24th November 1994
(Hermione's POV)
Hermione had been on pins and needles all morning.
While the rest of the school buzzed with excitement, she had barely touched her breakfast. Her attention kept drifting to Ben, who—infuriatingly—seemed completely at ease, smiling and talking as if this were any other day.
Before she knew it, they were being ushered out toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione managed a steady "Good luck" before the crowd pulled them apart, and soon she found herself seated high in the stands overlooking a wide, rocky arena.
The judges arrived shortly after—Dumbledore calm as ever, Madame Maxime composed, Karkaroff already wearing that thin, calculating smile, and Mr Crouch stiff and unreadable.
Then the atmosphere shifted.
A ripple passed through the crowd as a group of wizards on broomsticks swept into the arena, straining together as they levitated something enormous between them.
A Swedish Short-Snout.
Even from a distance, its silvery-blue scales gleamed like metal under the pale light. Its body was immense, coiled with restrained power, and even unconscious it radiated danger.
Hermione's mind supplied the facts automatically, as it always did.
Extremely aggressive. Class XXXXX. Blue fire hot enough to incinerate bone almost instantly.
Her grip tightened on the edge of the bench.
The dragon-keepers lowered it carefully onto the rocky ground. Then, with deliberate precision, they arranged a clutch of large eggs in front of it, and placed a single golden egg at the center.
The dragon was revived moments later.
A sharp command—Rennervate—and the creature stirred. Its eyes snapped open, burning with awareness. It let out a roar that seemed to vibrate through Hermione's chest, a deep, primal sound of fury and confusion.
Within seconds, it crouched protectively over its eggs.
A long whistle cut through the air.
And then, as if the situation weren't already absurd enough, Ludo Bagman came jogging into the stands, slightly out of breath but grinning broadly.
His magically amplified voice rang out across the arena as he explained the task—each champion must retrieve a golden egg from a nesting mother dragon.
The crowd cheered.
Hermione didn't.
Dragons were dangerous enough—but a mother guarding her eggs? That wasn't just aggression. That was instinct. Anything approaching those eggs would be treated as a threat.
Another whistle sounded.
Viktor Krum entered the arena.
Hermione watched closely as he assessed the terrain, then began advancing. The dragon noticed him quickly, its growl building as he crossed halfway.
Still, Krum continued forward.
The dragon reared.
For a fraction of a second, Hermione was certain it would breathe fire—
Krum moved first.
His wand snapped upward and a jet of magic struck the dragon directly in the eyes.
The dragon shrieked—an ear-splitting, furious sound—and thrashed violently, its forelimbs clawing at its face. Even from the stands, Hermione could see its eyes swelling, turning an angry, inflamed red.
Pain. Blinding, deliberate pain.
A wave of disgust rose in her chest.
This wasn't skill. This wasn't even strategy in the way she respected.
It was cruelty.
Her mind, unhelpfully, compared it to the Pokémon Championship—structured battles, rules, care for the creatures involved. Even at their most intense, they had never felt like this.
A gasp rose from the crowd.
One of the dragon's massive feet had come crashing down—
Directly onto the clutch of eggs.
Her stomach twisted.
With a thought, Hermione activated the Farsight runes etched into her glasses. The world sharpened instantly, her vision narrowing onto the nest.
She braced herself.
But there were no shattered shells, no viscous mess.
Just broken rock.
Hermione frowned.
Meanwhile, Krum wasted no time.
With the dragon still blinded and thrashing, he darted forward, seized the golden egg, and sprinted for the edge of the arena.
Bagman's voice boomed with excitement, declaring his success.
The crowd erupted into applause. Dragon-keepers returned swiftly, stunning the dragon and levitating it away once more.
Bagman, still sounding delighted, explained that the organisers had anticipated such incidents and had replaced the real eggs with transfigured replicas.
Hermione sniffed quietly.
"At least they have some sense," she muttered under her breath.
Krum returned for scoring. One by one, the judges raised their wands, numbers appearing overhead.
Madame Maxime — 7.
Crouch — 7.
Dumbledore — 8.
Bagman — 8.
Then Karkaroff raised his wand — 10.
A murmur spread through the stands. Hermione narrowed her eyes. Ben had been right—Karkaroff would push his champion ahead no matter what.
Krum joined his fellow Durmstrang students in the stands, and almost immediately, the dragon-keepers returned again.
This time, the dragon they carried was different.
Sleeker. Smaller. Its scales a smooth, vivid green.
