The night of the Yule Ball had finally arrived. Snowflakes drifted lazily across the enchanted windows, glowing softly in the torchlight. The castle buzzed with excitement, the air thick with perfume, laughter, and the rustle of dress robes. For most students, the Yule Ball was an evening to look forward to with delight. For others, it was pure panic.
Harry stood in the Gryffindor fourth-year dormitory, carefully straightening his black robes. They were well-tailored, not flashy, but elegant enough to pass among the foreign guests. He wasn't nervous—not after the endless hours of dancing lessons Hermione had drilled into him. For once, Harry felt like he wouldn't make a fool of himself.
Neville, however, was pacing in front of his bed like a soldier about to be executed.
"What if I trip? What if I step on her foot? Merlin's beard, what if I fall flat on my face?" Neville stammered, tugging at the collar of his deep blue robes.
Harry looked up from adjusting his sleeves. "Neville, you'll be fine. You already know how to dance—pureblood upbringing and all that. You just need confidence. That's all."
"Confidence," Neville muttered, his face pale. "Easy for you to say. You had Hermione drilling you like a drill sergeant for two weeks."
Before Harry could answer, a groan from the far end of the room distracted both of them. Ron was glaring at himself in the cracked mirror, his freckled face twisted in disgust. He was wearing ancient maroon robes with ridiculous lace frills at the collar and cuffs, looking like he had robbed his grandmother's closet.
"This is bloody humiliating," Ron spat, tugging at the lace. "Everyone else will be in sleek new robes, and I'm going to look like some clown in a circus."
Neville opened his mouth sympathetically, but Harry beat him to it. "Then you should've arranged better, Ron. Or at least had the sense not to wait until the last minute."
Ron scowled, his eyes darting toward Harry's sharp, tailored robes and then Neville's respectable set. Jealousy burned across his freckled features.
"Easy for you to talk, Potter," Ron sneered, voice dripping with envy. "Everything falls into your lap. Fame, money, dates. You've even got Susan Bones on your arm tonight. Me? I've got no one. I'll be standing around like a troll in this lace nightmare."
Harry's emerald eyes hardened. "That's not my fault, Ron. Maybe if you treated people better, they'd actually want to spend time with you."
The words stung, and Ron's ears turned scarlet, but he muttered nothing more.
Harry turned back to Neville, lowering his voice. "Ignore him. Let's get going. I have to pick up Susan, and you need to meet Luna."
Neville nodded nervously, wiping his sweaty palms on his robes.
As they descended through the common room, the Gryffindors already gathered gasped and stared. The girls were radiant in their gowns, the boys in crisp robes. Whispers followed Harry like shadows—admiration from some, envy from others. He gave curt nods in reply but kept his expression unreadable. He had learned by now not to trust these sudden shifts in loyalty.
They cheer for you today, but tomorrow they'll jeer. Best not to depend on their praise at all, Harry thought grimly.
When they reached the portrait hole, Harry took a deep breath. "Let's go, Neville."
The castle corridors were filled with students shimmering in silks and satins. Harry and Neville parted ways at the staircases—Neville heading nervously toward Ravenclaw Tower, Harry striding toward the warm, round entrance of the Hufflepuff common room.
A group of Hufflepuff girls were giggling outside, and when Harry arrived, their eyes widened. He felt the usual prickle of being stared at, but then the door opened and Susan stepped out.
Harry froze for a moment.
Susan Bones was dressed in pale yellow robes that shimmered under the torchlight, her red hair pinned up with delicate clips that caught the glow like embers. Her cheeks flushed pink the moment her eyes met Harry's, but she smiled shyly.
"You look…beautiful," Harry said honestly, offering his arm.
Susan's face reddened more. "Thank you. You look very handsome too."
Before she could say anything more, Hannah Abbott appeared at her side, frowning at Harry.
"Remember, Susan," Hannah said pointedly, "just because he's the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't mean you should do anything he asks."
Harry's jaw clenched, but Susan quickly shook her head. "What are you talking about, Hannah. I trust him."
