Chapter Text
The days following the first task were... awkward. Students and even a few teachers seemed to go out of their way to avoid Harry, as if he was carrying the plague. They’d gone from openly mocking him to pretending he didn’t exist.
Harry didn’t mind one bit. He still had Hermione.
And now Ron was back, too even if he hadn’t really apologized properly.
Speaking of Hermione, Harry had been thinking a lot about the mystery tugging at his heart, the identity of the girl who had somehow settled there. On one hand, his friendship with Hermione had never been closer. They’d sit side by side so often that their shoulders and thighs would brush, and neither of them would pull away. They spent late nights in the common room, Hermione buried in her homework or a book, and Harry just... there, quietly watching.
But on the other, there was that feeling from that night, the one that was completely different from anything else. The memory of that unknown beauty had woven itself into his thoughts, sneaking into every move he made.
Sometimes, he’d catch the firelight flickering over Hermione’s face, the soft scratch of her quill the only sound around them and feel a calm settle over him. Other times, pretending to focus on his own work, he’d find himself studying how her hair curled when she leaned forward, or how she’d bite her lip when deep in thought.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of behavior you could casually explain to Ron without getting teased for life.
It was the kind of closeness that made Harry’s stomach flip in a way no firebolt ever had. He’d catch himself staring at the curve of her smile, or the way she bit her lip when reading, and then quickly look away before she noticed.
Very confusing.
Especially when Hermione laughed at one of his bad jokes, and his brain went fuzzy like he’d just taken a Bludger to the head.
Harry tried to tell himself it was just because they’d been spending more time together. That it was normal to notice things about your best friend when you practically lived in each other’s pockets.
But then she’d nudge him with her knee under the table or roll her eyes in that mock-exasperated way that meant she was actually amused, and his stomach would do that stupid swooping thing again.
But there was still that dream. That angelic brunette who cupped his face like he was the only thing in the world her voice soft, her touch warm. Every time he tried to picture her clearly, Hermione’s face kept slipping in. Which was… confusing.
Well, that was the worst part. Some nights he’d wake up with his heart pounding, the ghost of her hands on his cheeks still fresh, and he wouldn’t know if he should feel relieved or panicked. It didn’t make any sense. Who was this mysterious person?
What made it worse was that every time Hermione smiled at him like he wasn’t a complete disaster, it felt dangerously close to the same warmth from that dream.
Which left him with one very annoying, very inescapable problem:
He might be in trouble.
Big trouble.
Over the past month, he’d been trying, badly to match the dream’s angel to someone at school. At some point, he’d even started making a list in the margins of his notes.
Parvati Patil? Maybe.
Padma? No, not even in Gryffindor.
Cho Chang? probably not, and also why would she be in the Tower?
Alicia Spinnet? nope.
Marietta Edgecombe? double nope.
Katie Bell? possibly?
Sally-Anne Perks?no clue what she even looks like in low light.
Ginny? no. Definitely no.
Romilda Vane? er… maybe?
Angelina Johnson? nope.
Megan Jones? Hufflepuff, so… no.
By the time he’d crossed out most of them, he was left staring at a pathetic little shortlist: Parvati, Katie, and Romilda.
Which didn’t make him feel any closer to solving the mystery, really. If anything, it just made him more aware that he was spending far too much time thinking about brunettes in the Gryffindor common room.
Hermione wasn’t on the list. Obviously. That would be ridiculous… right? She was his best friend. Listing her would feel like breaking some unspoken rule between them, the kind of thing you couldn’t take back once it was out there. Still, every now and then, the thought crept in, her laugh, her hand brushing his, the way she always knew exactly what to say. But then he’d shove it away fast. No point in entertaining ideas that could blow up his entire life and earn him a lifetime of Ron’s teasing.
I need to talk to Sirius about this, Harry thought. He’ll know what to do… or at least make fun of me until I figure it out myself.
Luckily, he’d just gotten a letter from Sirius that morning. Harry dug it out of his robes; the parchment already creased from damage during the flight. The writing was quick and messy, like Sirius had been scribbling it while running from something.
Harry,
I got a message from someone. Don’t worry, I’m not going to rat you out or make a fuss. But people are worried about you. And so am I.
I know this tournament’s a nightmare. I know you’re expected to be some kind of hero when you don’t even feel like one.
But hiding behind that “I’m fine” act won’t help. I’m not here to lecture or tell you what to do, I’m here to remind you that you don’t have to carry all this alone.
You don’t have to carry all this alone. Talk to Hermione. Let her in. You might be surprised how much lighter things get when you do.
You’re stubborn as hell, and that’s part of why we all care so much. But even the toughest bloke needs someone to lean on now and then.
If you want to talk to me too, I’m here. But start with Hermione. Trust her.
—Sirius
P.S. Seriously, cut down on the alcohol It’s not the answer, mate. Also, if you would like, we could maybe try meet up at your next Hogsmeade visit.
Harry didn’t know what to say.
He was shocked.
Flabbergasted.
He knew Hermione was aware of his drinking, but he never thought anyone else noticed. He liked it that way, just him and Dobby in this quiet, blissful bubble. Maybe, if Ron stopped being such a pain, he’d even let him join in someday, if he stopped being a dick.
A soft shuffle echoed nearby as Hermione stepped into the dim light, her eyes tired but steady. Crookshanks padded close behind her, the orange feline alert and curious, sniffing the air around them.
“I’m exhausted,” Hermione whispered, letting out a loud yawn.
