❝𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬❞

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ℂ𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 of an old record player statics through McGonagall's words, "The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament since it's inception." She pauses, stepping forward as she judges Filch, fumbling with the music and causing the crackling that left the professor's sentences spaced out. "On Christmas Eve night," she continues, "we and our guests gather in the Great Hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity. As representatives of the host school I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward, and I mean this literally, because the Yule Ball is, first and foremost, a dance."

The room erupted into excited, but also extremely anxious, whispers. These whispers were cut through by the sound of the rickety old door creaking open, revealing a bewildered (y/n) and an overly embarrassed Katie Bell.

It was amusing sight, classic teen angst mixed with the lighthearted innocence of wanting a good time-freedom.

(y/n) had been trying to let loose, really giving it her all to conjure up the ingredients that make the perfect picture of teenage years you can't grow old and regret. In reality, this was her way of trying to save and resurface the knowledge of who she is, because lately, that knowledge of herself has been lost in visions, death, and the metal taste of upcoming heartbreak- calm before the storm that can be sensed by the specific smell that mists the air before rain hits the Earth. That is what her energy has been focused on. Not after curfew Slytherin parties, not snogging someone under the stars, or stressing about an upcoming test after you realized you've been sneaking out to Hogsmeade one too many days that week. It's been worrying about saving Cedric, what the woman said to her at the Quidditch World Cup piercingly screeching in her ear, the prophecy, her feelings for Harry, her parents, Remus, all of it. Every heart wrenching, sleep stealing, achingly complicated detail of it.

So, she stands, a biscuit in her mouth while she hides an armful of pastries behind her back that her and Katie Bell had stole from the kitchen only moments before this one-where she's standing in front of a scolding (yet amused) McGonagall, trying to just be a teenager.

Yes, (y/n) used the information Fred had given to Hermione about how to get into the kitchens to her advantage, and yes, she had used her dormmate, Katie Bell, to help. That girl needed to let loose these days too, and Hermione would most likely not agree to the heist.

"You're late, Miss (l/n), Miss Bell." McGonagall warned, staring down the two Gryffindors who, despite being in the same situation, looked inadvertently opposites of each other. McGonagall holds back a smile, staring at (y/n), who's smiling brightly as butter drips down her chin, and a pastry falls behind her from her concealed arms. While Katie Bell, looks guilty, ready to run away, or worse, burst out any emotion. The professor sighs, as this moment resurfaces her knowledge that (y/n) is the daughter of a Marauder, and that, at this very moment, the girl reminded her hauntingly of her mother. Especially once Marlene had been unofficially with Remus Lupin. "Take a seat, girls," she smiled, giving in, shaking her head nostalgically.

(y/n) rushes to an empty seat next to Hermione Granger, who stares at her best friend quizzically, an expression that demands an explanation. As(y/n) sits, she hands Hermione a pumpkin pastie, curious as to why the Gryffindors were asked to gather here, and why all the students were chattering nervously with each other. "So, what's all this about?"

Hermione smiles while wiping the butter off the sleep deprived girl next to her. "A dance, apparently. Professor McGonagall didn't get too much in besides that, as you can see, so I can't really tell you anything more."

(y/n) stops chewing her strudel, "A dance? Like a...stress about a date, get dolled up with a fancy dress, unnecessary relationship drama, dance? This should be interesting."

Hermione laughs as she looks over at Ron, glancing back at her friend once she realizes he had looked up from the ground and right at her, "It's called the Yule Ball. Could be fun, don't you think? The excitement of someone asking you, or the anticipation of someone in particular asking?"

(y/n) shrugs sheepishly as she rubs her lips together to hide the smile that tugged at her lips as she looked over at Harry, "I suppose. Looks like we'll be thinking about who we want to bring us."

Hermione stops chewing her pastie as she examines it, snapping her head up to look at an oblivious (y/n) horridly. "Are these...are these from the kitchens-?"

The seer hurriedly avoided the house elf directed question, "Oh, looks like McGonagall is about to say something. Pay attention, 'Mione."

"Silence!" McGonagall said, lightheartedly, yet strict enough to cease all conversation effectively. "The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you, in the course of a single evening, besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling, band, of baboons!"

The Weasley twins could be heard whispering from across the way, "Try saying that five times fast."

"Babbling, bumbling, band of baboons,-"

"Babbling, bumbling, band-"

"-of baboons-"

"-Babbling-"

"-Bumbling-"

"To dance," McGonagall continued, having the classic hero speech tone, "is to let the body breathe. Inside every girl, a secret swan slumbers, longing to burst off and take flight." She speaks with her arms raising parallel to her eyes.

