When Hermione found Harry on an open-air platform, he was sprawled half-reclining on the stone floor, facing a towering bonfire. Empty wine bottles were scattered around him, alongside a whole roasted chicken, neatly carved. He was tilting an empty bottle toward his nose, as if trying to pour something that wasn't there.
A gust of cold wind carried the pungent smell of whiskey through the icy air, straight into Hermione's sensitive cat nose, forcing her to revert from her Animagus form with a grimace.
Braving the overpowering stench of alcohol, she approached Harry from behind. With a flick of her wand, she transfigured an empty bottle into a plush rug and spread it on the ground. Then, she transformed two more bottles into thick blankets—one she draped over Harry, the other she wrapped around herself.
The heat from the bonfire had melted most of the snow near it, leaving the ground dry and even slightly warm to the touch.
Hermione sat quietly beside Harry. She didn't ask where he'd been all day or pick up the thread of their conversation from the previous night. Instead, she grabbed a bottle from the pile, popped the cork, and took a swig, gulping down a small portion. The burn made her cough violently, tears springing to her eyes.
"Kids can't handle whiskey—a hic—something as strong as this…" Harry's voice drifted lazily toward her, punctuated by a hiccup, as he registered her coughing.
"I'm a year older than you!" Hermione shot back, her neck stiff with defiance. "If you can drink it, why can't I?"
"Older than me, huh… that's—a hic—not necessarily true," Harry mumbled, still half-lying on the rug, a fresh bottle in hand. He stared dreamily at the moon on the horizon.
After a long pause, he turned to Hermione, who was starting to get used to the whiskey's bite. "You came looking for me, so I'm guessing the Yule Ball's over? How was it? Fun?"
"I don't know if the ball was fun," Hermione replied, shrugging nonchalantly as she sipped the whiskey in small, careful doses. "But Professor McGonagall's definitely going to give us both an earful later. Might even dock a few dozen house points."
"McGonagall chewing me out—a hic—I can understand," Harry said, attempting to tip the bottle into his mouth but missing and hitting his chin instead. He swayed as he looked at Hermione. "But you… you're a Champion, aren't you? Why would—a hic—McGonagall scold you?"
"A Champion who ran off before the Yule Ball even started, skipping the opening dance entirely?" Hermione gave Harry a sidelong glance. Whether it was the alcohol or the firelight, her cheeks glowed a soft red.
"That doesn't sound like you, always going on about—a hic—following school rules," Harry said, shaking his bottle as if to emphasize his point. He raised it to drink, but before he could, the bottle was snatched from his hand. Hermione tilted her head back, downing the last drops from the pilfered bottle.
"Ha! That's the spirit!" she exclaimed, tossing the empty bottle aside. It clattered and rolled across the stone floor.
Propping herself up with one hand, she reclined like Harry, gazing at the moon hanging in the sky. Then, she spoke. "Harry, do you hate me?"
"How could I—a hic—possibly hate you?" Harry rolled onto his side to face her. "You're the prettiest girl I've seen since I came back! I like you so much I can barely keep up, so how could I—a hic—hate you?"
"Then why did you lie and say you already had a dance partner?" Under the moonlight, Hermione's brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Two glistening droplets spilled over, trailing slowly down her cheeks.
"Don't—a hic—don't cry," Harry said, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. He reached out unsteadily, brushing the tears from her face. "You're so beautiful in the moonlight—how could you ruin it with a tear-streaked face? I lied because I don't deserve you, that's why…"
Hermione swatted his hand away, glaring at him indignantly. "Nonsense! You're the famous Boy Who Lived! How could you possibly not deserve a plain little witch like me?"
Harry didn't answer. He lay back on the rug, hands behind his head, staring up at the inky sky. "Hermione, want to hear a story?"
"Sure!" Hermione mimicked his pose, lying beside the bonfire. "Let's see how you explain this one."
"It all started that night I fell asleep in the cupboard…" With a wave of his hand, Harry and Hermione were suddenly inside a dark, cramped cupboard. Inside, a boy with a lightning-shaped scar clutched a tattered blanket, lying facing the wall. The scene twisted, and countless beams of light surged toward them and the boy. They watched as the boy warped into a streak of light, much like themselves. That streak hurtled through countless star clusters, breaking through some unseen barrier into a world filled with countless irregular spheres. Drifting further, it finally crashed into an elliptical orb.
Hermione watched as she and Harry followed the streak of light through a blazing "ocean," past honeycomb-like structures, and back into the cosmos. Their perspective settled on a bewildered boy standing in a bustling street filled with strange passersby.
As Harry spoke, the illusions around them shifted. A world of dragons, magic, gods, elves, dragonborn, and countless other races unfolded before Hermione's eyes. They watched young Harry grow into an older Harry, captured by a sudden airship above the city, implanted with a parasite, escaping the ship, gathering companions along the way, battling all manner of enemies, falling in love with a girl with a dark ponytail, transforming into a tentacled monster, destroying a massive brain, and, in the end, decisively ending his life under a crimson sunset.
