itself; that was the only reason she had worn it in the first place. Had she just been there to practise dancing, she could have gone in any of her skirts and a simple shirt.

So why the suit? That either meant he was practising something akin to what she was, or he always wore suits. Highly doubting it was the former (what male needed to practise showing off? Suits tended to cover everything or show everything; there wasn't much flexibility with them) she moved her gaze to his face, watching without appearing as though she was.

He was familiar. Handsome, yes, but that wasn't something that really mattered right then; there were a lot of handsome people around school, and Sienna had slept with some of them. This male was not one of them, which meant they'd either never crossed paths (which was unlikely; she made it a point to cross paths with those who seemed interesting) or she had deemed him not something worth going after.

A moment later, she placed him as the Durand male. A Pureblood, then. What was his name again? It was unusual, that much she was certain. It took another moment before she pulled it out from her memory: Ambroise. Ambroise Durand. She had seen him around; he was a Slytherin. But back in those days, Sienna had been warned by her parents to stay away from Purebloods -- unless they were the ones nobody cared about -- until two things. The first was that she was ready to deal with that sort of depth.

The second was more tricky: she needed to wait until her father had been truly forgotten. There were two main kinds, she'd been taught. The first was when everyone pretended they didn't know who you were but kept an eye out for you anyway. This was not the good kind, because it meant you had even more attention on you. The second was the real kind, when you were so insignificant that nobody bothered anymore.

From what her parents had told her, it seemed the time had come when they could start to branch out. Besides, he'd approached her, not the other way around, so why not play to his games?

His comment on her dancing brought a light laugh from her. "What if I was?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder to catch the male's eyes before turning back and properly fousing on her dance.

She'd been out of step on purpose; it was harder to pretend you couldn't dance when you could than the other way around, and she already had the perfect set up in her mind for her target in the upcoming ball. But now that she had an actual audience, and one critisising her at that, Sienna's pride had surfaced. Readjusting the music in her mind, she let out a breath and then began to dance, steps light and fluid.

For about a minute she went on, arranging it in her mind as she did to remove the parts where she'd have a partner, and then, once she'd proven that she could, in fact, dance, she moved closer to the male, slowing down even more until she was but a few feet away from him, then held out a hand, inviting him to take it. "Perhaps I do need a lesson or two," she said, tone light and soft.

Guest

Ambroise watched as the girl turned towards him, her laughter captivatingly light. Now that he could see her face up front, as opposed to through a thick layer of glass, it became apparent that she was familiar to him. This was not a girl that he had ever interacted with before, but her face was definitely one that his eyes had gazed upon prior to this engagement.

'A face like that could hold a heart hostage,' his mind warned. The Pureblood brushed off the warning. Ambroise was smarter than to allow a woman's looks control him. He knew to look into her soul, not her features. A person's soul was where most were the weakest, opening them to defeat.

His eyes wandered through the landscape of her body and the witch showcased her dancing. He wondered what the reason for her rebuttal may have been. Had she been so quick to up her game so that a complete stranger would see that she was not inadequate? Or was the effort put forth so that she could prove to herself that her skills were worth a second look at the very least?

She danced more than adequately, her legs seeming to know exactly how far to move up to the nearest millimeter. The rhythm overcame her and every deep rose thread of the dress she was wearing became a slave to the curves of her body. He'd never seen something so near perfection. He had never seen something so mechanical.

It was as if the girl was made of steal, a machine created to seduce and abduct the mind. Every inch of her being called out to his heart and he could feel himself wanting to obey any requests that she spoke. The boy wondered if perhaps the subject in front of him had powers of sorts, more than likely those of a veela?

He had never encountered one before but every textbook under the sun included a description that covered at least a portion of what he was seeing now. The one questionable portion of this idea was that the girl in front of him did not meet the physical criteria for a veela. Her hair was dark, rather than platinum. And though there was a pull of attraction, he'd picture a veela to have powers of further magnitude.

Perhaps she was only partially a veela. Could that be a possibility? He was unfamiliar of the mating normalities of the species. There was also the chance that the girl was a metamorphagus, changing her appearance to fit what the males around her would succumb to. No matter what the cause of this sensation was, Ambroise decided that he would fight it.

Ambroise clapped slowly as her showcase finished, putting forth only the smallest remnant of a smile.
"That was decent," he told her, making sure that the girl could hear the smugness of his tone.

"Perhaps I do need a lesson or two,"

She was closer now, her eyes soft and playful. She reminded Ambroise somewhat of a kitten, alluring and cute but ready to pounce. He took her hand with a side of caution. The Pureblood made sure to keep his distance to a point where it was unnoticeable that he was doing so, but also to a point where their bodies would not collide.

He led the dance, guiding her hands with his as the dominant male that he'd always been taught to be. He dipped her at the proper times, added in a twirl or two just to leave her wondering if he was a gifted dancer or if he'd been taught ballroom since the moment he left the womb. Of course it was the latter, but the girl did not know that.

"I am sure that it is no question as to which of us is the rhythmic superior," he told her, taking a step back. "The name is Ambroise, but I am sure you already knew that. "Ambroise Durand."

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His response told her all she needed to know; he was toying with her, and Sienna was already on high alert. What better way to put her outfit to the test than with someone to play with? What was her goal, though...? She had to have one, otherwise what was there to play for? A kiss, she decided, moments later. Nothing more, nothing less. He was, after all, a Pureblood, and anything more might be a tad too scandelous for both her and him. Sienna wasn't stupid; she knew sleeping with someone came with consequences of rumours and word going out to the grape vine. But a kiss, no matter how long it lasted, would always just be that -- a kiss.

And nobody who valued their name ever kissed and told.

She mimicked his tone, but kept her smile innocent and pure, as though she didn't know what her tone was indicating. "I know." Sienna honestly did, too. A full fledge Veela could make someone do practically anything with her dance, and while she didn't have the full power of one, she knew that dancing did something to people, as subtle as it was. If she decided to dance for someone -- or with someone -- she knew full well the effects it had.

That was why, since young, she had to practise dancing badly. Not so awfully that it seemed as though she never received lessons, no, but a type of dance that was just off beat, or included slight blunders here and there, or one less than fluid and a tad more clunky.

When he took her hand, she offered him a wider smile and took a step back before letting him guide, following his movements back and forth across the floor, gliding more so than stepping. She'd held nothing back and danced as was in her blood, letting her genetics guide her movements. He was good, that much was for certain, but she hadn't expecting anything less; Purebloods, she knew, were typically good dancers. They had to be.

She twirled to perfection, allowing her dress to rise and fall with light, tiny constrictions of muscles that were hidden by the steps of the dance, revealing more of her legs with each spin around. With each dip, she allowed her shawl to slip further away, as though gravity had tugged at it, more bare skin greeting the male as they danced on.

His words brought a light chuckle from her. Yes; me, she thought, but kept that to herself. Instead, tone playful, she said, "You are right about that." She paused at the name, eyes glinting. "Did I? How presumptious of you." Her voice was soft, almosst a purr. "Sienna Gibson. Tell me, Ambroise Durand, do you always dance with fellow students upon your first meet, or dare I hope I'm special?"

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