"Something's about to burst out of Eloise Mijin, but I don't think it's a swan," an overly confident Ronald Weasley whispers to the boys, who laugh teasingly, mistakenly at a high enough volume that the room could make out his words-including McGonagall.

The aforementioned professor glares warningly at the owner of the culprits voice, that undoubtedly belonged to Ron, doing so while continuing her speech. "Inside every boy, a lordly lion prepared to prance. Mr. Weasley," McGonagall says with a satisfied smile as she glides to the ground in front of Ron.

The Gryffindor, that at one time sat cocky and amused, now sat slumped in his chair, hair covering his eyes as his face read that of an innocent, but distraught, child. He looked up at the professor as he mumbled, "Yes?"

"Will you join me, please?" Minerva implies, offering her hand to the solemn ginger, who rises slowly as Harry Potter lightly pushes him forward, a smile that couldn't possibly get wider occupying his face.

The two make their way to the center of the room, McGonagall resting a hand on his shoulder as she instructs him, the group not being able to hold their giggles. "Now, place your right hand on my waist."

Ron's eyes go wide with fear and confusion, "Where?"

So, of course, (y/n) decides to help him out. "She said on her waist, Ronald!"

The class can't help but laugh even harder as he gulps, placing his hand on her waist, her fixing it slightly as hoots and hollers find their way into the mix.

McGonagall links their hands, placing the hand that slipped, no doubt from Ron about to deck his friends for whistling, back on her waist.

"Mr. Filch, if you please," she gestures, Filch finally getting the music to play. "One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three."

(y/n) leans towards Hermione, once she observes the way the twins are mockingly waltzing in place with air. "Fred and George are never going to let Ron forget this."

"Everybody come together!" McGonagall demands, the girls wasting no time to raise to their feet hopefully, most of the boys staying seated as they sink in their chairs. "Boys, on your feet!" She instructs, most of them groaning as they are now standing, awkwardly, in front of the crowd of girls.

(y/n) looks at Hermione, who's eyeing Ron, gloomily, and she nudges her. "Since none of the guys seem ballsy, looks like I'll have to set an example."

It was a successful attempt at making her best friend forget about her boy troubles, and focus on other topics, such as this one.

(y/n) walked over to Harry, who was laughing at the sight of Ron, but soon stared at the girl in front of him, amused. She dramatically holds an invisible gown as she curtsies, holding the position and looking up at Harry as he bows, with just as much energy. (y/n) stands straight up once more, offering him her hand in a traditional dance-like structure. He bows his head as he takes her outstretched hand, gently kissing the back of it.

"Can I interest you in showing them how it's done, Potter?" (y/n) asks in an exaggerated tone of sophistication.

"I would be honoured, love," he replied with a joking tone, taking her hand as they walked next to Ron and McGonagall.

They danced normally next to them, Harry twirling her around, back to his chest again, (y/n) winking at Ron, who still looked terrified and confused in the hands of his professor.

Harry dipped the girl in his arms, the two laughing loudly as they fooled around carelessly, earning many yells from McGonagall.

"Remind me why they aren't together, again?" Seamus asked Dean Thomas in disbelief, who was standing next to him, just as bewildered at the two on the dance floor.

Dean laughed lightly, as the answer was a simple word, yet, inside of it was a tree of complicated moments and truths.

"Denial."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"This is just painful to have to watch every day," (y/n) mutters to Hermione, who's sitting next to her on one of the stone benches in the bustling courtyard, reading her arithmancy textbook.

It had been almost a week since the Yule Ball was announced to the school. Ever since then, (y/n) and Hermione had been left to watch every day, as Ron and Harry wandered aimlessly about the school grounds. Stopping in front of girls awkwardly, moving to the next when they looked disgusted, or simply walked away first. It was beyond disappointing and frustrating to put it mildly.

Obviously, Hermione and (y/n) have been asked by countless guys, ones that had been good and attractive candidates, nonetheless. But out of hope, whether it was known by them or not, they rejected the guys kindly, giving a sweet smile, making it known that it wasn't anything that they did, it was a personal matter.

(y/n) liked to tell herself it was just because dances weren't her thing, she wasn't interested in having to deal with the awkwardness of having to slow dance with a guy she most likely shared a mere four sentences with. That thought made her heart laugh at her brain, because it was her brain telling her that, and her heart knew the true reasoning behind the countless rejections.

It was obvious, known on every level of existence, universes light-years away could come to the same conclusion as her heart. It was a simple, yet complex reason. One that oozed of laughable importance, a childish excuse that would make an outsider scream in frustration at how easy the solution was. It was him. It was the hopeful anticipation that Harry would eventually ask her. She would reject guy after guy to hold onto the possibility that maybe Harry was just too afraid to ask her, distracting himself by attempting to ask other girls, but stopping repeatedly until he gained the courage to ask her.

