21. The Unexpected Task

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"Tired blue boy walks my way, holding a girls hand. That basic bitch leaves finally, now I can take her man" ~ Pacify her, Melanie Martinez

"Parcel for you, Mr Weasley," Dennis Creevy says brightly, approaching the five of us at the Gryffindor table. He hands over a messily wrapped parcel.

"Thank you, Dennis."

The boy stops dead and stares intently at Harry and I for a few moments, before Ron leans in close and mutters, "Not now, Dennis. Later."

The boy disappears, and I frown at Ron questionably.

"I told him I'd get him Harry and Haylee's autograph," Ron says, untieing his package. Tay scoffs, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Oh look, Mum's sent me something."

He opens the package, revealing a frilly, lacy looking outfit. I choke on my porridge as he pulls it out and stands up, holding it to his chest.

"Mum sent me a dress."

"Well, it does match your eyes," I say sarcastically, grinning. "Is there a bonnet? Ah hah!" I pull out a bonnet and press it to his chest, giggling.

"Nose down, Haylee," Ron says, giving a small laugh. "Ginny, these must be for you."

"I'm not wearing that, it's ghastly," Ginny says, turning up her nose. Hermione and I begin to laugh, and I notice that many Gryffindors are now watching Ron, including his older brothers.

"What are you two on about?" he asks.

"They're not for Ginny," Tay says, grinning. "They're for you, you prat."

Fred, George and I burst into hysterical laughter.

"Dress robes," Hermione explains.

"Dress robes? For what?"

*~*

Ron's question is answered not long after, in a meeting McGonagall organised with Gryffindor house.

"The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the Triwizard Tournament since its inception," she explains, after having separated us according to gender. "On Christmas Eve night, 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.'

Murmurs break out amongst us; many of the girls gasp excitedly, whilst Tay and I exchange looks of mock horror. The boys, however, groan.

"Silence," McGongall says hastily. "The House of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizard world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you, in the course of a single evening, besmirching that name that behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons."

Across the room, I hear Fred whisper. "Try saying that five times fast, huh?"

"Babbling, bumpling band of baboons. Babbling, bumpling band of baboons.'

"...is to let the body breathe," McGonagall is saying as I avert my attention back to her, grinning. "Inside every girl, a secret swan slumbers longing to burst forth and take flight."

"Something's about to burst out of Eloise Midgen, but I don't think it's a swan,' I hear Ron mutter, earning several muffled sniggers.

"Inside every boy," McGonagall continues pointedly, "a lordly lion prepared to prance. Mr Weasley."

"Yes?"

"Will you join me, please?" McGonagall asks, approaching Ron, who hesitantly agrees.

"Hey, hey," the boys all echo, as Ron awkwardly stands in the center of the room with McGonagall.

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