Harry patted the empty spot beside him on the couch, he decided to forget about the letter for now. It could be sorted out later, Hermione grinned and bounced over, settling down next to him. She curled up, a blanket draped over their legs, her hair falling forward as she pulled out a book.
“Harry,” she murmured without looking up, “hold this for me a second.”
Before he could ask what, she meant, she grabbed his hand and gently placed it on her knee to keep the blanket from slipping. Warm. Soft. Oh no.
Harry stared straight ahead, heart pounding like he’d just run a marathon. “Uh, sure. Blanket… very secure now.”
She finally glanced up, smiling faintly. “Thanks.” Then, Merlin help him, she leaned her head against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He could feel every nerve in his body screaming, don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t ruin this.
Hermione sighed contentedly, flipping a page with one hand. “You know,” she said softly, “I’m really glad you’re okay after the task. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Harry’s brain promptly melted.
“Blimey,” a voice drawled from behind them, “should I give you two a minute?”
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Hermione’s head snapped up, cheeks instantly flushing as Ron strolled in from the boys’ staircase, grinning like a lunatic.
He dropped into the armchair across from them, stretching his legs out like he owned the place. “Blanket-sharing, shoulder-leaning… anything else I should know about? Should I grab you some cocoa, or are you fine as you are?”
Harry’s ears went hot. “It’s not—”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not,” Ron said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just two best mates… sitting super close… under one blanket… in front of the fire. Completely normal.”
Hermione shifted under the blanket, clearly wishing she could vanish into the cushions. She flicked Harry a quick, embarrassed glance, biting her lip before snapping her book shut. “Ron, maybe you should go bother someone else for a while.”
“Nah,” Ron said cheerfully, sliding to the floor and leaning back against the couch. “I like the view. You two look cozy.”
Harry rolled his eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. Hermione crossed her arms, trying to look stern despite the pink still warming her cheeks.
Ron smirked over his shoulder. “Alright, alright… but when you’re done being all cuddly, you’re both playing me at chess. I’ll even let you lose with dignity.”
“I don’t lose,” Hermione shot back automatically.
“Yeah,” Harry said with a crooked grin, “she just throws the board instead.”
That earned him an incredulous look from Hermione and a bark of laughter from Ron.
Ron tilted his head, studying them with exaggerated suspicion. “Y’know, Hermione… your face is almost the same color as your jumper right now. Bit warm under that blanket, is it?”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed, but the pink on her cheeks betrayed her. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, maybe a little too quickly before fussing with the blanket like it needed urgent adjusting.
“Uh-huh.” Ron’s grin widened. “And Harry’s ears are glowing. What, did the fire suddenly get hotter?”
Harry gave him a flat look. “You’re hilarious.”
“Thanks,” Ron said brightly. “It’s a gift. Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d walked in on—”
“RON!” Hermione’s voice jumped an octave, and she swatted him on the arm with her book. “We’re not! I mean, Harry and I- It’s just—” She clamped her mouth shut, realizing she was only making it worse.
Ron’s eyes sparkled with victory. “Wow. That was convincing.”
Harry’s lips twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “You really need a hobby, mate.”
“This is my hobby,” Ron said cheerfully, leaning back on the floor in front of them. “Winding you two up. And clearly, I’m excellent at it.”
Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands, mumbling something about “immature boys” while Harry tried not to laugh.
Ron, clearly satisfied with the chaos, began setting up the chessboard. “Right then. Ten minutes, and I’m taking both of you down. Unless you’re too… busy.”
Harry sighed, disentangling himself from the blanket with all the grace of someone trying very hard not to touch Hermione any more than necessary under Ron’s watchful gaze. “Fine. But I’m not losing in ten minutes.”
“You’re right,” Ron said, arranging the pieces with a smirk. “Five should do it.”
Hermione, still slightly pink, folded the blanket neatly beside her and crossed her arms. “You’re both insufferable.”
Ron shot her a grin. “Careful, Hermione. With you glaring at me from across the board and Harry sitting there all moody, people might think you’re… a couple defending your honor.”
Harry groaned. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yep,” Ron said, moving his first pawn forward with a flourish. “And I’m about to be unbeatable, too. So, Potter, think you can focus? Or is your head still full of—”
“Your move, Ron,” Harry cut in sharply.
Hermione shook her head, muttering something about childish boys, but she still shifted forward in her seat, eyes locked on the board. “Harry, take his knight on your third turn.”
Ron gasped in mock betrayal. “Ohhh, so now you’re coaching him?”
Hermione dropped her face into her hands while Harry leaned back, half laughing despite himself. “Mate, do you ever stop talking?”
“Not when I’m winning,” Ron said with a wink.
Ron’s confidence only grew with each move, humming under his breath like he was already planning his victory lap.
Hermione gave Harry whispered advice, leaning closer than strictly necessary, which only made Ron’s grin widen. “Secret strategy sessions now?”
Harry ignored him and went for Ron’s bishop. “Your turn.”
Ron’s eyes sparkled. “My pleasure.” He moved his queen with deliberate slowness. “Check.”
Harry frowned, scanning the board. Hermione pointed toward his rook, but Ron cut in, “Ah-ah-ah no coaching now. That’s practically cheating.”
“Since when do you care about fair play?” Harry shot back, but he moved anyway.
It didn’t matter. Ron’s smirk only deepened. Two turns later, his knight landed in place with a triumphant clack. “And that, my dear friends, is checkmate.”