That's the explanation that her heart knows is true. It's also the explanation that her brain refuses to except. Simply because, if her reasoning for rejecting these guys appears as her brain's reason, if Harry never asks her, she's spared a little disappointment and heartbreak. Even if her heart's reason is still known by her discreetly, she can pretend it isn't if all goes south.

This was precisely the reason (y/n) doesn't like dances. When you're thinking about dream scenarios while looking out of your bedroom window, through the plump raindrops on the glass, it's a concoction of butterflies and dizzy euphoria. The image of you floating down stairs in a dress that delicately cascades around you like a waterfall of steady river-flow, your hair done smoothly. The room lit dimly with dark academia candlelight, your dream date standing in a daze, entranced by love and lust that your beauty brings them. Music softly plays in a certain instrumental pattern that floods your body with happiness you're not familiar with, steadily spreading through your blood, warming your skin. You dance, all night, their hand firmly on your waist, their lips looking oh so irresistible. A kiss to seal the night's perfection.

Then, reality strikes you like an arrow crushingly to the heart. It's an exploding Sun of disappointment, heat oozing (not the blissful euphoric heat) down your skin as you cry. It was that perfect image you had thought up initially, until, you waited patiently for weeks. Your dream date didn't ask you. The day of the dance comes-you hate your makeup and it makes you cry with anger, already putting you in the vulnerable spot to hate how your dress looks. The rest of the night's disasters fall like dominoes, fueled by watching your crush dance with someone else.

So, yes, (y/n) was nervous when Hermione had told her there was going to be a dance. But she's trying to hold onto her fairy-tale; trying to not lose faith in Harry and their budding relationship. Perhaps she had gotten the wrong idea, wrong interpretation of signals, and he really doesn't like her at all. That thought breaks her heart in a pain that almost feels like numbness. That is why (y/n) is sticking with her brain, and not her heart-for now.

Hermione snaps her book shut, "I'm not waiting around for Ron anymore," she says bitterly, collecting her things.

(y/n) comes back from her trance, "Oh, I didn't even know Ron was who you were hoping to go with. Well, I figured, but you never told me officially."

Hermione open and closed her mouth realizing what she just admitted. "I'm not...I wasn't...I just thought it would be nice to go. You know, as...friends. Since you and Harry might go together, figured it would be more fun if the four of us could go as a group. Now, it's obvious he doesn't have an interest, so I'll have to accept a different date."

(y/n) smiled at Harry, who was chasing away girl after girl, Veela after Veela. "If he ever gains the courage to ask me. Or if he even wants to ask me." She looks down at her lap, segwaying the topic to Hermione, not wanting to talk about the fact that it's highly likely Harry won't even ask. "I've been noticing that Krum and you have this...flirty staring thing going on. I know you always talk about how he annoys you with all the girls that flock around him in the library and stuff, but I'm convinced you're hiding something from me," she teases, smirking knowingly.

Hermione scoffs, "Like I'd ever go with Viktor Krum. And don't be silly, Harry would be stupid not to want you as a date."

The seer smiles, grateful to have Hermione, no matter how much she can get on her nerves sometimes. "Thank you, 'Mione."

The bushy-haired Gryffindor smiles and nods in assurance, getting up and gathering all her supplies with a deep breath, "I'm going to head to study hall early, I'll catch you in a few."

As Hermione walked away hurriedly, (y/n) looked around at all the nerve bundled students. Girls staying in packs, fearful of the idea of being asked while they're alone. Boys who have waited last minute scrambling about the grounds, attempting to pluck up the courage to ask the girl. Even if they do, needing to get them to say yes.

Ivan comes towards her, waving confidently as he passes, "Hey, (y/n)."

She smiles and waves back, softly, "Hey, Ivan."

The Yule Ball. What a strange, disastrous concept.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"This is mad. At this rate, we'll be the only ones in our year without dates. Ow-" Ron whispers as he's turned around, scoping out the girls in study hall, before Snape annoyingly shoves his head towards the table.

They were all pooling over homework they've been too distracted to remember to do in the Great Hall. None of them had dates yet, Ron freaking out more than the rest of them.

With only a couple days left before the dance, (y/n) was going to have to just accept the next person to ask her, out of desperation and spite, if Harry really isn't planning on asking her. She had rejected even more boys just on the way to study hall.

She could have any of them, she had dozens of options practically lining up for her to choose. Yet, she rejected them all, every single one, just for Harry. She had the possibility of writing a different storyline by choosing any one she wanted, but she didn't want to, because she liked the idea of going with the boy with the sea of emerald green in front of her, more.

This ball is making her more aware of her feelings for him even more so than before, noticing just how attractive and built he's gotten over the years. Fine, she was falling for her best friend, but it was strange. A way she hasn't looked at him before, seeing as they'd been purely best friends since the sprout age of eleven.