A Common Welsh Green.
More docile, comparatively speaking. Hermione felt a flicker of hope.
Maybe this one would be Ben's.
The eggs were arranged. The dragon was revived. It settled over its clutch, watchful but far calmer than the last.
Another whistle blew.
Then Fleur Delacour stepped into the arena.
The Beauxbatons champion did not look like herself. She was still beautiful—Hermione noticed that despite herself, with a brief flicker of jealousy—but the effortless composure she usually carried was gone.
There was tension in her posture, a careful hesitation as she stepped into the arena and began to approach the Common Welsh Green. She didn't get far before the dragon let out a low, warning roar, and Fleur stopped at once.
For a moment, she simply stood there. Then she closed her eyes and began to sing. The sound carried clearly across the arena—soft, melodic, and undeniably lovely.
Hermione frowned slightly, unsure what Fleur was attempting, and from the murmurs around her, she wasn't the only one. But within seconds, the effect became visible. The dragon's head began to sway slowly, its movements losing their sharpness. Its eyes drooped, blinking heavily as if sleep were pressing down on it.
Understanding dawned on Hermione. It was a charm—subtle, controlled, and remarkably effective.
Fleur continued singing, her voice steady, and the dragon's resistance faltered. Its massive body wavered before slowly lowering itself, its head coming to rest against the ground. Its eyes closed fully, and after a few more notes, Fleur let the song fade. The dragon did not stir.
A ripple of astonishment passed through the stands. Hermione felt a reluctant admiration rise within her. It was precise and elegant—far less brutal than Krum's method.
Fleur moved forward carefully, her wand raised, every step measured as she approached the sleeping beast. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath as she reached the clutch of eggs and quietly picked up the golden one. Then she began to retreat, slowly at first, then with growing confidence as distance grew between her and the dragon. A smile broke across her face as she turned to leave.
The dragon snored.
A sudden jet of flame burst from its nostrils. Fleur shrieked as the hem of her skirt caught fire, panic flashing across her face for only a moment before she reacted. She aimed her wand downward and cast Aguamenti, dousing the flames almost instantly, and then hurried out of the arena without looking back.
The crowd erupted into applause as the dragon-keepers swooped in to secure the still-drowsy dragon. Bagman's voice rang out, declaring Fleur successful, and soon she returned for scoring.
Hermione watched as the judges raised their wands—nine, eight, eight, eight—and then Karkaroff, after a brief and unnecessary pause, produced a six.
Boos broke out immediately from the Beauxbatons students, and Madame Maxime fixed him with a look of open displeasure. Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line. Predictable.
Fleur rejoined her schoolmates, and almost immediately, the final dragon was brought in. This one was unmistakable—red-scaled, with a fringe of golden spikes around its snout. A Chinese Fireball.
Hermione felt a knot tighten in her chest. She knew this species well enough—highly aggressive, capable of launching explosive bursts of flame. Far worse than the Welsh Green.
The dragon was revived and immediately crouched over its clutch of eggs, its posture tense and alert. Hermione didn't like this at all.
The whistle blew again, and Ben stepped into the arena.
He took a single step forward, and the dragon roared. Then, without warning, every sound vanished. Hermione blinked as the silence settled unnaturally over the stands. It wasn't that the crowd had gone quiet—rather sound coming from the arena floor had been cut off. Her eyes snapped to Ben, and she realized at once that he had cast a noise-suppression charm.
But why?
He wasn't moving. He simply stood there. Hermione leaned forward, focusing, and the Farsight enchantment on her glasses activated again. His lips were moving.
He was speaking. Hermione felt a chill run down her spine as she shifted her gaze to the dragon. It was watching him—not with blind aggression, but with a strange, focused attention. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the dragon's mouth moved. Not to attack, not to snarl, but to respond. Hermione's breath caught as the realization settled in.
The Draconification ritual.
The answer clicked into place with startling clarity. Whatever that ritual had done to Ben, it had given him more than power—it had given him a connection. He was communicating with the dragon.
Around her, students shifted and whispered in confusion, wondering why he seemed to be doing nothing at all. But Hermione watched intently, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason. This was extraordinary.
For a few moments, everything seemed to be going well. Then the dragon's posture changed. A ripple of tension ran through its body, its head jerking sharply as agitation replaced that brief, fragile calm.
Hermione's stomach dropped.
Something had gone wrong.
The dragon opened its jaws and fired. A massive ball of flame tore across the arena and engulfed the spot where Ben had been standing.
