He sneaks a glance over his shoulder, back toward the staircases leading up to the dormitories, quickly turning back to the fireplace.
Where the hell is she? She has to come down the stairs sometime...and I KNOW that she was thinking about going to the Ball. She has to come down sometime.
The Common Room is a bustle of activity, full of chattering Gryffindors in their best robes, streaming back and forth from the portrait hole to the stairs, leaving and coming, picking each other up; the room is awash in noise, and Moody is on the edge of it all, turning to glance at the stairs surrepitiously every few moments.
He drums his fingers against the arm of the chair again, letting an impatiant sigh escape his mouth, blowing the unkempt fringe of his hair against his forehead. I don't get nervous, he reminded himself. It's not important. It's just--it's just a Ball. Who the hell cares. It's just--
He hears the pad of footsteps against the carpeted stairs from the dormitories, and turns around again; one swift glance toward the stairs is all that he needs to feel his heart contract out of sympathy for his nerves. Oh Christ.
Minerva stood at the bottom of the stairs, chatting with a few of her friends; Moody turned back around and sank lower into his chair. Why didn't I ask her earlier? But he knew the answer. He just wished that he didn't. He swallowed hard...