The days following the First Task drifted by with an odd sort of heaviness. The tension of dragon fire and screams from the stands had faded into mory, and slowly, Hogwarts settled back into its usual rhythm. Lessons resud, howork piled up again, and professors seed determined to remind everyone that the Tournant did not excuse neglect of studies.
Winter had tightened its grip, though without snow. The sky above the castle remained a flat, iron gray, the air sharp with a damp chill that made the torches burn brighter in the corridors. Students walked about wrapped in scarves and gloves, and the warmth of the classrooms was more welco than ever.
It was during one such afternoon, in Transfiguration, that sothing unexpected stirred the steady routine.
Professor McGonagall’s classroom was brisk and orderly, filled with the rhythmic scratching of quills and the occasional mutter of students practicing incantations. The sll of parchnt and ink mingled with the faint, tallic tang of spellwork.
Eira sat beside Tracey Davis, her wand balanced across her knuckles while she copied notes in her tidy script. Tracey, on the other hand, leaned forward on her desk, chin propped in her hand, clearly not paying as much attention as she ought to.
It was only when McGonagall cleared her throat that the quiet atmosphere shifted.
"As the Christmas season approaches," McGonagall began, her clipped Scottish voice carrying easily across the room, "the school will be hosting a traditional event connected with the Triwizard Tournant."
Every quill paused. Heads lifted at once.
"The Yule Ball," she announced.
A ripple of excited murmurs spread imdiately through the room. Girls glanced at one another, eyes wide, while the boys exchanged nervous looks.
McGonagall’s sharp gaze swept the room, and silence fell quickly. "The Yule Ball is a tradition, and one that must be treated with the utmost respect. This is not rely a celebration. It is a chance to uphold the dignity of your school before our guests."
Her words landed with weight, though the glimr of excitent in the students’ eyes didn’t fade.
"You are expected to dress appropriately," she continued, her mouth set in a firm line. "That ans dress robes for the gentlen, and formal attire for the ladies. The Ball will take place on Christmas night, beginning at eight o’clock in the evening and lasting until midnight."
Tracey nudged Eira under the desk, her face alight with delight. ’A ball,’ she mouthed, as if the words themselves were too delicious to say aloud.
Eira allowed herself a small smile. She could already sense the swirl of whispers forming around them, the nervous thrill of invitations yet to be made.
McGonagall raised her voice slightly. "Now, there are rules. Students below fourth year will not be permitted to attend unless invited by an older student."
The room imdiately grew louder. Gryffindor students leaned eagerly across desks, whispering with broad grins, while a cluster of Slytherins smirked as if already scheming about who they might bring.
McGonagall continued as if the chatter did not exist. "Champions are required to attend, and they will lead the opening dance. I expect all champions to conduct themselves with dignity and grace."
Her sharp eyes flicked toward Harry as she said this. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, wishing the floor would swallow him.
The Gryffindor girls erupted into stifled giggles, Parvati tugging at Lavender’s sleeve and whispering sothing that made both of them laugh harder. Across the aisle, Seamus gave Harry a nudge and a grin. "Looks like you’ll have to find yourself a date, mate," he muttered loud enough for half the class to hear.
On the Slytherin side, Malfoy leaned back in his chair with a look of exaggerated sympathy. "Oh, this is going to be brilliant," he drawled. "Potter tripping over his own feet in front of the entire school." Crabbe and Goyle snickered on cue.
Hermione shot Malfoy a sharp glare before whispering quickly to Harry, "Don’t listen to him. It’s just a dance."
Harry didn’t answer. His ears were already burning red as McGonagall cleared her throat, the sound snapping the room back into to the order.
Beside Eira, Tracey leaned in, whispering with the conspiratorial air of a gossip columnist. "I’m really excited to see the champions, who they’ll be taking with them, and who they’ll choose as partners."
Her eyes glead with hope. "I just wish Viktor Krum would invite to the dance."
Eira rolled her eyes. "Actually, it will be the opposite. It will be the girls asking him. You know how he is, whenever he walks through the castle or even outside, there are always dozens of girls following him. So don’t set your hopes too high."
Tracey sighed dramatically. "Figures. Just my luck." Then she nudged Eira with her elbow. "Fine, forget Krum. What about you? Who are you going with? I bet there will be loads of boys lining up for the chance."
"I don’t have any plan to accept," Eira said simply.
Tracey gasped in mock outrage. "What? You? Refuse them all? That is cruel. So poor boy will probably write you poetry and cry himself to sleep when you turn him down." She grinned wickedly. "Unless, of course, you already have soone in mind."
Eira shook her head, her tone even. "No. I don’t."