"No!" Hermione screamed.
The crowd gasped, voices rising in shock as Harry and the others shouted Ben's name. Hermione's vision blurred for a split second as panic surged through her chest. Then the dragon turned, its attention shifting toward the stands—toward the judges' platform. Hermione saw Dumbledore rise immediately, wand already in hand, just as the dragon drew breath again.
"Enough!"
The command echoed across the arena as a massive boulder hurtled through the air and slammed into the dragon's back. It roared in fury and turned back toward the center.
Hermione's eyes snapped to the smoke—
—and relief hit her so hard it left her dizzy.
Ben stepped out of it, completely unharmed.
He faced the dragon again, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though they exchanged something—words, intent, something she couldn't hear but could feel in the tension between them. Then Ben's expression hardened, resolve settling over his features as he raised his wand.
Lightning burst from it. A brilliant streak tore through the air and struck the dragon square in the chest, the crack of it rolling across the arena like thunder. For a moment, the dragon stood frozen, sparks dancing across its body, and then it collapsed heavily onto the rocky ground.
Silence followed.
Ben moved forward slowly and placed a hand against the fallen dragon, saying something too quiet to hear. Then he stepped back and raised his wand once more. A blinding jet of red light shot forth and struck the dragon cleanly—a stunner, powerful enough to leave no doubt.
The dragon went completely still.
Only then did Ben turn, walk to the nest, and pick up the golden egg.
The arena erupted into applause.
Hermione didn't wait. Before Bagman could even declare the result, she was already moving, pushing past students and hurrying down the steps, her only thought to reach him.
---
(Ben's POV)
THUD!
As I watched the dragon collapse onto the rocky ground, the realization settled in with uncomfortable clarity—I had made a mistake.
Telling her the eggs were fake had seemed logical at the time. I had thought it would reassure her that the real eggs were safe, ease her fear. Instead, I had done the opposite.
She had already been under immense stress—taken from wherever she had lived, relocated to an unfamiliar place, separated from her children, and then forced awake into an arena filled with hundreds of loud, unfamiliar beings. The moment she had seen the eggs again, she must have felt a surge of relief. And then I had taken that away.
Of course she had lashed out.
In hindsight, it wasn't just understandable—it was inevitable.
Thankfully, I had raised a shield in time. The fireball had hit it with enough force to send heat rippling outward. Outside the barrier, it must have been like molten rock—air shimmering, stone scorching—but to me, it had felt like nothing more than a warm breeze.
I walked towards her as she lay on the ground, her massive body twitching faintly. She was still conscious. Her great yellow eyes followed me, aware, wary, but no longer hostile.
I bent down and placed my hand against her crimson scales.
"Your children are safe. Nothing bad will happen to them." I held her gaze as I spoke. "Rest now. And one day soon, you will be free. You and your children. You have my word."
Then I straightened and cast a stunner.
The spell struck cleanly. Her eyes closed as its effect took hold, her body finally going still.
I exhaled slowly.
Taking a few steps to the right, I approached the clutch of eggs and lifted the golden one. It was lighter than it looked—unsurprising, considering it was hollow.
Around me, the stands erupted into cheers.
Bagman's amplified voice rang across the arena, loud and enthusiastic. "Remarkable! Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! And what a show! Taking down a full-grown dragon with a single spell—marvelous!"
Dragon-keepers swooped in, but my attention shifted toward the entrance of the arena, where a group of very familiar figures came rushing in.
I barely had time to react before Hermione and Rachel collided with me in a joint tackle that was halfway between a hug and an impact spell.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look me over as if expecting to find missing limbs.
"I'm fine, Hermione," I said, smiling. "Really, I am."
"Congratulations, Ben," Luna said serenely.
"Knew you would make it," Neville added.
Harry shook his head. "You gave us a right scare though, mate."
I grimaced slightly. "Yeah… sorry about that. I rather unwisely said something that upset the poor dragon."
"Poor dragon?" Daphne cut in, incredulous. "It almost roasted you into a crisp!"
I smiled faintly. "Oh, believe me, she didn't even come close."
Bagman's voice boomed again, cutting through the noise. "And now for the marks from the judges!"
I turned toward the judges' platform.
Madame Maxime raised her wand first.
Nine.
Mr Crouch followed.
Ten.
"Looking good," Harry said, thumping me on the back.
Then Dumbledore raised his wand.
Nine.
Our eyes met briefly, and I understood at once. He knew I had mishandled part of that exchange with the dragon. Fair enough.
