The three of them arrived at the Great Hall together and immediately scattered.
The Hall had been transformed — an Atmospheric Charm had turned the entire space into something that resembled the inside of a crystal. Walls, ceiling, tables: every surface caught the light and fractured it into silver. The three enormous Christmas trees at the far end were stacked with perfect artificial snow. Actual snowflakes drifted from the enchanted ceiling without landing anywhere, hovering mid-descent, and the effect was extraordinarily romantic in the way that only truly good set design manages to be.
Harry spotted Ginny across the entrance hall, said something that might have been an excuse, and walked toward her at a pace that he probably didn't realise was obvious. Ron wandered off on his own trajectory, no partner having materialised; Kevin had heard that Draco was in a similar position, and he wasn't surprised they found each other eventually.
Draco had shifted, over the past year, in ways that were difficult to articulate to anyone who hadn't been watching. He'd pulled away from Pansy and from the pure-blood social group that went with her. He'd started spending time with a second-year named Astoria Greengrass — one of the old families, but none of the attitude that usually came with it. Quiet, considered, genuinely intelligent. He'd mentioned her twice without being asked, which was telling.
He hadn't asked her to the ball. Two months of acquaintance felt too short, and he wasn't sure yet of the ground under his feet with her. So he and Ron were sulking at the walls together, which was, Kevin thought, an outcome no one could have predicted a year ago.
Kevin waited outside the Hall.
He was aware of being looked at — one of the Triwizard champions, tall, the particular kind of striking that comes from wearing clothes that actually fit — but that wasn't what he was paying attention to.
A hush moved through the group near the staircase.
He looked over.
Hermione was at the top, descending.
She'd chosen sky-blue — layered silk that rippled when she moved, picking up the light in waves. The cut fitted her well and let her walk with the ease of someone comfortable in what they were wearing. Her hair was up, smooth and pinned with something silver, and the style suited the line of her neck and jaw. She was composed and a little flushed and very, very beautiful.
She saw his expression halfway down the stairs and the flush deepened. But she kept her pace steady.
Kevin offered his arm at the bottom. She took it.
"You went and got the tailor to outdo themselves," he said.
"You could just say I look nice."
"That sounded better."
"It sounded like you were taking credit for my outfit."
"Not at all. I'm just observing that the outcome exceeded expectations."
"You are impossible," she said. But she was smiling, and she leaned into his arm, and they walked toward the Hall doors together while the crowd made way.
Harry and Ginny were waiting at the entrance. Both of them lit up when they saw Hermione. There was a brief, warm exchange — Harry saying something about the dress that Hermione actually laughed at, which meant he'd said it right — and then the music swelled inside.
The champions and their partners moved together through the crowd to the centre of the floor.
Kevin put one hand at Hermione's waist, took her other hand in his, and looked at her.
She looked back.
The music began, and they danced — his technique still precise and slightly deliberate, hers naturally graceful, and together it worked better than either alone. After a while Dumbledore took McGonagall's hand and joined the floor, which was the signal for everyone else, and the Hall erupted into motion.
Kevin steered Hermione gently toward the edge and then out through one of the garden doors.
The castle garden was cold and still and lit only by moonlight and the warm glow leaking from the Hall windows. The snow was pristine on the ground.
They danced out there, quietly, without audience.
Her dress caught the moonlight and she looked, Kevin thought, like something that had wandered in from an older story.
The Christmas bells rang across the grounds.
"Merry Christmas, Hermione."
"Merry Christmas, Kevin."
She looked up at him, and the feeling that crossed her face was too large to hold quietly. She burrowed against him, arms around his middle, and let herself be simply happy.
They found a garden bench eventually and sat, talking about the outfits — how the Grangers had managed to coordinate when neither Kevin nor Hermione had known the other was also writing, and how the result had ended up matching so well that three separate people had commented on it.
"Speaking of your parents," Kevin said. "We should tell them. Properly."
Hermione considered this with her head resting against his shoulder. "Mum will be pleased. She's been asking pointed questions since third year."
"And your father?"
"Dad will need a face-to-face." She paused. "I love him dearly. But he will absolutely make this uncomfortable for you at first."
"How uncomfortable?"
"He'll ask what your intentions are and then listen to your answer without expression until you stop talking. Very effective. I've seen it work on people much more confident than you."
"I'm very confident."
"On dragons, yes. On my father's sofa? We'll see."
She said it with such cheerful certainty that Kevin wasn't even offended.
She tilted her face up. "Regardless. You have to come for dinner. And you have to be very polite and answer all his questions and not make any of your jokes."
"Can I make one joke?"
"Absolutely not." She kissed him.
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