Tracey tapped her chin, pretending to ponder. "Well, your friend Fleur will have to choose soone. I wonder which handso boy she’ll pick."
Eira’s eyes narrowed just slightly. "No, she will not choose any boy."
Tracey stilled, then her mouth curled into a sly grin. "Gotcha. Why, are you jealous?"
Eira stiffened. "No, I’m not. I don’t, I an, I don’t feel anything."
Tracey tilted her head, studying her intently now. Her voice dropped, less teasing, more curious. "Tell the truth. You two are always together. At the Slytherin table, you sit side by side, speaking French that none of us understand. And the way you look at each other... it feels like more than just friendship."
Eira felt heat creeping up her neck, her composure faltering. She pressed her lips together, then finally forced herself to say it. "Well... yes. She is my girlfriend."
Tracey let out a loud gasp before slapping both hands over her mouth. Several students turned at the sound, and she ducked her head quickly. In a whisper that was more like a squeal, she said, "I knew it. I knew there was sothing unusual between you two."
Her grin widened as she poked Eira’s arm. "Oh, this is brilliant. If the pure-blood families find out you are into girls, there will be an uproar across the whole British wizarding world."
Eira’s voice steadied again, firm and calm. "I don’t care. Not much, anyway."
Tracey smirked. "Then why keep it quiet? There are signs, clear as day, but you never admit it in public. What’s the reason? Are you ashad?"
"No," Eira said firmly. "Absolutely not. I’m not ashad of it."
Tracey leaned back with a satisfied look, her smile softer now but no less mischievous. "Good. Because that is exactly how it should be."
Their quiet exchange was interrupted by McGonagall clapping her hands once. "That will be all for today. Howork: practice the Switching Spell on non-living objects, no excuses. Gryffindor students," she added firmly, "you are to report to the Great Hall after dinner tonight for further instruction. Slytherin students, Professor Snape will speak to you in your common room later this evening regarding the Yule Ball."
Chairs scraped back as students began to gather their things, still buzzing with chatter about dress robes and partners.
Tracey fell into step beside Eira as they walked toward the door, whispering again with excitent. "I hope Cedric Diggory asks . Can you imagine? Dancing with him, the great Hogwarts champion—everyone would be jealous."
Eira gave her a sidelong glance. "I imagine he will be overwheld with offers. Girls will be queuing for him."
Tracey pouted. "Yes, but at least he’s handso. Honestly, there aren’t any decent boys in Slytherin. Even if there are one or two who look tolerable, they’re either too arrogant or too full of themselves. Who would want to go with them?"
Eira smirked faintly. "You don’t make it easy for yourself."
Tracey shrugged with exaggerated flair. "Well, if nothing works out, I’ll just drag you along. Or Daphne. Or maybe I’ll scoop up so second-year or third-year boy to take with ."
Eira laughed at that. "If you want to play big sister and invite a little boy to the Ball, be my guest."
Tracey raised her chin smugly. "Of course. I’ll be like a big sister, teaching him how to dance. Besides, they’re so innocent. They’ll just follow around like the little boys they are."
"Oh, so you want a partner who’ll be like a puppy, obeying every move you tell him?" Eira teased.
Tracey gave a dramatic sigh. "It’s still far better than dealing with those older boys who think they’re gods’ gift, strutting around with multiple partners. I can’t stand playboys."
Eira chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, well, well. I didn’t know Tracey was like this."
Tracey’s lips curved into a mischievous grin. "Oh, you haven’t seen the real . If you did, you’d be scared."
The two girls broke into giggles, their laughter echoing lightly through the corridor. After a mont, Tracey nudged her. "Co on. Let’s go and see how our dear Head of House plans to lecture us at common room after dinner."
They turned toward the Great Hall, the low hum of hundreds of voices spilling out from ahead.
As they walked, Eira’s mind drifted. She was already thinking about the clothes she would ask Emma to order for her, and for Fleur as well. There was no doubt in her heart—Fleur would be hers, and Fleur would dance with her. That was already decided, even if the invitation had not been spoken aloud.
But the thought of Fleur on another’s arm, of Fleur’s silver hair glinting under the enchanted ceiling while she twirled with soone else, clawed at her. The image darkened her expression, and for a mont, an aura of cold intensity bled out from her.
Tracey shivered suddenly, rubbing her arms. "What was that? Why has it gotten so cold all of a sudden?" She glanced around uneasily.
Eira blinked and pulled herself back, smoothing her expression into calm composure. "Nothing. Let’s go inside."
Together, they entered the Great Hall, their laughter from earlier already fading into the swell of noise that filled the room.
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