Bagman, grinning broadly, sent a ten into the air.
"Awesome!" Neville exclaimed.
Finally, Karkaroff lifted his wand. He paused for a moment—just long enough to be noticeable—before releasing his score.
Five.
"What?!" Rachel bellowed. "You lousy, biased scumbag—you gave Krum ten!"
The crowd erupted into boos. Even the other judges, including Dumbledore, looked distinctly displeased.
Hermione, however, was already calculating. "It doesn't matter," she said quickly. "Ben scored forty-three. Krum only got forty, and Fleur thirty-nine. You're in first place."
I glanced around at the cheering crowd as they began to disperse, the tension of the task giving way to excitement.
Then Bagman's voice rang out once more. "Will the champions please make their way back to the tent? The organisers have a few words to say about the next task!"
Together, we headed toward the champions' tent. The others filled me in on Krum's and Fleur's approaches as we walked. When we reached it, they stayed outside while I pushed aside the flap and stepped in.
A few moments later, Fleur and Viktor entered as well. Both looked considerably more relaxed than they had before.
Fleur smiled at me. "Congratulations, Ben."
I returned the smile. "Thank you, Fleur. And félicitations to you as well."
She smiled a little wider.
Viktor and I exchanged nods.
"Well done, all of you!" Bagman said, bouncing into the tent, looking as pleased as though he had personally faced the dragons himself. "Now, just a quick few words. You've got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth — but we're giving you something to think about in the meantime!"
"If you look down at those golden eggs you're all holding, you will see that they open... see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg — because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!"
---
2nd December 1994
Hogwarts
"Now that our work for the day is done," Professor Flitwick said, after we had finished copying down the homework from the blackboard, "I have something to say to you all."
"The Yule Ball is approaching—a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests," he continued. "The ball will be open only to fourth years and above—although you may invite a younger student if you wish. Formal dress robes will be worn, and the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall."
A wave of excited murmurs spread through the classroom. Several girls—Ravenclaw and Slytherin alike—began whispering, already caught up in the idea of the evening.
Flitwick raised a hand, smiling faintly. "Now, while the Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to take a brief respite from the drudgery of our day-to-day lives and spend a lovely evening dancing and socializing," he said, glancing around the room, "that does not mean that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. It goes without saying that my fellow professors and I will be most displeased if a Hogwarts student embarrasses the school in any way."
The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as everyone packed their bags and swung them onto their shoulders.
"Mr Carter—a word, if you please," Flitwick called over the noise.
"What's that about?" Hermione asked as we stood up.
"I'm not sure," I said, glancing toward Flitwick. "But I think I have a pretty good idea. Go on—I'll see you in the Great Hall."
"Alright," she said, though she gave me a slightly curious look before heading out with the others.
I made my way to Flitwick's desk as the classroom emptied.
He waited until the last student had left before speaking. "Mr Carter, traditionally, the champions and their partners open the ball. Are you aware of that?"
"I am," I replied.
"Good," he said with a pleased smile. "In that case, please make sure you get yourself a partner. Something like this shouldn't be a problem for you, I suppose."
"Let's hope not, sir," I said, returning the smile.
With that, I left the classroom and headed down the stairs. The corridors were relatively quiet—it was lunchtime, and most people had already made their way to the Great Hall.
Life in the castle hadn't changed much after the first task. The excitement had settled into a steady hum, more background noise than anything else. I had already checked the golden egg underwater, and it had given the same riddle as in canon:
Come seek us where our voices sound,
We cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this;
We've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look,
And to recover what we took,
But past an hour, the prospect's black,
Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.
It seemed, then, that the second task—and most likely the third—would play out exactly as they had in canon.
Boring.
At least the Pokémon Championship was providing some much-needed entertainment. Every evening, the stadium filled with students—some battling, most watching—and even outside it, the castle had turned into a network of unofficial matches. Corridors, courtyards, even empty classrooms saw spontaneous duels between enthusiastic trainers. Filch, unsurprisingly, was being run absolutely ragged trying to keep up.
As I descended the staircase into the entrance hall, I spotted the Weasley twins stepping in through the front doors.
Perfect.
"Hey, guys," I called out.
"Hey, Benjamin," they replied together, grinning as they spotted me. "What's up?"
"Remember that small favour you owe me for being able to put my name in the Goblet of Fire?" I said, smirking slightly. "I just figured out a way you can repay me."
"Oh yeah?" They exchanged a glance. "What do you have in mind?"