Here he sits, him and his best friend complaining how they don't have dates when there are two perfectly good choices sitting next to them.

"Well," Ron continues to whisper, "us and Neville."

"Yeah, but then again," Harry smiles, playing with his quill, "he can take himself."

The boys laugh mockingly, turning back to their notebooks with cocky smiles, Hermione leaning near them to whisper agitated, "It might interest you to know that Neville's already got someone."

"Someone that, in my opinion, was one of the best girl choices at Hogwarts," (y/n) adds with a smirk, holding a laugh from realizing she quite literally was stuck in a trance, staring at the raven-haired boy.

"Awe, now I'm really depressed," Ron grumbles gloomily, going back to staring at his parchment and twirling a pencil, Harry dreamily doodling on his own.

(y/n) grows confused as she sees a light ball travel across her peripheral vision, followed by it's soft thud on the table. She turns to see Ron opening a paper ball, seemingly thrown by Fred Weasley who was sitting close by just down the table. Looking over Ron's shoulder, she makes out the light words scribbled against the material. "Get a move on or all the good ones will have gone". Ron's eyebrows furrow in confusion, as he saltily tosses the paper back to his brother, "Who you going with, then?"

Fred raises his eyebrows teasingly, as a gesture of watch this, as he balls up another parchment, throwing it at the shoulder of a turned Angelina Johnson, "Oi, Angelina."

She turns around with an annoyed expression, "What?"

Fred makes gestures, pointing to her, pretending to waltz, pointing to himself, all while mouthing the words, "Do you wanna go to the ball with me?"

Her expression immediately softens into a blushing smile, "Yeah, all right," she responds giddily, bright as she rests her chin on the palm of her hand.

Fred turns back to the boys, giving an animated wink. They both look completely bewildered and alarmed, wondering how he made it look so easy and what they were possibly doing wrong.

Ron eyes Hermione, "Oi, Hermione. You're a girl," he whispers suggestively.

Her eyes snap up from her schoolwork with an anger that was almost dangerous at the boy who hadn't realized where he was going wrong. (y/n) was on standby in case the bushy-haired girl was going to start strangling the red head.

"Come with one of us?" Ron smirks in a still oblivious way. Hermione glares at him as he continues to ramble, Harry frustratingly grabbing at his friends shirt sleeve to get his attention, which is ignored. Ron is is hit in the head once again with Snape's book, all of them flinching at the noise, Harry being the next target as he scrunches his nose from the contact. Ron continues as Snape walks away, "Come on. It's one thing for a bloke to show up alone. For a girl, it's just sad," he says, eyeing Hermione with pity.

"I won't be going alone, because, believe it or not, someone's asked me!" Hermione snaps back, angrily grabbing her notebook and stomping over to Snape, roughly handing in her work. She comes back to collect her books, slamming her hands on them as she speaks while sliding them off, "And I said yes!"

"Bloody hell," Ron mumbles in surprise, staring after his friend who is angrily speed-walking out the Great Hall. "She's lying, right?" Ron asks alarmingly to Harry.

"If that's what you want to believe," (y/n) mutters, Ron looking at her with a glare, Harry just raising his eyebrows at her in agreement.

"Look, we've just gotta grit our teeth and do it." Ron whispers to Harry, Snape rolling up his sleeves as he walks slowly like a shark circling. "Tonight, when we get back to the common room , we'll both have partners. Agreed?" Ron asks.

"Agreed," Harry confirms, both of them grunting as Snape uses brute force to push their faces into their essays. (y/n) tries to hold back a laugh as she hands Snape her work as he reaches her.

"Best of luck to you both," (y/n) smiles, gathering her things.

"Hey, (y/n). You got a date yet?" Ron asks her hopefully, making her give him a warning look.

"Nope, not yet. I've had plenty to turn down, though. Haven't thought about it too much," she says, which was mainly true. Most of her time consists of fighting off visions and trying to recover from the one she's tortured with every night.

"Really?" Harry asks, almost immediately after she'd finished her sentence, earning a look from Ron.

She smiles at him, "Yeah, I guess I'm just...waiting for the right person to ask me," she says giddily, convincing herself that she saw a glimmer of hope in Harry's eyes. "Maybe if someone asked me in a nice, thought out, sweet way and not just because they're scared of not getting a date, then I'd have someone to say yes to."

She gets up with her things, her heart stinging as she thinks about how hurt Hermione must've felt in the past few minutes, as the ginger is completely in the dark about her feelings. She tries to make her next statement suttle, not wanting to show her feelings towards it.

"Just because I'm your friend doesn't mean you can ask me as a last resort." She stands up as she goes to walk away, "Same goes for Hermione."

