𝙰/𝙽- 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘, 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗! 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢.

𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 @𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚘𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚏𝚘𝚢𝙸𝚜𝙷𝚘𝚝𝟷𝟹𝟻𝟼 :). 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜.

—

Heather's POV

Harry is now currently in the Champion's tent, and Hermione and Ron are by my side as we go to take our seats at the Quidditch Pitch to witness our four battles. I hope Harry remembers the advice I told him, he seems to be most forgetful in the times where he needs it most, when he's under pressure.

"I'm going to go wish Harry good luck, care to join me?", proposed the girl to my right.

"No thanks, best if we go save our seats.", Ron answered Hermione. I join him, following him up the Gryffindor stands so we can have a good view, even though we came around the same time as everyone else. Ron quickly shoves a couple of second years to the side, I doing the same, and we acquire three seats right next to each other, rather high up on the stands.

"I suppose along with the arrival of the dragons, your brother, Charlie, came along, too?", I implored the boy next to me. Small talk isn't really my strong suit, but somehow I had managed to pluck something from my brain that I deemed to be conversation-worthy. I know that Ron can be in the background a bit, being the best friend of one Harry Potter can cause that effect, so sometimes I remember to try my best to make him feel like a person.

Personally, I enjoy being more of a wallflower, the silence makes me feel content and allows me to always plan my next move, but a bit of chatter about how one feels and they begin to see themselves as though they are truly significant to someone close to them, a main character, if you will.

Ron acknowledges my question, and thinks about it for a couple of seconds, gathering his thoughts before replying, "Yes, he came just last night. He wouldn't let me anywhere near those dragons. But, it was still nice to see him. He told me all about how hard it was to travel with them all the way from Romania, but he managed by calming them down with a few sheep and a couple of pigs."

As a direct result from being denied many chances to parlay with another, it didn't take long for Heather to realize what an absolute chatterbox the ginger boy was. She didn't mind, the girl would much rather talk about anyone and anything other than herself, it's been that way ever since she'd prematurely grown up in her villa, with nothing but the sunsets, delphinium flowers, and the wizarding books in her parent's library to entertain her passing days as she awaited for the time of her escape from the mix of hurt and dullness she'd experience there.

"I'm surprised his hair hasn't burnt off, yet, Hagrid says dragons are misunderstood, but I doubt that they don't get hostile towards their caretakers, either.", I quip back.

Hermione joins us once again, taking her seat next to Ron, the boy now sandwiched between us. "Poor Harry, he's entirely nervous. I can't imagine what he's thinking right now.", professed Hermione, her worry affecting me as well.

"Probably that he's going to die.", Ron responds without any form of hesitation, the seriousness in his voice worrying me even further. In turn, I slap him across the back of his auburn-chromatic head.

Hermione scoffs, "How could you say something like that, Ronald! Have a bit of sympathy, will you?"

Dumbledore emerges from the teacher's tent, holding his irregular wand up to his neck as means of a clear and concise elocution as he begins to summon each chosen champion from their tent to complete their task, one by one. Time passes by, and I notice that Harry has been placed last, and in so, we all see which dragons have been chosen for each competitor. The only clear answer is that the youngest contender has been lucky enough to attract the Hungarian Horntail, the one I was so desperate he wouldn't be gifted with.

We've been here for a couple of hours already, the clouds now overtaking the sky, casting a drab shade of grey along the atmosphere as they covered up the bruising rays from the sun, as if they themselves somehow know of the unfortunate demise that Harry must come to next. The sight at the now gloomy afternoon sky reminds me of his eyes. No need to guess who 'he' is exactly.

Dumbledore emerges from his seat once again, signaling that now it was Harry's turn to fight his dragon and retrieve the golden egg. "Three of our champions have now faced their dragons, and so each one of them proceeds to the next task. But now, our fourth and final contestant...", he trails. Hermione and I spent most of the time trying to find out which tactic Harry was likely to use, but we couldn't decide on anything other than that Harry was much too unpredictable and indecisive for us to figure it out and, potentially, get it right.

Harry came into view, out of the tent and now in the arena. The Horntail isn't visible to him or us, and after a bit of looking around, the beast made itself known with a quick, yet scalding, exhalation of fire from its mouth. Harry ducked down behind a rock, effectively drawing himself some time to think of something.

A sharp, booming voice from the side of me screams down at the projected boy in peril, "Your wand, Harry! Your wand!", she cried, hitting the railing as if it would draw his attention to her words.

Apparently, he had indeed heard her, as he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the air, belting out a spell that was incomprehensible from this position.

"What the fuck? Is something wrong with his wand?", I ask no one in particular. Nothing happened as Harry casted the spell, there weren't even any sparks that had risen from the tip of the wood. A faint gust of wind is heard, however instead of being just a meaningless sound of nature, it's constant. The blow draws nearer, and as it does, it gets louder. A sudden object rapidly comes into view, and as the deadly dragon lets out another fatal breath, Harry runs and quickly jumps onto the object, now clearly seen as his Firebolt, the gift he received from the boy's godfather just last year.

He flies out of the arena, fortuitously angering the barbaric creature into ripping itself out of its chain confines, now rapidly gaining momentum trained onto Harry, who's heading towards Hogwarts, trying to escape literal death. The dragon's tail rips through the tent that holds the professors and guests, causing commotion and literal fear to travel through each elder. To the left of me, I hear cheers from all-too-familiar voices, screeching their excitement as they both cheer and clap frantically. Fred, closer to me than his companion, screams, "Well done, dragon!", to which I can't be forced to keep in my loud chuckles.

Loud, ear-splitting crashes are heard as they both presumably fly around the enchanted castle, then, seconds later, a deafening silence that has everyone on the edge of their seats. Everyone looks around, trying to find any source of movement or sound from either the dragon or the boy with a supposed death wish.

