It was a little over a week since the first task, and things seemed to have calmed down for Harry. To an extent. The Prophet was still making speculation about his love life instead of reporting on the news. Teen Witch was discussing the Magical Karma Sutra and which Sutras best suited the Boy Who Lived. Oh, and Hermione was getting better at casting Stinging Hex at her fellow witches, who kept asking about how Harry was in bed. But none of that was important at this time. No, what was important at this time was the stare down Harry was having with Ron.
“3, 2, 1 . . . Draw.” Ron whispered, and pulled out his joke wand. Harry did the same.
Poof.
The wands turned into a rubber chicken and a mouse. They both let out a groan. It was a draw.
“Mssr. Potter and Weasley, if you are done. Can I get back to my announcement?” Professor McGonagall inquired. Though it sounded like a question, the two boys knew it wasn’t. Sheepishly they put away the Weasley Twins Joke wand and turned back to the front of the class.
“Now as I was telling you earlier. “The Yule Ball is approaching, a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above, although you may invite a younger student if you wish —” Lavender Brown let out a shrill giggle. Parvati Patil nudged her hard in the ribs, her face working furiously as she too fought not to giggle. They both looked around at Harry. Professor McGonagall ignored them, which Harry thought was distinctly unfair, as she had just told off him and Ron.
“Dress robes will be worn,” Professor McGonagall continued, “and the ball will start at eight o’clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then —” Professor McGonagall stared deliberately around the class. “The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to let our hair down,” she said, in a disapproving voice. Lavender giggled harder than ever, with her hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle the sound. Harry could see what was funny this time: Professor McGonagall, with her hair in a tight bun, looked as though she had never let her hair down in any sense. “But that does NOT mean,” Professor McGonagall went on, “that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way.”
With that the bell rang, as the class started to leave McGonagall called out, “Potter a moment if you please.”
Hearing this Harry felt a sense of foreboding pass over him. He looked once to the door to see that Hermione was giving him that look as if he should have been expecting this or at least that there is something that he is missing.
“If you think of running Mr. Potter, I will as Ms. Granger to Stun you.” Professor McGonagall spoke out, not even bothering to look up from her desk.
‘Damn’ Harry thought. That sealed it for him, since he knew Hermione wouldn’t hesitate to do that.
Approaching the older witches desk, “Yes Professor?”
“Mr. Potter, since you are a champion of the tournament. You and your partner are expected to open the Ball with the other champions. Do you understand?”
“Wait. . .Partner?” Harry questioned.
“Yes. Partner. Its a dance, Mr. Potter.”
“DANCE!?” Harry parrotted.
McGonagall just sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. After letting out a deep breath.
“Mrs. Granger, come out from behind the door please.” McGonagall called out. Hermione with a slight blush on her face came in, clearly surprised at the professor knowing that she had been standing there.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Ms. Granger. Mr. Potter will be opening the Yule Ball with the other champions. He needs to have a dance partner and needs to be taught how to dance.” Professor McGonagall explained.
“Wait, what if I already know how to dance?” Harry tried to protest. That fell to silence quickly as the two women gave him a deadpan look. They clearly did not believe him.
“I trust that you, Sasha, and Ramaranth can get the lad trained in 3 weeks.” Professor McGonagall spoke.
“We’ll do our best, Ma’am.” Hermione nodded, cheerfully.
“Good you are both dismissed.” The two then turned and left, leaving the older lady to her grading.
“Don’t worry, Harry. We’ll get this sorted out for you and it will be completely painless. As long as we create a schedule for you to follow and lots of vigorous practice, I’m sure we can get you trained to be able to dance. Who know, you might even like it and we can branch out to different styles.
Harry hearing this paled. This was sounding like torture more and more.
The announcement of the Yule Ball sent ripples of excitement and anticipation throughout Hogwarts. The Great Hall buzzed with whispered conversations and excited chatter as students exchanged speculations about who might ask whom. The magical atmosphere, charged with the prospect of romance and dance, permeated the air. Yet, amidst the sea of eager faces, one particular wizard found himself on the edge of panic.
Harry Potter, known for facing dragons and dark wizards with remarkable courage, couldn't help but feel a knot of nervousness tighten in his stomach at the thought of the Yule Ball. The prospect of navigating the complexities of a magical dance, especially with the added pressure of choosing a date, left him slightly overwhelmed.
He obviously knew he needed to ask Hermione, since, you know, they were dating. It would obviously be the thing to do. But he also didn’t want to upset Sasha or Ramaranth, since both women had the ability to kill first, ask questions late. He wondered if there were any rules for this sort of problem? Maybe he should ask Sirius?
In a quiet corner of the Gryffindor common room, Hermione Granger, Ramaranth, and Sasha gathered for a discussion. The trio, each with a unique perspective on Harry's situation, exchanged thoughtful glances as they contemplated the upcoming event.
"He's going to need a date for the Yule Ball, and we can't leave it to chance," Hermione stated, her brow furrowed in concern. "It's not just about the dance; it's a tradition, and Harry deserves to enjoy it like everyone else."
Ramaranth, the Dragon Queen of the Western Skies, nodded in agreement. "Indeed, the Yule Ball is a significant magical event, and as Harry's allies, we should ensure that he has a companion befitting the occasion."
Sasha, the Basilisk, observed with a wry smile, "The boy who faced a dragon and faced me might be slightly daunted by the prospect of asking someone to the ball. We should offer our guidance."
As the discussion unfolded, the three magical beings weighed the options. Hermione, aware of Harry's feelings and the intricate dance of teenage emotions, suggested, "Perhaps he could go with someone he already knows well, someone who understands him."
Ramaranth considered the suggestion. "Indeed, familiarity could ease the tension of the evening. But who among us should be the chosen companion?"
Sasha, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, suggested, "Why not all of us? A rotating schedule for dances, ensuring that Harry experiences the ball with each of us in turn. It would be an unconventional arrangement, but it could work."
The idea sparked an amused yet thoughtful discussion as the three magical beings strategized on how to present this proposition to Harry. Little did they know that elsewhere in Hogwarts, Fleur Delacour was pondering her own approach to the Yule Ball and the enigmatic wizard at the center of her thoughts.
In the Beauxbatons carriage, Fleur gazed out of the window, her thoughts a whirlwind of contemplation. How could she capture Harry's attention for the Yule Ball? The competition for his companionship was undoubtedly fierce, but Fleur, with her veela charm and subtle allure, was determined to stand out.
As the carriage rolled through the magical grounds of Hogwarts, Fleur's eyes sparkled with a combination of determination and a hint of mischief. She knew that subtlety and elegance would be key, and a plan began to form in her mind. Fleur, with her innate grace and veela allure, aimed to make an impression that Harry Potter wouldn't easily forget.