Harry groaned and slumped back in his chair. Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, Harry, if you’d just taken his pawn when I told you—”
“Don’t listen to her, mate,” Ron interrupted, looking far too pleased with himself. “Some things are just destiny. Like me winning. And you two… looking very cozy before I came in.”
Hermione’s blush returned in full force. “You’re impossible.”
“Thank you,” Ron said, leaning back with his hands behind his head. “Shall we play again? Or would you rather go back to your little blanket date?”
Harry threw a pawn at him.
Ron just laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Hermione arched a brow, still pink from earlier but clearly recovering faster than Harry. “Honestly, Ron, you seem far more interested in what Harry and I are doing than your own love life.”
Ron blinked. “My what now?”
Harry smirked, sensing danger. “Oh, this’ll be good.”
Hermione leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. “I’m just saying… you spend all this time teasing us, yet I haven’t seen you spend more than five minutes talking to any girl who isn’t me or Ginny.”
Ron scoffed. “That’s not—”
“What about Susan Bones?” Hermione interrupted, her tone deceptively casual. “Or Hannah Abbott? Or that Ravenclaw who kept smiling at you in the library yesterday?”
Ron’s ears went scarlet. “She wasn’t, she just wanted the ink pot!”
“Mm-hm,” Hermione said, lips twitching. “And Susan! She did ask if you’d walk her back from charms class…”
“That was because it was cold!” Ron sputtered, looking increasingly cornered.
Harry grinned. “Face it, mate, you’re an idiot.”
Ron groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “I hate both of you.”
Hermione smiled sweetly. “We know.”
The three Gryffindors wandered down into the Great Hall for breakfast. Three of the four houses were still buzzing, celebrating the aftermath of the first task. Hufflepuffs were swapping wide-eyed stories about the dragons, Ravenclaws were quietly analyzing every move, and Slytherins lounged smugly, some muttering about Potter’s reckless luck.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron slid into a corner table, trying to dodge the stares and whispers. Harry caught a few sideways glances, some admiring, others skeptical, and a few downright jealous even still, most avoided direct eye contact.
Hermione picked at her toast, eyes flicking around nervously. “I still can’t believe you faced a dragon, Harry. You were incredible.”
Ron, munching on a sausage, smirked. “Yeah, mate, though maybe try not to drag me into the next task?”
Harry grinned despite himself. “No promises.”
Just then, a flurry of owls swooped through the open windows of the Great Hall, clutching letters, packages, and newspapers in their talons. Students scrambled to catch their mail as the owls circled overhead and settled on tables.
Hermione eagerly gathered her stack, and among the usual letters was a crisp copy of the Daily Prophet. She unfolded it quickly, her eyes scanning the bold headlines. Harry leaned over, resting his head gently on her shoulder, causing her to let out a small, surprised squeak.
Daily Prophet Bombshell: Harry Potter’s Latest Stunt, Endangering Friends and Faculty Alike!
By Rita Skeeter
Once again, Harry Potter manages to steal the spotlight, but this time, not for any dazzling display of bravery or magical prowess. No, this time the Boy Who Lived has outdone himself by dragging four unsuspecting individuals into the chaos of the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament, risking not only his own life but theirs as well.
If you were expecting a dignified, tightly controlled competition, think again. Eyewitnesses describe a scene that resembled a reckless boy’s wild tantrum more than a display of wizarding skill. Potter, apparently fueled by a mix of bravado and desperation, summoned Professor Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, and shockingly, the minister of magic, Minister Fudge into the arena with him. None of these individuals had agreed to be part of the spectacle, yet they found themselves at the mercy of a fire-breathing Hungarian Horntail, scrambling for safety while Potter waved his wand and shouted orders that seemed to make little sense.
A source close to the Ministry whispered to me, “It’s astonishing the Ministry allowed this nonsense. Potter’s recklessness could have cost lives. Snape looked ready to hex Potter on the spot.”
One student overheard Malfoy muttering under his breath, “I’ve been humiliated enough. Being dragged into Potter’s mess? Absolutely unacceptable.”
Even Minister Fudge, usually fond of dramatics, appeared unsettled. “This was not how the Tournament should be run. We can’t have champions endangering everyone else, even if it is within the rules.”
Poor Ron Weasley, caught up in the chaos, reportedly stormed off afterward declaring, “Next time he drags me into something dangerous, I’m hexing him myself.”
One can only question the judgment that allowed a teenage boy, known for his impulsive tendencies, to wield such dangerous magic in front of a live audience, endangering not just himself but others who had no say in the matter.
Speculation is rife about whether Potter is spiraling under pressure. A close friend confided, “Harry’s been different lately, more reckless. This isn’t the boy we all believed in.”
This raises grave concerns about the oversight, or lack thereof by Hogwarts staff and the Ministry. Were they so desperate for spectacle that they turned a blind eye to the dangers posed by Potter’s reckless actions? Was anyone in charge paying attention when four unwilling “volunteers” were swept into a life-threatening situation? It’s a miracle no one was seriously injured or worse.
Moreover, this chaotic display has left many students and staff alike questioning the very nature of the Tournament’s rules and the ethical considerations of putting minors in such perilous positions, especially when a “Champion” flouts every bit of protocol with childish recklessness.
Is Harry Potter truly the heroic figure the Wizarding World has built him up to be? Or is he a liability wrapped in celebrity, endangering everyone around him for the sake of his own twisted sense of glory?
One thing is certain: the wizarding community deserves better oversight and a lot less Potter-induced chaos.