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Incendiary flames from the aged fireplace in the Gryffindor common room glowed effulgently against (y/n)'s skin, that was begging for a munificent amount of replenishing moisture. The piercing winter air making her epidermis brittle like a leaf left out in the incandescent orb in the sky, the one that fuels power to gods that strike their staffs to produce havoc on all things developed. Her body rests like a languid cast on the tethered fabric of the plush sofa, her tired oculus' finding comfort in the flames that bled millions of shades of crimson and clementine, gleaming so bright her eyes throbbed with a piercing vibration.

The night had left her in her own overwrought and tearful disappointment, her brain repeatedly leaving her with a heart squeezing swell of sorrow as it reminds her of the fact that Harry hadn't asked her to the ball, and most likely wouldn't. The Sun was hidden beneath it's bed of curtains provided by the expanding clouds, bringing lack of detail to all forms of matter as it's now less radiant counterpart snuggled against the velvet darkness of the sky, signifying the day could almost be marked as a past event. Also meaning that tomorrow will be dedicated to rushing preparation for the traditional dance, thus, making this the last moments for people to get a date.

She attempts to bury her sensation of let down under the whirlpool of anxiety that swirls from the thought of her not even having a date.

Hermione sits with her body tangled with the a different structural arm chair, drowning in her unspoken irate emotions, attempting to distract herself with the crisp, binded, pages of written words, indulging herself in stories and complex information, filling her brain with so much of it, hoping it'll overflow, flushing out her resentment towards Ron.

The silence is shattered by footsteps pattering down the chipped, stone stairs with indispensable urgency. Raven hair clatters (y/n)'s vision, the observer's breathing ricocheting off the deafening silence, occasional crackling of the fire creating tiny spaces between the ear ringing.

(y/n) wanted to let him notice her angry and disheartened emotions, possibly they would place a missing puzzle piece in his head, urging him to ask her. But, she can't bend her will and being just for the possibility of being able to experience his attention. If he wanted to, he would, and she's too good to focus her existence on molding around a boy. He was a boy, he was Harry, so, naturally, he was oblivious.

His feet brought him to the empty cushion next to her own body, his eyes nervously flickering behind her several different times, most likely to the head bushy hair that belonged to a knowledge filling Hermione.

She observed the nerves that were shining through his body language, confusion on her face made known to him as he continued to look at her. He continued to not say anything, just trying to settle his dry mouth as he would occasionally begin to say a word, but would stop suddenly as he would just stare, smiling oddly.

(y/n) smiled back worriedly, finally breaking whatever cycle he was putting himself through, "Harry, is there something you're trying to say? Or...what else is this?"

His conscience snaps into a functioning state, he repositions himself on the sofa, the divots rising back to it's original form like baking bread, "Right. I just wanted to ask you...um...well, you know, I couldn't think of a better person to ask," his pupils continue to flicker to Hermione, which oddly was making his nervousness resurface, "you're you, and I...just...uh," he sighs defeated, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets as his eyes pinch shut, his face facing the cushions in embarrassment. He try's to start again, but he mumbles so deep that it's just sound waves and not decipherable words.

For a second, (y/n) straightens up, irises twinkling with childlike hope, her spasmodic expression of joy and anticipation taking over, her body leaning towards him in intrigue. She's under the impression that this is it, this is the moment she gets to accept his offer for her to be his date to the ball. It was almost childish, but she didn't care. "What is it? I couldn't understand that last part."

He looks up at her, slumping against the back of the couch, his demeanor and tone flipping to an alternate category. He pauses with a sigh, focusing on the flickering flames as the tone in his voice completely changes, flat and disappointed. "I just wanted to ask you about how girls like to be asked. Since you're good with that kind of stuff, and I trust you, I figured you'd be the best person."

The disappointment and resentment comes flooding back into her system, like blood spreading through cool salty waters, a slow and steady process, but it eventually takes over completely. She slumps back into the sofa as he did moments before, sighing, tired of it all. It was gut wrenching thinking of him going with another girl, but he was still her best friend regardless. "It doesn't have to be extravagant," she says gloomily. "Just do something simple that shows you actually care and aren't asking her just because you think she's attractive or you're desperate. Give her a flower, write a sweet message, or literally just ask her when you're alone in a good setting. It doesn't take much, you just have to make an effort."

He admires the soft light on her features, noticing how they're suggesting she's upset, feeling bad that it was most likely caused by him, but being too far in to be able to save himself. "Thank you," he whispers.

Maybe this was for the best. A way to salvage the friendship they had built together. They were more than friends, but less than lovers. It was complicated, and cliche, and a ball doesn't determine feelings...but the possibility of a shared moment of time slowing down during a dance does sound completely and utterly breathtaking.

