Jeremiah Turner strolled casually onto the dance floor. Years before he never would have seen himself here. He would have obviously envisioned himself at Durmstrang, his original school for the first three years of his life.
But here he was, and it was his last night. Jeremiah wasn't sure how he felt about it, or whether he had really gotton anything out of the place. But he did know that his male urges were telling him to at least do something productive with this generous opportunity. And the girl who had already turned down another was an intriguing possibility.
Moving quietly behind the girl with the radient crimson hair, Jeremiah wound his hand around her waist, causing her movements to stop abruptly, most likely in surprise. "No, do keep dancing," he crooned. "I have yet to learn this type of bobbing-dancing." |