Stay tuned, dear readers. There’s much more to come as this story unfolds…
Ron grunted, tossing his own letter aside. “Looks like the whole school’s reading this garbage now.”
Hermione sighed, folding the paper. “Ignore it, Harry. The Prophet loves a scandal.”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
Ron nudged him. “Well, whatever they say, you made it through, mate. That’s what counts.”
“Thanks guys.” Harry replied calmy.
They gathered their things and headed toward the dungeon stairs, the chatter in the hall growing louder as students discussed the latest news.
“Potions next,” Hermione reminded them, her tone more focused now.
Ron groaned. “At least Snape’s likely to give us something to stew over that doesn’t involve the Prophet.”
Harry forced a small smile. “Let’s just get through it without getting cursed or turned into a toad.”
As they descended into the shadowy dungeons, the tension from the morning’s gossip weighed on Harry, but having Hermione and Ron by his side made it a little easier to face whatever came next.
The Potions classroom was cold and dim, the stone walls lined with dusty shelves filled with strange jars and odd ingredients. The air smelled like burnt toast mixed with something worse, old socks, maybe.
Professor Snape stood at the front, arms crossed, eyes sharp and cold as ever. The moment Harry walked in; Snape’s gaze locked onto him like a hawk spotting prey.
“Ah, Potter,” Snape sneered, voice dripping with venom. “Back from your little… circus act. Dragging innocent students into your reckless chaos do you have any idea how close you came to turning this school into a disaster zone?”
Harry stiffened but kept his eyes forward.
Snape paced slowly, flicking his gaze around the room. “Today you will attempt the Draught of Peace, which, judging by your performance in the arena, you will likely ruin. But then again, perhaps the potion will do more for you than mere calming perhaps it will finally teach you some sense.”
Ron grunted under his breath, but Hermione’s eyes narrowed with mild anger.
Snape stopped beside Harry’s table, leaning in slightly, voice low but cutting. “You should consider yourself fortunate I haven’t put you on probation for endangering your classmates and dragging poor Mr. Malfoy into your madness. Though, I suppose even idiots have their limits.”
Harry gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the sting of Snape’s words.
As Snape stalked away, Hermione gently touched Harry’s arm. “Ignore him, Harry,” she whispered, her voice soft. “He’s just… trying to get under your skin.”
Harry looked up, the weight of the insults settling on him, but Hermione gave him a small, encouraging smile.
“Remember, you’re doing better than you think. You’re not alone in this.”
Harry’s shoulders relaxed a little as Hermione squeezed his arm reassuringly.
Snape’s voice cut through again, sharp and sneering, “Don’t embarrass yourself further, Potter. I’ll be watching closely.”
Harry focused on his potion, carefully measuring valerian root, peppermint, and chamomile. Hermione leaned in, whispering, “You’re doing great. Just breathe. I’m here.”
The cauldron bubbled quietly as Snape prowled the room, tossing more snide comments at Harry. “See if you can manage not to poison yourself today, Potter. That would be a nice change.”
Harry bit back a retort, feeling Hermione’s steady presence beside him.
By the end of class, Snape gave a curt nod to Hermione. “Well done, Miss Granger. As for you, Potter… you survived. Barely.”
Hermione gave Harry a quick, supportive glance. “See? You’re tougher than you think.”
Harry exhaled, the weight in his chest easing just a little, grateful for Hermione’s quiet strength.
The three of them left the Potions classroom, Ron grumbling under his breath about “greasy gits” and “completely unfair marks.” Harry kept his eyes on the flagstones, Snape’s barbed comments still rattling around in his head.
Hermione walked a little closer, her sleeve brushing his. “Don’t let him get to you,” she said quietly. “He’s just trying to rattle you.”
Harry huffed. “Worked, didn’t it?”
“Only because you let him,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You still managed your potion perfectly in the end. That’s what matters.”
Ron gave a snort. “Perfect’s a stretch. Yours looked like swamp water until you fixed it.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but Hermione’s smile didn’t waver. “And he fixed it under pressure. That’s not easy.”
They turned down the corridor toward the Transfiguration classroom, weaving past a group of chattering second-years. Hermione slowed her pace just enough that Harry stayed beside her. “You know,” she said, “if Snape could, he’d probably blame you for Filch’s bad mood… or the weather.”
That earned her the smallest laugh from him, which seemed to be her goal. She gave a satisfied little nod.
By the time they reached the tall wooden doors, Ron had gone ahead to grab their usual seats. Hermione lingered just a moment with Harry. She shot him a cheesy smile; The kind she usually saved for him.
He met her eyes for a second, feeling a little of the heaviness ease. “Thanks, Hermione.”
She gave a brisk nod before pushing open the door. “Come on, let’s see if we can get through McGonagall’s class without any accidents this time.”
“WEASLEY! Will you pay attention!”
McGonagall’s voice cracked through the classroom like a whip. Ron froze mid sword fight with Seamus, the tip of his transfigured carrot inches from Seamus’s nose.
The lesson was winding down; they’d already attempted their object-to-animal transfigurations and copied the notes from the board. Well, everyone except Ron, who clearly planned on borrowing someone else’s work later.
“Now that I have everyone’s attention…” McGonagall’s glare lingered pointedly on Ron. “I have an announcement to make.”
She clasped her hands behind her back. “The Yule Ball is approaching a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, and an opportunity to socialize with our foreign guests. Attendance is limited to students in fourth year and above, though you may invite a younger student if you wish.”