(y/n) shifts her gaze to her side, seeing Hermione giving her an apologetic expression, mouthing, I'm sorry, as she rubs her arms when she gets up and walks past (y/n). Making the two on the crimson couch turn when she makes an audible gasp, followed by several girls cooing, "It's alright, Ron".

Ron came in, girls holding him by his arms, gathering around him as he was being led delicately to the soft sofa that (y/n) was currently resting on. He looks as though he's in shock, almost ill even.

"It's ok, Ron. It's alright," Ginny reassures, occasionally glancing behind her to make sure she doesn't run into anything, as she's walking backwards to dedicate her attention to her brother, "it doesn't matter."

(y/n) worriedly gets up from her seat, offering him the spot, gently guiding him to sit, Harry standing with her.

"What happened to you?" Harry asks alarmed, standing in front of him, examining him, Hermione kneeling with her hands on Ron's knees.

"He just asked Fleur Delacour out," Ginny says, raising her eyebrows at them, making a face to inform that the situation was not good.

"What?" Hermione asked bewildered, book in one hand, as her faced is filled with shock and empathy

"What did she say?" Harry questions excitedly, leaning in to hear his answer.

"No, of course," Hermione breaths with a slight laugh. Ron shakes his head, almost looking like he was going to throw up. "She said yes?" Hermione says shockingly, placing both hands over her mouth in disbelief.

"Don't be silly," Ron whispers, traumatised. "There she was, walking by," he says in a daze, staring off into the fire. "You know how I like it when they walk," Harry nods awkwardly, "Couldn't help it. It just sort of slipped out," he says in a shaky voice of embarrassment.

"Actually, he sort of screamed at her. It was a bit frightening." Ginny corrects with concern.

"What'd you do then?" Harry whispers, gently pushing the matter forward.

"What else?" Ron fires, voice cracking with regret, "I ran for it. I'm not cut out for this, Harry. I don't know what got into me."

"If it makes you feel better," (y/n) assures cautiously, "Katie Bell publicly rejected two incredibly handsome guys in the Great Hall to go with Cormac McLaggen. Sure he's good looking, but a total git."

A harmonizing and sweet, "Hi, Harry," was giggled in the room, as the Patil twins flirtatiously direct the greeting towards the raven-haired boy. 

He merely acknowledged it with a quick glance, soon after turning around and walking towards them as realization washed over his face. "Hey," he said, marching over to them like he had a proposition.

(y/n)'s heart dropped to the pit of her intestines. She could recognize the glint in Harry's eyes when he had an idea that was slightly leaning over the line of platonic-hell, she'd been at the other end of those ideas. Now, would she have to witness him ask another girl (or girls?) to the Yule Ball?

That's just too much to ask of a being. It's one thing to except that you aren't going with them. It's a whole 'nother thing to have to stand there and watch them get with the person they're choosing over you.

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, analyzing the situation-(y/n)'s attitude change, Harry's actions- and realized what emotions were circling around the crammed common room.

Hermione and Ginny are the only two people that she has confided in to vocalize the way she feels about Harry. They know better than anyone what's wrong with the seer that stands frozen in front of them, the one that can't seem to leave, but also can't seem to stay.

Hermione gently steps forward, laying a delicate hand on her best friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry. You don't have to stay here-."

"I'm fine," she lied. "I think I just need to go clear my head with some fresh air or something," she choked through a tight-lipped smile, struggling to lie through her teeth.

Hermione nods, understandably, Ginny squeezing (y/n)'s hand as she passes her vicinity.

(y/n) seems to care only to be forced to resent-a dangerous combination within someone who deserves better.

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Here she sits-the place that always seems to drag her back like a magnet, attracted to her despair. (y/n) sits on the flat stone of the Astronomy Tower, the extravagant height of the structure only raising her closer to her source of comfort. Luminous splatters of arcadian stars, intricately woven against the raven colored silk of the night sky. Dazzling to provide a sense of hope to the people around that start to fear the overwhelming darkness, like this because the huge ball in the sky goes- the one overflowing a source of radiance vanishes.

(y/n)'s eye's smoothly glide to each individual sphere of plasma, the reflection of the astronomical night lights sprinkling the gloss of her eyes like stardust.

This action is being dazily carried out as her ancient journal sits open across her hands, her fingertips tenderly finding their way in between each pages as they're flipped back and forth.

It's a process carried out whenever she's unsure exactly what to write to the expanding universe. So many thoughts and temporary rhetorical questions whizzing out of the voice in her head throughout the day, that half the time the importance of mentioning each has to be sorted.

Although, this time, the question doesn't remain as what she should burden the universe with ,(that is quite clear, as her heart currently sits with cracks running along the arteries), but to whom the burdens shall be addressed to. Whether it be directly and formally, or, indirectly and in the form of a last minute confession.

