The Girl Who Lived

Date to the Yule Ball

Heather will be played by..... Willow Shields!
"Potter! Weasley! Will you pay attention?"
Professor McGonagall's irritated voice cracked like a whip through the Transfiguration class on Thursday, and Harry and Ron both jumped and looked up.
It was the end of the lesson; they had finished their work; the guinea fowl they had been changing into guinea pigs had been shut away in a large cage on Professor McGonagall's desk (Neville's still had feathers); they had copied down their homework from the blackboard ("Describe, with examples, the ways in which Transforming Spells must be adapted when performing Cross-Species Switches"). The bell was due to ring at any moment, and Harry and Ron, who had been having a sword fight with a couple of Fred and George's fake wands at the back of the class, looked up, Ron holding a tin parrot and Harry, a rubber haddock.
Boys are crazy.
"Now that Potter and Weasley have been kind enough to act their age," said Professor McGonagall, with an angry look at the pair of them as the head of Harry's haddock drooped and fell silently to the floor — Ron's parrot's beak had severed it moments before — "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. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above — although you may invite a younger student if you wish —"
Lavender Brown let out a shrill giggle. Parvati Patil nudged her hard in the ribs, her face working furiously as she too fought not to giggle. They both looked around at Harry. Professor McGonagall ignored them, which I thought was distinctly unfair, as she had just told off Harry and Ron.
"Dress robes will be worn," Professor McGonagall continued, "and the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then —"
Professor McGonagall stared deliberately around the class.
"The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to — er — let our hair down," she said, in a disapproving voice.
Lavender giggled harder than ever, with her hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle the sound. I could see what was funny this time: Professor McGonagall, with her hair in a tight bun, looked as though she had never let her hair down in any sense.
"But that does NOT mean," Professor McGonagall went on, "that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor 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.
Professor McGonagall called above the noise, "Ms. Potter — a word, if you please."
Assuming I was in trouble for putting the Super-Sticky Glue in front of the Slytherin common room, I proceeded gloomily to the teacher's desk. Professor McGonagall waited until the rest of the class had gone, and then said, "Ms. Potter, the champions and their partners —"
"What partners?" I asked.
Professor McGonagall looked suspiciously at me, as though she thought I was trying to be funny.
"Your partners for the Yule Ball, Potter," she said coldly. "Your dance partners."
My insides seemed to curl up and shrivel.
"Dance partners?" I felt myself going red. "I don't dance," I said quickly.
"Oh yes, you do," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "That's what I'm telling you. Traditionally, the champions and their partners open the ball."
I had a sudden mental image of myself in the sort of frilly dress Aunt Petunia always wore to Uncle Vernon's work parties accompanied by a guy in a top hat and tails.
"I'm not dancing," I said.
"It is traditional," said Professor McGonagall firmly. "You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the school. So make sure you get yourself a partner, Potter."
"But — I don't —"
"You heard me, Potter," said Professor McGonagall in a very final sort of way.
A week ago, I would have said finding a partner for a dance would be a cinch compared to taking on a Hungarian Horntail. But now that I had done the latter, and was facing the prospect of asking a guy to the ball, I thought I'd rather have another round with the dragon.
I mean, sure, if I weren't a girl, it'd be much easier. I mean, it seems a bit akward for a girl to ask a guy out.
Then again, I'm not really asking them out. I'm just asking them to be my dance partner.
I could just take a friend-like Ron, or even Harry!
But that'd be even more akward. I need someone who'd keep me laughing, and make it not akward.
"Listen, you're not going to have any trouble. You're a champion. You've just beaten a Hungarian Horntail. I bet they'll be queuing up to go with you." Ron said
In tribute to our recently repaired friendship, Ron had kept the bitterness in his voice to a bare minimum. Moreover, to my amazement, he turned out to be quite right.
A curly-haired third-year Hufflepuff boy to whom I had never spoken in my life asked me to go to the ball with him the very next day. I was so taken aback he said no before I'd even stopped to consider the matter. The boy walked off looking rather hurt, and I had to endure Harry and Ron's taunts about her all through History of Magic. The following day, two more guys asked me, a second year (to my horror) and a fifth year who looked as though he might knock me out if I refused.