Her eyes swept the room, sharp as a hawk’s. “Dress robes will be worn.”
Her mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “The Yule Ball is, of course, a chance to… let our hair down,” she said in a tone that suggested she’d rather be hexed than do such a thing.
Lavender shot a look at Parvati, and the two collapsed into giggles, hiding behind their hands. Harry didn’t blame them, McGonagall’s tightly pinned bun looked like it had never been within a mile of being “let down.”
“That does not mean,” she continued, voice growing sterner, “that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if any Gryffindor embarrasses this school in any way.” Her eyes found Ron again, resting there long enough to make her meaning clear.
The bell rang, and the room erupted in the scrape of chairs and chatter as students shoved books into bags and headed for the door.
The bell rang, and the class erupted into noise as students packed their bags.
“Potter! A word, if you please,” McGonagall called sharply over the chatter.
Harry stopped, feeling a few eyes on him. Hermione hesitated at the door, then said, “Professor, I’ll stay with him.”
McGonagall gave her an exaggerated eye roll. “I didn’t realize we had two Potters in the class.”
Hermione flushed but didn’t back down. “I just thought, if it concerns the Yule Ball it might be useful for Harry to have someone to help him remember the details.”
McGonagall’s lips twitched, though whether from amusement or irritation, Harry couldn’t tell. “Very well, Miss Granger. Stay, if you must.” She closed the door with a flick of her wand and turned to Harry.
“As a champion, Potter, you are required to open the first dance at the Yule Ball. This means you will need a partner.”
Harry nodded awkwardly. “Right.”
McGonagall’s eyes flicked almost too casually toward Hermione. “You may wish to consider someone you already work well with. Someone dependable, graceful under pressure… and unlikely to trip over your feet.”
Hermione’s head snapped toward the professor, eyes widening slightly. “Professor—” she started, but McGonagall raised a hand.
“I am merely making a suggestion, Miss Granger. Champions are… expected to present themselves well, and a partner of similar caliber is strongly advised.” Her gaze lingered a second longer on Hermione before returning to Harry.
Harry coughed into his sleeve, feeling the air grow warmer. “Er… right. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“See that you do,” McGonagall said crisply. “Dismissed.”
They stepped into the corridor, the door shutting behind them. Hermione adjusted the strap of her bag, avoiding his eyes. “Well… that wasn’t subtle.”
Harry gave a lopsided smile. “No. Not at all.”
They headed up the corridor side by side, both staring very intently at the floor as they walked.
Hermione shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. “So… the Yule Ball,” she said after a moment, her tone studiously casual. “It’s… a pretty big deal.”
“Yeah,” Harry muttered, eyes fixed on the stone tiles. “Guess so.”
“I mean,” she went on, “it’s not just dancing. It’s tradition. Formal. People spend weeks planning for it.”
Harry gave a short laugh. “Sounds like a lot of work just to trip over each other to music.”
Hermione’s lips twitched, but she kept her gaze forward. “It’s also… a chance to make an impression. Show you can present yourself well and have loads of fun.”
Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. “Suppose so. Probably more fun for people who actually like this sort of thing.”
They turned up the staircase, still not looking directly at one another.
“Some people might surprise you,” Hermione said quietly. “Once they decide to make an effort.”
Harry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but she was focused on the steps ahead. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Maybe.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, just… full.
They pushed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, the fire crackling warmly in the hearth. Ron was sprawled on the sofa closest to it, a half-eaten Chocolate Frog in one hand and Quidditch Through the Ages balanced on his stomach.
He glanced up as they came in. “Finally. Thought you’d both been kidnapped by McGonagall.”
Harry dropped into the armchair opposite him. “Not quite. Just got a lecture about the Yule Ball.”
Ron snorted. “Figures. Bet she loved telling you about the dancing part.”
Hermione sat down beside Harry, smoothing her skirt. “It’s not just dancing, Ronald, it’s—”
“Tradition, yeah, yeah, I know,” Ron said through a mouthful of frog. “Still sounds like a nightmare. All that dressing up and trying not to step on people’s toes.”
Harry leaned back in the chair, smirking. “Funny, that’s exactly what I said.”
Ron grinned at him. “At least we’re agreed, mate.”
Hermione huffed but didn’t press it, instead pulling a book from her bag. “Well, you two can laugh about it now, but if you wait till, you’ll have nobody to go with.”
Ron gave her a sideways glance. “Cheers for the encouragement.”
The three of them lapsed into a companionable quiet, the firelight flickering over their faces, though Harry caught Hermione’s eyes flick to him once or twice over the top of her book.
The quiet didn’t last long. A group of second years thundered past toward the boys’ staircase, laughing about something Harry couldn’t catch. Before he could even turn back to Ron, a third-year girl with curly blonde hair and a determined look marched right up to their table.
“Harry?” she blurted, cheeks flushed. “Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”
Ron froze mid Chocolate Frog bite, his grin already forming.
But it was Hermione who reacted first. She whipped her head around so fast her hair nearly smacked Harry in the face. “What?” she demanded, her voice pitching higher than usual. “He, he hasn’t even thought about it yet!”
The girl blinked at her, looking startled. “Oh… I just thought I’d ask”
“Well, He’s saying no!” Hermione said sharply, snapping her book shut a little too hard.
Harry stared between them, his ears burning. “Hermione”
She crossed her arms, glaring at the poor girl, who mumbled something about “thinking it over” before practically fleeing toward the portrait hole.