There were two viable options that are causing this dilemma. She could either write her letter to the universe with her heartache about boys and death, just like normal. The other option that remains, is she vent to the person indirectly, a sort of poem if you will. Perhaps the 'poem' will be more therapeutic, like she's telling the person herself.

(y/n) mulls the choices over in her mind, nervous to write something new, something different, in the journal she's had since she was a little girl. It's filled with crinkled pages of her issues to the universe. Beginning with her simple problems, like when the Billywig bugs wouldn't let her hold them or the lavender field at home was too tall and she was sad because she couldn't see over it. All the way to her now more complex issues, her first vision, the concept of death all around her, in and out of sleep.

It's been the same format for over 5 years-but maybe the bitter taste of change is something she needs on her tongue.

(y/n)'s hand tingles nervously as she picks up her quill, a fresh page presented in front of her as the translucent beams of the moon gently get brighter-almost like the universe is urging her forward, ensuring her that this is ok and even the right thing to do.

She can't directly address this, so consider it a passage she's making for anyone to relate to. Taking a deep breath, the first scratch on the paper is made.

There was no stopping now.

𝘛𝘰 𝘕𝘰 𝘖𝘯𝘦,

𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮- 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥. 𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯? 𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘖𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘺; 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺, '𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦-𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳? 𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳'. 𝘖𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘞𝘩𝘺? 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘱 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥-𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮. 𝘠𝘦𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘠𝘶𝘭𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯. 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘵'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘰𝘯𝘦-𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘬. 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘺, 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱.

𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴.

~(𝘺/𝘯)

This was completely and unexpectedly terrifying. There it is, right there, indented deeply into the parchment, sealed with oozing ink. What she's been thinking, but putting into the back of her mind from the fear of admitting it. Now, it was addressed to him, pooled out like a layer of her soul.

(y/n) closes her journal before she can think into it any farther, overthinking being her worst enemy.

She stares with a blank expression at the grounds beneath her, how everything was so empty and lifeless. The hidden school silent and resting as it danced with the night, the once hidden aspects able to reveal themselves. Groaning of trees and sighing of leaves and bushes making the wind all the more comforting.

It was something about being alone with the perfect amount of darkness that made (y/n) feel so safe. A safe she didn't often feel. She was free to day dream into the abyss of mystery, no one there to disrupt her thoughts, her imagination free to run wild.

Tomorrow was the beginning of the preparation for the Yule Ball, the dance to which the seer still didn't have a date to. Meaning, she had a lot of work to do tomorrow. Considering it was around midnight, it was safe to say her resting her eyes back in her dormitory wasn't the worst idea.

Birds oddly making silent little fluttering noises as she just about reaches the opening of the staircase. Although, her feet don't carry her down as her eye's are pleasantly met with those of emerald green.

Harry James Potter stands tense on the step below her, panting, as he steps up to her level upon realizing how much lower he was.

No words were exchanged, only Harry's nervous expression and the look of ultimate regret, with (y/n)'s massive confusion and concern.

"Harry, why do you always come find me when it's night time?" she asks genuinely, as the Potter boy only seems to talk about serious stuff when she's pondering about what planet is visible that night.

Harry's nerves increase, "Oh, uh, I dunno. Suppose it's the only time you're not with someone."

They stand in silence for a few moments, crickets ironically filling the void, the stares getting more nerve-racking as Harry fidgets in place.

(y/n) looks around her as if he was here to meet someone else, "Is there something you needed to talk about?"

Harry plays with his fingers shifting back and forth and inhaling deeply. "Well....I was just wondering if...you know, you would be interested in...um-."

(y/n) smiles with empathy, "What? Sorry,...I cant understand you."

She was too scared to get hopeful again that this was something good, something that would make the butterflies in her stomach combust. Last time, she thought he was going to ask her but then he veered off track, cutting the string that was holding her above water.  

He slowed down his heavy breathing as he chews on his lip. "Well, I was just wondering if maybe you would wanna go to the ball with me?" he asks, letting out a major sigh of relief now that he finally got the question out.

(y/n)'s heart exploded like a million firecrackers of euphoria, all her sadness and fear being chased away for a second as happiness flooded through everything. She couldn't believe that he was standing in front of her, asking if she would want to attend the Yule Ball with him. It was mad, but what's life without fear?

"Wait..." she hesitates, "this isn't like a last resort thing is it? Why are you just asking?"