Harry met Hannah's gaze sharply. "You don't have to worry, I know what is appropriate and inappropriate."
Hannah sniffed but didn't argue further.
Susan quickly slipped her arm into Harry's, clearly wanting to escape the confrontation. "Shall we, Harry?"
"We shall," he replied, and together they walked down the corridor toward the Great Hall, the muffled sounds of music already spilling into the corridors.
The Great Hall had never looked like this before. Harry had seen it decorated for feasts and ceremonies, but the Yule Ball was something entirely different. The walls shimmered with frosted silver drapes, enchanted icicles glittered like diamonds from the ceiling, and the enchanted snow that usually drifted in December had turned to fine silver dust, twinkling as it fell and disappeared before touching the ground. The four house tables had vanished, replaced by dozens of smaller, round tables draped with white silk cloth, each adorned with crystal candelabras that glowed with blue flames. At the far end, a grand platform had been raised for the band and dignitaries.
Harry adjusted the cuffs of his formal robes as he entered with Susan. She looked stunning in a gown of soft yellow silk that shimmered faintly under the enchanted lights, her hair pinned up neatly with pearl clips. She smiled nervously at him, and Harry offered his arm, feeling oddly at ease. His confidence in his newly learned dancing steps steadied him.
Across the hall, he spotted Neville and Luna already waiting. Neville was straight-backed, trying his best not to look terrified, while Luna stood beside him, radiant in a dress of pale blue and silver that made her resemble some ethereal creature out of a dream. Her long blonde hair fell loose, and she wore a necklace of tiny glass beads that reflected the light like frost. To Harry's surprise, she looked… well, normal. Still whimsical, still Luna—but beautiful in her own way.
"You look beautiful together!" Luna beamed, waving as Harry and Susan approached.
"Of course we do," Harry said with a grin. "You both look brilliant."
Neville flushed crimson. "Th-thank you," he muttered, fumbling with the sleeve of his robe.
"You look lovely too, Susan," Luna added in her usual dreamy tone, her wide eyes glancing between them.
Susan smiled softly, though Harry caught the faint nervousness in her posture. He knew Hannah's words still weighed on her, but at least tonight.
The hall filled quickly. Students streamed in with their partners, robes sweeping and shoes clicking against the polished floor. Excitement buzzed in the air like static. Teachers were gathered at the raised platform—McGonagall looked severe but proud in deep emerald robes, Dumbledore twinkled merrily in plum-colored velvet, and even Snape, lurking in the shadows, looked sharper than usual in his black attire.
Then the announcer's voice boomed:
"Champions and their partners, please step forward!"
The crowd hushed. Heads turned, eager to see.
First came Fleur Delacour, luminous as ever in silver satin. The way her hair caught the light had half the boys in the hall craning their necks. Her date, Roger Davies, Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, looked utterly besotted, barely aware of anything but Fleur.
Next, Cedric Diggory walked confidently with Cho Chang on his arm. The pair looked perfect together—handsome and graceful, drawing admiring murmurs from their housemates.
Then came Viktor Krum. The hall erupted in whispers.
But it wasn't Viktor who stole the breath from the crowd. It was Hermione.
For one stunned moment, the hall froze. Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired, book-carrying Gryffindor everyone thought they knew, entered transformed. Her hair was sleek and shiny, pinned elegantly at the back, with delicate curls framing her face. She wore robes of a soft periwinkle blue that matched her complexion perfectly, the fabric gliding with every step like water. Her arm rested confidently in Viktor's, and the two moved with poise.
Harry, Susan, Neville, and Luna stared, wide-eyed.
"Blimey," Neville whispered.
"She's beautiful," Luna said dreamily, clapping her hands softly.
Harry felt a surge of pride, almost protective. About time people saw her for who she really was.
Whispers shot across the hall like wildfire.
"That's Granger?"
"Krum know how to pick?"
"She looks incredible…"
Hermione, for once, looked utterly unconcerned by the stares. She smiled, radiant and a little nervous, but proud. Viktor walked as though he didn't care if the whole world was watching—because in his eyes, Hermione was all that mattered.