Ron leaned forward, eyes wide with delight. “Blimey, Hermione, you nearly hexed her where she stood.”
Hermione sniffed, flipping her book back open with exaggerated focus. “I was just… making sure Harry didn’t feel pressured. That’s all.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Right.”
Ron leaned back in his chair, still grinning like he’d just won the House Cup. “Merlin’s beard… I don’t think Harry is feeling pressured at all.”
Hermione’s eyes flicked up from her book, narrowing. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I was simply… protecting him from making a rash decision.”
“Rash decision?” Harry said, incredulous. “It was just a question.”
Hermione set her book down with a thud. “Yes, and if you’d said yes just because she caught you off guard, you’d be stuck dancing with someone you don’t even know for an entire night. That’s… strategic sabotage.”
Ron snorted. “Sounds more like jealousy to me.”
Hermione’s cheeks went pink. “I am not jealous,” she said crisply, grabbing her bag and shoving it onto her lap. “I just happen to care about you making sensible choices.”
Harry tried not to smile but failed. “Well, thanks for… uh… caring.”
Hermione gave a little huff and went back to her book, but her ears stayed red. Ron shot Harry a look that said you’re in for it, then shoved another Chocolate Frog in his mouth.
The common room settled again, but Harry couldn’t shake the faint, awkward warmth that lingered between them.
The fire crackled in the grate, throwing warm light over the worn armchairs and the cluster of Gryffindors still chattering about the Yule Ball.
Harry leaned back in his seat, pretending to focus on the flames. Hermione had her book open, but he could tell from the way her eyes hadn’t moved in several minutes that she wasn’t actually reading.
“So…” Ron began, breaking the quiet. “Who are you asking then?”
Hermione’s head snapped up. “That’s none of your business.”
Ron smirked. “That’s a no, then? Haven’t got anyone?”
Hermione sniffed. “I have options.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Options?”
“Yes, options,” she said firmly, though her voice faltered just slightly. “I simply haven’t decided who’s… most suitable yet.”
Ron snorted into his pumpkin juice. “Blimey, you make it sound like you’re picking a new Minister for Magic.”
Harry chuckled, but Hermione just pressed her lips together and went back to staring at her book.
For a while, the only sounds were the rustle of parchment, the pop of the fire, and Seamus laughing loudly at something across the room.
Ginny walked past, tossing a curious glance at the three of them before heading upstairs. Ron raised his eyebrows at Harry, but Harry ignored him, still watching Hermione as she pretended to read.
“We’ve got Defense after lunch,” Hermione declared, snapping her book shut. “Let’s get going!”
Ron looked appalled. “But we’ve just sat down!”
“Let’s go, Ronald,” she said, shooting him a sharp glare. “We can have lunch first there’ll be food.”
Ron’s face quickly brightened. “C’mon, Harry, let’s go get some food.”
Harry finally pushed himself up with a small smile. “Alright, alright, I’m coming.”
The three of them stood, moving together through the bustling common room, the chatter and warmth of the castle wrapping around them like a familiar cloak.
They made their way through the crowded hallways, the chatter of students growing louder as lunchtime approached. Harry could feel the weight of whispers still hanging around him, but with Hermione and Ron beside him, it felt a little less heavy.
As they reached the Great Hall, the smell of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet treacle tarts filled the air. Hermione practically tugged Harry toward their table, her eyes brightening at the sight of the spread.
Ron immediately grabbed the sausages, grinning as he loaded his plate. Harry grabbed a bit of everything, trying to focus on the moment instead of the constant buzz of gossip in his head.
Hermione leaned in, lowering her voice. “Harry, have you thought any more about the second task? I mean, about the golden egg?”
Harry shuffled his food nervously, not meeting her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about it... but I don’t know. Seems like a lot to figure out.”
Ron snorted. “I’m sure you’ve got it mate.”
Before Harry could reply, a sudden burst of laughter caught their attention. Across the hall, Lavender Brown was chatting with Parvati Patil, both glancing in their direction with mischievous smiles.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Here we go...”
Harry noticed Lavender and Parvati inching closer, eyes practically glued to him like he was some kind of prize. Lavender waved brightly, and Parvati flashed a cheeky grin.
Ron nudged Harry with a smirk. “Looks like you’ve got some fans, mate.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed sharply, and she stepped forward, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, great. Just what Harry needs, more distractions from the biggest gossipers.’”
Lavender and Parvati strutted up, flashing wide smiles. Pavarti called, “Harry! Any luck finding a date for the Yule Ball? We’re dying to hear!”
Hermione’s head whipped around like a whip crack, eyes blazing daggers. “Are you actually that clueless? It's only been two hours! Honestly, it’s pathetic.”
Lavender’s smile faltered. Parvati’s eyes widened.
Hermione took a slow step forward, voice low and venomous. “Keep this up, and I swear, no one’s going to want anything to do with you, least of all Harry. You’re embarrassing yourselves so badly it’s painful to watch.”
Her stare was ice sharp, cutting straight through them. “So, unless you want to be hexed, I suggest you crawl back under whatever rock you came from and stay there.”
Lavender’s face went deathly pale; Parvati backed up, nearly tripping over her feet.
Hermione turned on her heel, voice dripping with finality. “Consider this your only warning.”
Ron gulped quietly, his eyes wide with awe. Harry was speechless, his gaze shifting between the retreating forms of the two girls and Hermione’s fierce, unreadable expression.
Neither of them spoke for a moment, the weight of what had just happened hanging thick in the air.
