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Halfway through the first song.
The dance floor was becoming increasingly crowded. The students who had been watching from the sidelines just moments ago were now flooding onto the floor with their respective partners.
Youthful boys and girls twirled and moved to the rhythm of the music, hundreds of pairs of shoes clicking against the polished floor in a rhythmic yet chaotic patter. The sounds blended together, forming a unique accompaniment to the music.
Magical snowflakes continued to drift through the air, landing on people's hair and shoulders before silently vanishing.
A space was cleared in the center of the dance floor—reserved for the champions.
According to tradition, the champions were only allowed to disperse into the crowd after the first song ended. At the moment, they were taking turns spinning in the center, undergoing a baptism of gazes from the entire hall.
The three Hogwarts champions—Cedric with Cho Chang, Roger Davies with a Ravenclaw girl, and Harry with Parvati—had all completed one rotation.
Cedric and Cho Chang moved in perfect harmony, their spins so fluid they drew quite a bit of applause. Roger danced adequately, at least avoiding any major blunders. Harry was a bit nervous, but Parvati danced well, guiding him through without any significant mistakes.
The Beauxbatons champions took the floor as well. Fleur had already finished her turn and was currently dancing a second round with Lynn. Chloe and Sophie were also dancing with their partners, looking elegant and poised.
Then came the champions from Uagadou, Ilvermorny, and Castelobruxo. Their styles varied, but they all danced well.
Finally, it was the Durmstrang champions' turn.
Krum, Louis, and Katya entered the floor simultaneously.
Lynn took one look and burst out laughing.
The trio's current appearance was, well... quite unique.
Every one of them was puffing white steam out of their nostrils, and smoke was billowing from their ears. The steam puffed out in sync with their movements, making them look like three mobile steam engines.
Clearly, they had come straight from Madam Pomfrey after drinking a potion to treat their colds.
And this, obviously, was thanks to Lynn "opening the windows for ventilation" last night.
Krum's face was ashen, though whether from anger or the effects of the potion was unclear. He tried his best to maintain a dignified expression, but with the white steam puffing out of his nose, that dignity was severely undermined.
Louis's expression was numb; he had completely given up the struggle. He simply moved across the dance floor with his partner, letting the steam puff from his nostrils with a decadent air of "I don't care anymore."
Katya had it the worst. Not only was he puffing steam from his nose and smoke from his ears, but he also sneezed from time to time. Every sneeze released an even larger cloud of white mist, enveloping both him and his partner.
The expressions of their partners were all very subtle.
The most subtle of all was Hermione.
Today, she wore a carefully selected dress, and her hair had been meticulously styled into an elegant bun pinned with several sparkling little hair clips. It was a look she had spent the entire afternoon perfecting.
At this moment, she was being led across the dance floor by Krum.
The white steam puffing from Krum's nose was being precisely blasted onto her bun.
Hermione's expression was incredibly complex.
She could feel the steam sweeping over her hair again and again, blowing her meticulously styled hairdo into a mess. Those little hair clips were beginning to loosen, teetering on the edge of falling out. A stray lock of hair had already slipped from the bun and was plastered against the side of her face.
She took a deep breath, struggling to maintain a polite smile.
If she had known, she never would have accepted Krum's invitation to the ball.
She thought to herself.
Lynn watched this scene from the side, his smile growing even more radiant.
Fleur noticed his expression, followed his gaze for a moment, and then looked back.
"Your doing?" she whispered.
Lynn blinked. "What?"
Fleur gave him a pointed look. "Don't play dumb. I heard their windows were open all night and wouldn't close. Was that you?"
Lynn certainly wasn't going to admit it. He shrugged and continued scanning the room for anyone else making a fool of themselves.
And indeed, just as Lynn expected, the Durmstrang champions weren't the only ones having a rough time.
Quite a few people on the dance floor were contributing to the comedy.
Take William Smith, for example.
William was currently moving along the edge of the dance floor with his partner—the Gryffindor girl.
That girl's expression was anything but calm right now.
She was frequently frowning. She was frequently dodging. Her feet were being stepped on frequently.
Every time William took a step, she instinctively flinched back. But William always managed to stay perfectly on beat with the music and then—precisely stomp on her foot.
Once, twice, three times.
Her brow furrowed deeper and deeper. She looked down at her delicate silver dance shoes; several faint footprints now marked the surface.
She looked up, giving William a complicated look.
That look clearly said: Are you doing this on purpose?
William read that look loud and clear.
He opened his mouth, wanting to explain, but didn't know where to start.