"Hermione, I like you. I really want to say I'll only ever love you," Harry said, his gaze fixed on the brown-haired girl who had fallen silent. His heart ached, as if it were being torn apart. "But my heart won't let me lie to you. I know I don't deserve you, and I know I shouldn't have fallen for you, but… I can't help it. You've become a part of me. I tried to stay away, to push you out of my life, but when I did, I realized I was pushing away half of myself. The thought of you dancing with someone else—it's like a knife twisting in my chest. Hermione, I'm hopelessly in love with you…"
"Even if my dance partner was Luna?" After a long pause, Hermione's voice cut through, laced with a playful edge.
Harry froze. He watched as she slowly lifted her head, her brown eyes sparkling with triumphant glee, her lips curling into an irrepressible smirk.
"You… you're not mad at me?" Harry asked, staring at her dumbfounded.
"Of course I'm mad!" Hermione shot him a mock glare. "We've been best friends forever, and someone else stole my spot! But, well, it's not as bad as you're making it out to be. It's just an ex-girlfriend, isn't it? You made it sound so dramatic."
"No, she wasn't exactly an ex—" Harry started to clarify, but a single look from Hermione silenced him mid-sentence.
"If I say she's an ex-girlfriend, she's an ex-girlfriend!"
Faced with Hermione's sudden, murderous aura, Harry shrank back, nodding quickly under the weight of his survival instincts.
Hermione glanced at her watch. "There's still about an hour and a half until the Yule Ball ends. Go change into dress robes, and come dance with me!"
"But… I don't know how to dance… Can't I just learn as I go?" Harry protested weakly.
With a wave of his wand, his wizard robes transformed into a sleek black dress robe adorned with gold trim.
After cleaning up the chicken bones and empty bottles, the two raced down the West Tower, hurrying toward the Great Hall.
The hall was less crowded than at the start, but that didn't stop Harry and Hermione from stumbling through a dance to the music, clumsy but joyful. Compared to the other couples gliding gracefully across the floor, their steps were far from polished. Often, they simply swayed together, arms around each other, moving to the rhythm. Yet, the unspoken connection between them—the harmony of their souls—was something no one else could match.
As their steps grew more confident, they began to twirl and spin with the music, soon drawing the eyes of nearly everyone in the hall. Among them was Professor McGonagall, fuming over Hermione's earlier disappearance.
Watching the two figures dance so gleefully, McGonagall's irritation boiled over. She was about to march over and drag the troublemakers off the floor when Dumbledore, seated beside her and savoring a lemon sorbet one spoonful at a time, spoke up.
"Minerva, it's a rare Yule Ball. Let the children enjoy themselves a little longer."
McGonagall's brow furrowed, her tone sharp. "But, Albus, Mr. Potter is one thing, but Miss Granger, as a Champion…"
"There's no need to punish them just yet," Dumbledore said, holding up a cup of lemon sorbet. "Care for some? It's quite delicious."
By 11:40, a tired Harry and Hermione ran into Ron, who entered the hall with a complicated expression.
"Ron, where's your date?" Harry asked, eyeing Ron's solitary figure.
"She's off dancing with someone else," Ron said with a shrug, as if it didn't matter. Then he leaned in, whispering to Harry, "But you, Harry—when did you meet this girl?"
"When did I meet her?" Harry blinked, confused. "It's Hermione, Ron. Didn't you recognize her?"
"What?!" Ron practically jumped out of his skin. He turned, studying the stunning girl in the blue gown, finally recognizing Hermione's features.
"But… how… Hermione, what spell did you cast on yourself?!" Ron gaped at the friend he'd known for four years. "You're not supposed to…"
"Look like a disheveled bookworm with a head of frizzy hair, always buried in a thick book?" Hermione finished with a smile. "That's still me."
"Your teeth…" Ron suddenly noticed that Hermione's front teeth weren't as prominent as he remembered.
"I asked Madam Pomfrey to shrink them back in first year," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You mean to tell me you never noticed in three years?"
"Who pays attention to someone's teeth?" Ron muttered. Then, glancing around to ensure no one was listening, he lowered his voice. "Forget that—Harry, Hermione, I just heard Hagrid say he's a half-giant!"
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, both puzzled.
"And?" Harry asked. "What's wrong with Hagrid's mother or father being a giant?"
"Well… everyone who knows him doesn't care, because they know he's harmless," Ron said slowly. "But… giants are ferocious, Harry. Like Hagrid said in class, it's their nature. They're like trolls—born to kill. Everyone knows that. But there aren't any giants left in Britain anymore."
"Where'd they go?" Hermione asked.
"Most were killed by Aurors. The rest hid in the mountains," Ron explained. "No wonder Hagrid never talks about his past. I always thought he got hit with some nasty Engorgement Charm as a kid, but…"
Ron's gaze drifted to Madame Maxime, seated alone at the staff table. "If Hagrid's a half-giant, then she's got to be one too. That frame of hers… who'd believe a normal person could grow that tall just because of 'big bones'?"
Harry and Hermione rested briefly before returning to the dance floor, leaving Ron to sit alone, sipping pumpkin juice.
At midnight, the Weird Sisters stopped playing, and the crowd gave them one final round of applause before streaming toward the entrance hall.
Harry and Hermione were moving with the crowd when a voice, simmering with suppressed anger, stopped them in their tracks.
"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, so you've finally deigned to return? It seems you've had quite the enjoyable evening."
They turned stiffly to see Professor McGonagall standing at the staff table, glaring down at them, her expression as cold as ice.
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