Finally, Ron cleared his throat. “Blimey, I’m not in the mood for food anymore. Let’s just head to Defense.”
Harry nodded, still a bit dazed. “Yeah, probably for the best.”
Hermione gave a small, tight smile but didn’t say anything as they made their way out of the great hall. The castle corridors felt colder somehow, the usual noise and bustle replaced by a quiet tension that wrapped around them like a cloak.
“Imperio.” Moody barked, the red beam impacted Ron directly on the center of his chest. “Now Weasley, I want you to jump.”
Harry stared in horrified fascination as Ron sprang onto the table. He started hopping up and down, pounding his chest with both fists and letting out loud, ridiculous monkey noises.
The class erupted in laughter. Chairs scraped, parchment tumbled to the floor, and even Malfoy nearly toppled from his seat, howling.
“Excellent,” Moody growled, his mismatched eyes glinting. “See that? His will is gone. He’ll do whatever I tell him. Dance, boy!”
Ron immediately spun clumsily on the tabletop, arms flailing like a drunken puppet.
Hermione stifled a laugh, burying her face against Harry’s side. “I wish I could record this,” she whispered, barely able to keep the giggle out of her voice.
Moody’s gaze swept the class again, landing squarely on Malfoy. “And you, Draco. Time to show us how strong your mind really is.”
Malfoy’s sneer faltered for a split second, but he straightened immediately. “I don’t need your lessons, old man,” he spat.
Moody’s wand flicked, and a thin red beam shot toward Malfoy. He froze mid-sneer, his eyes going wide and unseeing.
“Now, Malfoy,” Moody said, voice low and commanding, “cluck like a chicken.”
A strangled noise escaped Malfoy’s throat. Then another. His arms flailed, hands clawing at the air, and he let out a series of awkward clucking sounds, hopping on one foot while trying to balance.
Then, bizarrely, he began banging his head against the floor, pawing and scouring the wooden deck as if hunting for food.
The class lost it. Even Harry couldn’t help but laugh, though he quickly covered his mouth. Hermione buried her face deeper into her robes, trying not to giggle.
The chaos only made Moody’s expression grow darker, like a storm ready to strike. “Enough,” he barked. “Sit, Malfoy. Let’s see how you handle it, Potter.”
Harry’s stomach tightened as Moody’s gaze swung toward him. “Your mind. Let’s see how strong it is.” he said, voice low and dangerous.
Harry froze. His wand felt heavy in his hand, and his palms were slick with sweat. “I… I’m ready,” he said, though his voice sounded smaller than he intended.
Moody’s wand flicked. The familiar red beam shot toward Harry.
Harry felt it wash over him, but instead of panic or fear, a strange calmness settled in. His thoughts sharpened, and, oddly, he felt in control. The sensation was… familiar. A little dizzy, a little lightheaded, but clear.
Then it hit him.
This was exactly how he felt when he was drunk.
“Jump Potter!” Moody repeated.
Harry grinned. If he was going to play along, he might as well make it fun. He bent his knees, pretending to prepare for a standard leap, but when he launched himself, he veered sideways toward Hermione, arms outstretched.
Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Harry!” she yelled, catching him with a surprised yelp.
The class erupted into laughter. Ron toppled sideways off his chair, still dizzy from the earlier Imperius antics, while Malfoy clucked and flailed in horror.
Moody barked, “Potter! That’s not—”
Harry swung lightly in Hermione’s grasp, letting the dizzy confidence from his “drunk” mind make him bold. “Relax, Professor! I’m just… improvising.”
Hermione struggled to keep her balance under his weight but couldn’t help a small laugh. “You’re impossible,” she murmured.
Harry leaned close, whispering conspiratorially, “Tell me you didn’t see that coming.”
Moody’s wand twitched, eyes blazing. “Great job Potter, with a bit of time you’ll be able to fully resist the curse.!”
Moody’s sharp gaze swung toward Hermione. “Granger. Your turn. Let’s see how clever your mind really is.”
Hermione stiffened, clutching her wand like a lifeline. “I… I’ll do my best,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Moody’s wand flicked, and the familiar red beam shot toward her.
“Now Granger, I want you to rehearse the 12 uses of Dragon’s blood.”
For a heartbeat, her eyes glazed over. Her lips parted, and the words began spilling out, rapid and precise. “Dragon’s blood can be used as an effective cleaner, a strengthening agent for potions, a—”
But then she stopped. Her brow furrowed, lips tightening as if she were biting back the next answer.
Hermione pressed her lips shut and shook her head violently. “No!” she gasped. Her voice trembled, but her will was unshaken. “I don’t want too!”
A ripple of surprise ran through the class. Ron whispered, awestruck, “She fought it!”
Moody lowered his wand slowly, a grim smile tugging at his scarred mouth. “Outstanding. Most students would’ve rattled off the list without blinking.” He nodded at her. “You’ve got a steel trap for a mind, Granger. That’ll serve you well.”
Moody’s magical eye swiveled, sweeping across the room, lingering on each student long enough to make them squirm.
“The Imperius Curse isn’t easy to beat,” he growled, “but with enough practice and strength of mind, it is possible. Remember that. You’ll need it.”
He gave one last glare, then slammed his staff against the floor with a sharp crack. “Class dismissed. Tomorrow, we’ll be working on offensive spells. Don’t be late.”
Chairs screeched back as the students hurriedly packed up, buzzing with chatter. Ron stumbled over, still rubbing his temples. “Blimey, I feel like my brain’s been scrambled.”