He was truly being wronged.
Not everyone was like Edgar Burns—simple-minded but physically coordinated enough to memorize dance steps perfectly. He was William, the kind of person who could recite complex Potion formulas backward, but this dancing business—you're asking too much of me, William!
He was clearly following the standard footwork Professor McGonagall had taught, yet for some reason, every time he stepped down, his partner's foot just happened to be there.
How could he be blamed for that?
The girl took a deep breath.
"It's fine," she said, her voice sounding a bit like she was speaking through gritted teeth. "Continue."
William nodded and kept dancing.
And then—
The fourth stomp.
Her expression completely crumbled.
Not far away, Edgar was dancing up a storm with his Ravenclaw partner, making her laugh uncontrollably.
Lynn took a glance and silently offered a moment of silence for William... three seconds, no more.
It wasn't just the students; the professors' dancing was also full of mishaps.
The most eye-catching were Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey.
Madam Pomfrey wore a dark red dress today, looking dignified and elegant. Professor Flitwick stood beside her, straining on his tiptoes just to barely rest his hand on her waist—at the "optimal position described in books, one-third of the way from the shoulder to the waist."
Madam Pomfrey seemed to have a certain obsession with the dance posture.
She looked down at Professor Flitwick, her brow slightly furrowed.
"A bit more to the left," she said. "The hand position is wrong."
Professor Flitwick struggled to shift his hand.
"Too far left, bring it back a bit."
He shifted it again.
"Still not right, it should be at this angle."
Professor Flitwick's face turned beet red from the effort.
For anyone else, adjusting a hand position was a trivial matter. But for Professor Flitwick, it meant standing on his short legs on tiptoe, maintaining his balance while precisely moving his arm.
It was practically torture.
But Madam Pomfrey didn't care about that. She insisted on dancing according to the standard posture in the book, without the slightest deviation.
Professor Flitwick took a deep breath and kept trying.
The nearby students were highly amused.
Lynn was laughing too.
But he was soon distracted by another sight.
He saw Hagrid.
Hagrid was standing on the dance floor with—Madame Maxime?!
Lynn's eyes widened. He rubbed them and looked again.
Yes, it was Hagrid, currently standing on the side of the dance floor, face-to-face with Madame Maxime.
Truly a Gryffindor; that courage was real.
But as for dance moves—
He had none.
As soon as Hagrid took his first step, those massive feet of his landed squarely on Madame Maxime's foot.
Madame Maxime's brow twitched.
Hagrid's face turned bright red. He frantically tried to apologize, but on the second step—
He stepped on her again.
This time it was the other foot.
Madame Maxime's frown deepened.
Sweat began to bead on Hagrid's forehead. He tried desperately to recall the footwork Professor McGonagall had taught, but his memory was a jumble. He only knew he had to step to the beat, but once he stepped out, where his foot landed was out of his control.
Third step.
Thud.
Another stomp.
This one was a bit heavy, causing Madame Maxime's body to sway slightly.
Hagrid panicked completely. He fumbled to adjust himself, and as a result—
Fourth step.
Fifth step.
Sixth step.
Lynn counted from the side, his eyes growing wider and wider.
Seven seconds.
Six stomps.
A perfect replication of his own previous record, perhaps even surpassing it.
Madame Maxime's brow was now knitted into a tight knot. But she said nothing, merely taking a deep breath and continuing to lead Hagrid through the movements.
Hagrid's face was so red it looked ready to drip blood. He kept his head down, not daring to look at her expression, and could only move his feet mechanically.
Many students around were stealing glances at them. Some covered their mouths to giggle, while others nudged their friends with their elbows. But no one dared to laugh out loud—after all, it was Hagrid, and Madame Maxime was standing right there.
Lynn watched for a while and then looked away.
Fleur, beside him, also noticed the commotion. She glanced over and whispered, "That professor..."
"Hagrid," Lynn said. "Hogwarts' Groundskeeper."
Fleur nodded and said nothing more, but the corners of her mouth curled up slightly.
Lynn saw that hint of a smile.
"What?" he said. "Think it's interesting?"
Fleur thought for a moment and nodded. "Livelier than I imagined."
Lynn shrugged and continued dancing.
On the dance floor, the music played on, the lights continued to swirl, and the snowflakes kept falling.
Hagrid was still stomping on Madame Maxime's feet, William was still stomping on his partner's feet, the Durmstrang champions were still puffing steam, and Professor Flitwick was still on his tiptoes.
Lynn thought to himself that these women really had incredible patience not to have called it quits yet.