I told them.
Fred's reaction was immediate. "Are you off your rocker, mate?"
"No way," George added, shaking his head.
"Why not?" I asked.
"What you are suggesting is completely absurd," Fred said.
"Even we, the greatest pranksters of Hogwarts, have never tried something so ridiculous," George added.
"Well, there's always a first time for everything, fellas," I said. "Besides, it's not as ludicrous as it sounds. I've seen you two at it—you've got the talent for it, trust me."
They still looked doubtful.
"I don't know, mate," Fred said uncertainly.
"Why don't you ask Harry and Neville?" George suggested. "They are your besties, aren't they?"
"Harry and Neville?" I shook my head. "You think they could do it in front of a room full of people—let alone the whole school? They'd die of embarrassment before they even started. Come on, I'm not asking for much here—just a couple of hours of your time."
"Just a couple of hours of our time, is it?" Fred said dryly.
"More like the most stressful night of our lives," George added.
"Alright, alright," I said, "let me sweeten the deal for you."
That got their attention.
"If you two agree to do this, I'll give you five thousand galleons for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."
Both of them froze.
"How do you know about that?" Fred asked sharply.
"I heard Ginny talking about how Mrs Weasley found out about your plans and destroyed your stock," I said. "Tragic, really. You two would be brilliant at it. So—help me out, and I'll give you the starting capital. How about it?"
George blinked. "You'd loan us five thousand galleons?"
"No," I said. "I'd give it to you. I don't believe in lending money to friends. That's how relationships get ruined."
They stared at me.
"You'd just… give us five thousand galleons?" Fred said.
"Just like that?" George added.
"Yep."
"Why?" George asked.
"Because you need it and I have it," I said simply.
They didn't look convinced, so I sighed lightly. "Guys, I've got over five million galleons sitting in my Gringotts vault, and more coming in every day from Wiphone sales. Five thousand is nothing to me. If it helps you build something worthwhile—and helps me with this—then I'm happy to do it."
They stepped aside and conferred in low voices. I waited.
After a few minutes, they came back.
"Alright," Fred said, "we've talked it over. We're willing to give this a try."
"On one condition," George added.
"Which is?"
They exchanged another glance.
"We want to make you a partner," Fred said.
"Junior partner," George clarified.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You give us five thousand galleons," Fred said, "and we'll give you twenty percent of our annual profits."
I looked at them carefully. "You're serious?"
"Deadly," George said. "You might not like lending money, but we don't like taking handouts."
"If we're taking your money, we're paying you back somehow," Fred added.
I considered them for a moment, then said, "Ten percent."
They both frowned. "What?"
"I'll take ten percent of your annual profits, not twenty," I said, raising a hand before they could argue. "Listen—I believe your shop is going to be a massive success. Even at ten percent, I'll recover my investment in a few years. I can't, in good conscience, take more than that. Not when I'm already making more than enough elsewhere."
They hesitated.
Then I extended both my hands. "So—what do you say? Do we have a deal?"
They looked at each other, then back at me. Slowly, identical grins spread across their faces.
"Deal," they said together, shaking my hands.
"Good," I said, smiling. "I'll be expecting both of you at the Arcane Club this evening. We've got about three weeks to prepare, gentlemen—to deliver an unforgettable night at Hogwarts."
---
We stepped into the Great Hall together, the noise rolling over us in waves. Every table was buzzing, and it didn't take long to catch the subject—Yule Ball. Dresses, dates, speculation… apparently dragons had already been downgraded to yesterday's problem.
Fred and George peeled off toward the Gryffindor table, while I made my way to the Ravenclaw table and slid into the seat beside Hermione.
She looked at me at once. "What did Professor Flitwick want?"
I put some mashed potatoes on my plate. "Just wanted to remind me that the Champions traditionally open the ball. First dance and all that. So he suggested I should make sure I have a partner."
That earned me a series of smirks from Harry, Neville, Rachel, and Daphne.
Hermione, however, didn't smirk. She tilted her head slightly, watching me. "Do you have someone in mind?"
"I do," I said easily. "I'm just not entirely sure what her answer would be."
Her lips curved faintly. "Maybe you should ask her and find out."
"Fair point," I said. I turned slightly toward her. "In that case—"
"Oh, please tell me you are not actually considering asking her."
An annoying voice cut across the hall, loud and deliberately clear.