From one of the table, Ron Weasley sat sulking, his ridiculous lace-trimmed robes making him look more like a great-aunt than a student. His face darkened as Hermione passed by, and Harry saw his hands clench into fists. But Hermione didn't so much as glance at him.
Harry leaned closer to Susan and whispered, "Well… that shut everyone up."
Susan giggled. "She looks amazing, Harry."
"She does," Harry agreed softly, smiling faintly as he watched Hermione step onto the floor with Viktor.
The champions lined up, waiting for the music to begin.
Harry knew in a few moments, it would be his turn.
Harry adjusted the cuffs of his robes, giving Susan a reassuring smile as they stepped in together. Harry found himself proud to walk beside her, not nervous like many of the other boys. Behind him, Neville walked carefully with Luna at his side. Neville, though stiff with nerves, kept a protective air about him, and Harry caught Luna giving him a smile that eased his panic.
Harry's stomach gave the tiniest flip, but he steadied himself. The music swelled, and he led Susan down the lower platform among the sea of students. Above, on the raised dais, the champions, professors, and Ministry officials began their elegant procession. Harry had no need to be up there, and truth be told, he was glad. He preferred the freedom of the lower floor, where he could blend with the students.
The music shifted into a lively waltz. Harry counted softly under his breath at first, but his lessons with Hermione had sunk in. His steps flowed naturally, and Susan laughed softly when he spun her with confidence.
"You've been hiding your skills, Harry," Susan teased, her smile finally reaching her eyes.
"Not hiding," Harry answered with a grin. "Just learning at the last minute."
Around them, students collided clumsily, giggling, trying to imitate the elegance of the higher platform. Harry found it far more challenging to weave among the packed crowd without stepping on Susan's feet, but the challenge thrilled him.
After a few dances, Luna tapped Susan lightly.
"May I?" she asked dreamily.
Harry chuckled and traded partners, finding himself gliding across the floor with Luna. She hummed softly along with the music, her wide eyes gazing past him as if she could see something just beyond the hall.
"You dance well, Harry," she said. "Better than I thought. You don't stomp like a troll."
"High praise," Harry replied, laughing.
Ginny cut in next, flashing Harry a mischievous smile as she pulled him into a quicker step. "I'll admit, Harry, you're not half bad. But don't you dare think you're outshining me."
Hermione eventually made her way down from the champions' platform and joined Harry for a turn. For a moment, the stares returned, whispers rippling again—after all the Daily Prophet nonsense. Harry ignored them, focusing only on keeping Hermione moving smoothly.
"Not bad," Hermione whispered approvingly.
"Not bad? Hermione, I'm brilliant," Harry teased back. She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched into a smile.
The moment, however, was stolen by an unexpected pair. Dobby and Winky, both dressed in surprisingly fine little robes—Dobby in a bright green suit with a bowtie, Winky in a flowing lilac dress—shuffled onto the lower floor. Their ears flapped as they nervously clutched each other's hands. Laughter bubbled at first, but then a hush fell. With surprising grace, the two house-elves began a gentle, twirling dance, perfectly in rhythm, their movements tender, almost heartbreaking in their sincerity.
Even the professors stopped mid-dance to watch. Dumbledore descended from the upper platform with a twinkle in his eyes.
"My dear friends," he said kindly to Dobby and Winky, "would you do us the honor of sharing your joy on the upper platform?"
The two elves glanced at one another, wide-eyed, before nodding eagerly. As they ascended and began to dance under the lights among the professors and officials, the Great Hall erupted in applause. For one magical moment, it felt as though every cruelty, every indignity the elves had endured, was washed away under the cheers and clapping of the Hogwarts crowd.
Harry felt Susan squeeze his hand. Hermoine looked ready to cry. Even Luna, dreamy as ever, whispered softly, "It's like watching hope dance."
And for the first time that night, Harry believed the Yule Ball wasn't just about formality, or politics, or appearances. It was about small miracles, shining quietly even in the darkest corners.
Author's Note:
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Beuwulf