Harry panics as he grabs her elbows, "No, no, I promise you, it is nothing like that." He grows alarmed as she looks suspicious and hurt, "Look, to tell you the truth," he sighed, "I've been wanting to ask you ever since this dance was announced. In fact, you were the first, and frankly only, person I thought of as soon and McGonagall spoke of having dates. I've tried to ask you, multiple times, but I kept...chickening out. So, I figured, no matter how much of a let down it was, going with someone else might be easier to ask. But, it didn't feel right, so I tried earlier in the common room, but Hermione was there, I freaked out, and so I took your advice. Ask when she's alone in a good setting."

(y/n) stared at him with her mouth agape, surely not anticipating a speech. In fact, she was expecting him to admit that this was a last resort. Say something about how they both don't have dates, so they might as well go together.

A smile slowly makes it's way onto her face as she rolls her eyes, "Of course I'll go with you, Potter. Who wouldn't want to?"

Behind his circle frames, his eyes widen with shock, a cheeky grin taking over his lips as he nervously laughs with mostly air, "Really? I mean, brilliant! I'll see you tomorrow, then." He turns on his heels as he makes his way, practically skipping down the stairs.

"Hey, Potter!" (y/n) calls down, his head turning as he knows she has a mischievous smile by the tone of her voice.

He looks up at her leaning on the top railing, "If we're going together, we'll have to work on that ballroom dancing of yours. Taught by yours truly."

He laughs as she bows, "I'll need all the help I can get. Goodnight, (y/n)."

This had officially become the best night of her life. It all happened in an instant. A lousy two minutes of her time, making her whole life worth living.

Waiting a few minutes after Harry left, (y/n) makes her way down the steep steps. Giddily humming as she swings her arms, believing she could walk on the Sun right now, if she wanted to.

She's almost at the Fat Lady, when a tall and familiar Durnstrang obstructs her view abruptly.

(y/n) stops in her tracks, immediately apologizing for the almost-collision. "Oh! Sorry, Ivan I didn't see you at first."

He corrects himself, confidently, "Don't worry, I wanted to stop you before you went in, because I just needed...to ask you something."

She grew nervous, but not in the exciting anticipation kind of way that she felt with Harry. It was more of a, I hope you're not going to say what I think you want to say, face.

Ivan took a deep breath, a more composed stature as he puffed his chest out, using smiling as one of his secret weapons. "Now, I'm sure you've discovered that, when I saw you in the Great Hall for the first time, I honestly knew I just had to get to know you. Through getting to know you, I've grown to like you even more than what's been made obvious. That being said, I just wanted to ask if you'd like to attend the ball with me."

(y/n) couldn't believe the words she just witnessed come out of Ivan's mouth, the overwhelming feeling of two guys asking you to a ball within minutes, didn't help much.

(y/n) buried her face in her hands, feeling awful that she has to do this, something she's never had to do it before. She looks up at him apologetically, "Ivan, I'm so sorry, I really am, but Harry's already asked me."

His shoulders droop a little as confidence withers away. He clenched his jaw, "Harry, huh?"

She shook her head.

"I understand. I guess it's my fault for asking so last minute. Well, goodnight (y/n)."

Ivan walked away at a strolling pace, fists clenched into tight balls.

(y/n) felt awful as she stepped into the dormitory, ready to give Hermione the good news, assuming she was awake. "Hermione, Harry asked me!"

Hermione peeled her eyes away from the Potions book she was reading to look at her ecstatic best friend in front of her. "Harry asked you to the ball? When?" Hermione said eagerly.

"Just a few minutes ago, oh it was so amazing. I've never seen him use such words before. I mean, they weren't big, but I wouldn't expect such a thing out of him-." she stopped once she remembered study hall. "Hey, I was going to sneak into the kitchens, but before I go you have to tell me who you're going with, 'Mione."

Hermione gives a tilted smile, playing with the fraying binder of the book. "Viktor Krum," she mumbles with a slight blush.

(y/n)'s jaw unhinges, "What!? The Krum? Hermione that's unreal!" Her best friend remains gloomy, "What's wrong? Isn't going with Krum a good thing?"

Hermione nods, "Of course it's a good thing, I just..."

(y/n)'s heart exploded as she didn't even think of how Hermione still must be feeling, "But Krum isn't Ron," she whispers.

Hermione doesn't say a word, only letting a lone test drift down her pale cheek.

(y/n) walks over, wrapping her best friend in a thought embrace. "The kitchen can wait," she whispers.

(y/n) thought half an hour ago, that the Yule Ball wouldn't be so dangerous after all. Being in this situation makes her do more thinking, and come to the question,

Was the Yule Ball really such a catastrophic concept?

She supposes she'll have to find out.

-

-

a/n~ MHM HE ASKED HER

enjoy Ivan and ur feelings for him, the Yule Ball is dangerous <3

I'm sorry if there are spelling error and I hope you loved it!

love u ig🙄 until next time ~i

Mrs. Pottersquad

#BEMSUPREMACY