Pansy Parkinson sat at the adjacent Slytherin table, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "Honestly, Carter, I don't know what you see in her," she continued, gesturing vaguely in Hermione's direction. "With that fuzzy hair and those rather unfortunate front teeth. When you could have any other girl in the school."
A few Slytherins snickered.
Hermione went very still beside me. Then, without a word, she stood up.
I caught her hand before she could take a step.
"Stay."
She didn't look at me. "Please," she said quietly.
I tightened my grip just slightly—not enough to force, just enough to hold. "Stay. Please."
There was a pause.
Then she slowly sat back down, her head lowered, shoulders tight.
I looked at Pansy's smug face, reached into my Storage ring and pulled out my guitar.
That got everyone's attention.
I adjusted the strings once, then began to play.
🎶🎵"You're insecure…" 🎵🎶
Hermione didn't look up at first.
🎶🎵"Don't know what for…
You're turnin' heads when you walk through the door…"🎵🎶
Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap. I saw the faintest shift in her posture, like she didn't quite know what to do with herself.
🎶🎵"Don't need makeup…
To cover up…"🎵🎶
Now she looked up.
Just slightly. Just enough to glance at me.
🎶🎵"Being the way that you are is enough…"🎵🎶
A faint flush crept into her cheeks.
🎶🎵"Everyone else in the room can see it
Everyone else but you…"🎵🎶
Hermione blinked, her gaze dropping again, but this time not out of hurt—out of something else. Embarrassment, maybe. Or disbelief.
I leaned into the rhythm.
🎶🎵"Baby, you light up my world like nobody else
The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed
But when you smile at the ground, it ain't hard to tell
You don't know, oh-oh, you don't know you're beautiful…"🎵🎶
Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink.
🎶🎵"If only you saw what I can see
You'll understand why I want you so desperately…"🎵🎶
She was looking at me fully now.
🎶🎵"Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe
You don't know, oh-oh, you don't know you're beautiful, oh-oh..."🎵🎶
A full blush now. She tried to look away again, but didn't quite manage it.
🎶🎵"That's what makes you beautiful!"🎵🎶
By the second verse, the entire hall was hooked.
🎶🎵"So c-come on…
You got it wrong…"🎵🎶
Hermione was shaking her head faintly now, like she couldn't quite process what was happening.
🎶🎵"To prove I'm right, I put it in a song…"🎵🎶
Her hand came up to cover part of her face, but she was smiling now—small, shy, undeniable.
🎶🎵"I don't know why…
You're being shy…"🎵🎶
Her eyes flicked toward me again, caught somewhere between embarrassment and something softer.
🎶🎵"And turn away when I look into your eyes…"🎵🎶
She didn't turn away this time.
🎶🎵"Everyone else in the room can see it
Everyone else but you…"🎵🎶
Fred and George leapt up from their seats, grinning madly, and joined me for the chorus.
🎶🎵"Baby, you light up my world like nobody else
The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed
But when you smile at the ground, it ain't hard to tell
You don't know, oh-oh, you don't know you're beautiful
If only you saw what I can see
You'll understand why I want you so desperately
Right now, I'm looking at you and I can't believe
You don't know, oh-oh, you don't know you're beautiful, oh-oh…"🎵🎶
By the time we hit the final verse, the Great Hall was fully involved—students clapping, singing, laughing. Even a few teachers looked like they were trying not to smile.
🎶🎵"That's what makes you beautiful!"🎵🎶
The last chord rang out.
For a second, there was silence—
Then the hall erupted.
Cheers, whistles, applause.
I set the guitar aside and stood, turning slightly toward the Slytherin table.
"I am going to ask Hermione to the ball," I said calmly. "Because I love her."
The smirk had long since been wiped off Pansy's face.
"And I hope," I added, just as evenly, "that someday you're fortunate enough to know what that feels like."
I turned back to Hermione.
She was still flushed, still looking slightly overwhelmed, but she met my gaze.
"Do you still doubt," I asked gently, "that I think you're beautiful?"
She shook her head quickly, unable to quite form words.
I held out my hand.
"Hermione Granger… will you do me the honour of going to the Yule Ball with me?"
For a moment, she just stared at me.
Then she nodded, smiling.
The hall exploded again.
I smiled, then looked around the hall. Across the room, I caught a glimpse of Fleur watching us from near the door, her expression unreadable—but there was something there. Something sharp. Something almost… wistful.
I didn't dwell on it.
My attention was entirely on the girl in front of me, still blushing, still smiling, and—finally—looking just a little like she believed how beautiful I found her.