"Look, over there!", I hear from somewhere in the stands. Sure enough, more and more people point towards the same direction at the once-empty sky, now emerging with The Chosen One on his broom, which was moving about in a weird manner, as if someone had a small bug dropped down their pants and they were shaking their legs one at a time to get it out. Damn those bugs, always being dropped into people's pants for no reason. They're menacing.

—

The first task has successfully been completed by all four champions, and as they've had some bumps along the way, Harry's had to have been the worst, with his close call to death and the damage that's been done to Hogwarts. I'll never forgive that bloody dragon for causing such a mess, even though one of the professors can swiftly clean it up at the slight flick of their wands.

All the students are now headed back into the great castle, eager to get back into their common rooms and warm up until dinnertime.

"Did you see his poor Firebolt? I reckon that thing will need tending to.", confessed Ron.

Hermione scoffs, "Your best friend almost died and you're worried about a stupid broomstick? Have you not any brain cells, Ronald?"

Ron puts his hands up in the air, signaling innocence. "Hey! Don't ever disrespect a Firebolt like that, bloody brilliant that broom is."

They continue to bicker on, Ron occasionally cowering back in fear of an agitated Hermione. As I look at the pair, I quickly remembered of their feelings for each other, and how sluggish their relationship is going. In an unusual indecisive manner, I begin to divulge into their conversation, hopefully it'll speed things up just a bit.

"Would the both of you just shut up and kiss already? I've got a bet with Fred and George, and I'm looking forward to rub my victory in their faces.", I state, crossing my arms as I try to fight a smile from forming into my lips.

Both of them stare at me in complete, utter shock at my boldness. Well, someone had to say it, right?

Before either could open their mouths and speak once more, not that they would, they keep their eyes trained onto the floor underneath us as we walk nearer to Hogwarts, I recollected my chat with George and how he wanted me to meet him after the first challenge.

"I'll be off, see you both later.", I say to them, winking as I haven't disclosed of any information of my whereabouts.

I arrive in the courtyard, gazing intently at the giant clock being sprung back and forth. I've always had a connection with clocks, despite not having the ability to pinpoint exactly why I felt this way towards them. It's like the energy I received from them arose a sensation that other objects have failed to do, a vibe, if you will.

Out of complete nowhere, a graceful melody of violin and flute blesses my ears, sounds of classical instrumentals booming throughout the courtyard. It sounds like something that would be played at the Yule Ball, and for some reason I want to smile and sway as the music continues on.

"Say, what is a beautiful girl doing here, listening to music without dancing to it?"

George suddenly appears from behind me, changing his neutral facial expression into a grin as he sees the smile playing onto my lips.

I connected the dots, "George? You did this?"

Ignoring my question, he says, "Well, I guess one does need a partner in order to dance."

In a swift motion, the boy grabs my right hand and intertwines it with his left, placing his hand gently onto my waist and begins to maneuver my once still body along the enclosure.

Snapping out of my motionless trance of shock, I place my hand onto his shoulder and let him guide me along the floor, disregarding the several stares we are receiving from students of all years as they gather along around the hallways under the covering, some sitting in between the columns to watch the both of us effortlessly glide together as one.

"Who knew you were such a good dancer, Georgie?", I asked, chuckling a bit as I call him by one of his most loathed nicknames.

He groaned lowly, "Ugh. What have I told you about calling me that, Molten?"

I cringe at the recollection of the use of the name the twins called me for a couple of years, the nickname derived from my last name, Mortem, which doesn't even sound so similar now that I think about it. I slap my hand lightly against his chest as he lets out a soft chuckle.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what's this dance for?", I ask the boy. He looks up at the sky, now dimming into sunset, the orange, yellow, and purple hues blending together so perfectly, it was as if the flowers that sprung themselves along the edges of the Black Lake at springtime sacrificed their sweet pigments to dance along the afternoon sky, like they knew that this moment was the right time to blend together so naturally.

He tilts his head back down, our height differences causing us to adjust to each other's bodies when we converse. "Well, if you must know,", emphasizing the word 'must', "I thought it would be good practice for us when we're on the dance floor on Christmas Eve night."

Is he saying what I think he's saying?

I have to get it out of him, I want to make sure I know what he's speaking about so I don't look or feel like a fool.

"George, what does that mean?", I inquire, and we slow to a stop.

"It means...Heather Mortem, would you like to accompany me to the Yule Ball?"

It's silent, much like the time when I've been asked a similar set of words a couple of months ago.

However this silence isn't deafening, it isn't slowed to the point where I want to rip my ears off my head with my bare hands. Everyone is, indeed, looking at the proposal I've been offered once more, but right now, I don't care about their stares. It doesn't matter to me if they watch, I can't even register that they're here, enjoying the show as they wait for my reaction.

There aren't any words to describe what I'm feeling at this particular moment, other than one.

Joy.

I feel like the clouds that have disguised the sun finally moved their way out of the marvelous, sulfur view above me, making itself a sort of magical background behind the boy holding my hands in his as he waits for my answer, eyebrows raised and a small smile on his face in anticipation. The coral, gold, and periwinkle hues that blend together so perfectly as if they belonged on a paintbrush juxtaposed the young man's strawberry red hair. If I wanted to own a muggle camera at any time in my life, this would be the correct moment to do so.

It's as if he himself is the sunshine, shining so brightly upon my darkness-filled closed up walls, stirring together as if we were the pure definitions of complementary colours. He's waiting on baited breath, I can tell as his mouth is slightly opened, no longer taking in any air. Snapping out of my trance, reluctantly moving my gaze from the view in front of me to the boys' eyes, I simply intake a short quiet breath of air, my answer easy to decipher.

"Yes."