“Because it has,” Hermione said, smoothing her robes with shaky hands.
The group finally split up, Hermione heading briskly toward Ancient Runes while Harry and Ron trudged up the stairs to Divination.
Ron looked oddly fidgety, wringing his hands as though he had something bottled up. He kept glancing sideways at Harry, opening his mouth once or twice before shutting it again.
Finally, Harry sighed. “Spit it out, Ron. What’s wrong?”
Ron broke into a lopsided grin. “When are you going to ask her?”
Harry groaned, closing his eyes. “Ask who again?”
Ron gave him a look. “Oh, don’t play dumb. Hermione, of course. It’s obvious she wants you to ask her”
Harry stumbled on the step, nearly tripping. “What? Ron, that’s no.”
Ron snorted before leaning in smirking.
“All I’m saying,” Ron muttered, grinning as they climbed the stairs, “is you’ll regret it if you don’t say something.”
Harry scowled at him, but before he could answer, they pushed open the trapdoor to Divination. Inside, Trelawney’s tower room was as stuffy as ever with the thick sweet stench of perfume and incenses. Students were already settled at their little tables, teacups steaming in front of them. As Harry slid into a seat beside Ron, he could feel Parvati and Lavender’s eyes flicking toward him, whispering behind their hands.
Harry had just sunk into his usual seat when Professor Trelawney floated into view, eyes wide and misty as though she’d seen ghosts lurking in the teapots.
“My dears…” she breathed, her shawls trailing dangerously close to the candles. “The air is heavy tonight with secrets… with hidden truths waiting to be revealed…”
Her gaze drifted across the class before locking suddenly on Harry. She leaned forward, bracelets jangling. “Yes… I sense a question that burns brighter than the rest. A question of the heart.”
Harry stiffened, already dreading where this was going. Ron was grinning like a madman beside him.
“Yes… the crystal speaks of music, of twinkling lights, of… dancing!” Trelawney’s voice trembled with importance. “The fates whisper of a ball! And you, dear boy, are not free of its tangle. A partner waits… veiled in mystery.”
A ripple of giggles ran through the class. Parvati’s eyes went wide, and Lavender nearly spilled her tea in excitement.
Trelawney’s rings clinked against the table as she reached for Harry’s cup. “Let us peer within, let us see who walks at your side beneath the stars!”
Harry groaned, sinking lower in his chair as Ron tried and failed to stifle his laughter.
Professor Trelawney lifted his teacup with both hands, squinting into the swirls of half-finished tea. Her breath quickened. Ahh… I see…” she whispered, voice trembling. “A bright light!” She trembled, her hands shaking “WINGS!” She yelled with a moan, jumping backwards 5 meters.
The whole class gasped. Lavender clutched Parvati’s arm.
“W-wings?” Ron snorted. “A Hippogriff?”
Trelawney clutched her shawls tighter, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. “Not a beast, you foolish boy! I see radiance, feathers, soaring high above all others. She is marked by light, purity, untouchable beauty” She suddenly froze, her stare fixed on Harry. “A celestial being… come to guide you through destiny!”
Half the class leaned in with open mouths. Parvati squeaked, “An angel?”
Harry’s face burned, but underneath it all, a flicker of interest stirred. An angel? Could she have…? He bit the inside of his cheek. Maybe Trelawney had somehow stumbled on his dreams. Maybe this was a chance to find out who—
But Trelawney wasn’t finished. She jabbed a finger at him, bracelets jangling wildly. “The heavens demand it! You shall walk into the Yule Ball at the arm of a girl with wings, or else—” she dropped her voice to a dramatic whisper, “darkness shall swallow you whole!”
Ron was bent double now, wheezing. “Brilliant, mate. Don’t forget to pluck your date outta the Owlery.”
“Wings,” Parvati whispered breathlessly, eyes darting toward Lavender. “Radiance. Feathers…”
Lavender’s jaw dropped. “It has to be Fleur Delacour.”
Harry’s stomach lurched. Fleur? Out of all the people Trelawney could’ve pointed him at…
Ron clutched his sides, face red. “Oh, this is golden!” he croaked between wheezes. “Just wait till Hermione finds out”
Harry glared at everyone, feeling extreme annoyed. This was his personal life! Who he took to the ball was of his concern only.
The last thing he needed was the whole school gossiping about him and Fleur. As if things weren’t already bad enough with people staring every time she walked past.
“I’m not asking Fleur,” he muttered under his breath, though his ears were scarlet.
Parvati leaned in toward Lavender, her voice carrying just enough for Harry to hear. “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? She’s like… glowing all the time.”
Lavender nodded furiously. “And the way she just floats when she walks wings, obviously.”
Ron thumped the desk, tears rolling down his cheeks from laughing. “Oh mate, this is the best thing that’s ever happened in Divination.”
Harry shoved his teacup away, scowling. “You lot are ridiculous. Trelawney’s wrong. She’s always wrong.”
But as the class wore on, he couldn’t shake the whispers or the way Parvati and Lavender kept shooting him dreamy looks. By the time they were climbing down the ladder after the lesson, Harry wanted to hex himself invisible.
Ron elbowed him, still grinning ear to ear. “Well, angel boy, better start working on your French. Maybe Fleur’ll teach you how to say ‘wings’ properly before the ball.”
Harry groaned. “If I hear the word ‘wings’ one more time, I’m jumping off the Astronomy Tower.”