Ruby Carrow moved through the throng like a knife through silk. Heads turned. Whispers followed in her wake. She knew it, too, the way her hips swayed just a little more when she felt eyes on her.

She was a study in sharp angles and soft curves. Long, dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders, framing a face that could have graced a renaissance painting. Her robes were tailored, hugging every inch of her figure, and the faint smirk playing on her lips told the world she knew exactly how she looked.

Behind her, a group of third-years parted like the Red Sea.

He stopped dead when he saw her.