On the whole, I had to admit that even with the embarrassing prospect of opening the ball before me, life had definitely improved since I had got through the first task. I wasn't attracting nearly as much unpleasantness in the corridors anymore, which I suspected had a lot to do with Cedric — I had an idea Cedric might have told the Hufflepuffs to leave me alone, in gratitude for my tip-off about the dragons. There seemed to be fewer Support Cedric Diggory! badges around too.
~*~*~
I was sitting in the common room with Fred, George, Mione, Ron, and Harry. Snape decided to give us a test the last day of the quarter, so Mione and I were quizzing each other while Harry and Ron built a card tower.
"Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?" George asked.
"No, he's off delivering a letter," said Ron. "Why?"
"Because George wants to invite him to the ball," said Fred sarcastically.
I laughed. "I'd like to see that."
"Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat," said George.
"Who d'you two keep writing to, eh?" said Ron.
"Nose out, Ron, or I'll burn that for you too," said Fred, waving his wand threateningly. "So . . . you lot got dates for the ball yet?"
"Nope," said Ron.
"Well, you'd better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone," said George.
"Who're you going with, then?" said Ron.
(I'm going to change this up a bit ;))
"Angelina," said George promptly, without a trace of embarrassment.
"What?" said Ron, taken aback. "You've already asked her?"
"Good point," said George. He turned his head and called across the common room, "Oi! Angelina!"
Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him.
"What?" she called back.
"Want to come to the ball with me?"
Angelina gave George an appraising sort of look.
"All right, then," she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face.
"There you go," said George to Harry and Ron, "piece of cake." He got to his feet, yawning, and said, "We'd better use a school owl then, George, come on. . . ."
They left. Ron stopped feeling his eyebrows and looked across the smoldering wreck of his card castle at Harry.
"We should get a move on, you know . . . ask someone. He's right. We don't want to end up with a pair of trolls. Especially you, Heather." He smirks at me.
Hermione let out a sputter of indignation.
"A pair of . . . what, excuse me?"
"Well — you know," said Ron, shrugging. "I'd rather go alone
than with — with Eloise Midgen, say."
"Her acne's loads better lately — and she's really nice!" I offer
"Her nose is off-center," said Ron.
"Oh I see," Hermione said, bristling. "So basically, you're going to take the best-looking girl who'll have you, even if she's completely horrible?"
"Er — yeah, that sounds about right," said Ron.
"I'm going to bed," Hermione snapped, and she swept off toward the girls' staircase without another word.
Ron had a confused look on his face. "What was all that about?"
Harry shrugged.
"Oh my God! You're both so blind!" I shriek.
~*~*~
Entering the common room, I looked around, and to my surprise he saw Ron sitting ashen-faced in a distant corner. Ginny and Harry were sitting with him, talking to him in what seemed to be a low, soothing voice.
"What's up, Ron?" I asked, joining them.
Ron looked up at me, a sort of blind horror in his face.
"Why did I do it?" he said wildly. "I don't know what made me do it!"
"What?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know.
"He — er — just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the ball with him," said Ginny. She looked as though she was fighting back a smile, but she kept patting Ron's arm sympathetically.
"You what?" I said.
"I don't know what made me do it!" Ron gasped again. "What was I playing at? There were people — all around — I've gone mad — everyone watching! I was just walking past her in the en- trance hall — she was standing there talking to Diggory — and it sort of came over me — and I asked her!"
Then, wet got into a while conversation about how Mione turned down Neville, then Ron asked her, and she said no, saying she was going with someone else. I'd better start going and ask someone soon.
Harry then asked Parvati, and she said yes. Parvati's younger sister, Padma, would go with Ron.
Great, now I'm the only one without a date.
Unless . . .
Fred and George walked in.
I ran up to them. "Fred! Fred! Do you have a date to the ball yet?"
"No, not yet. Why?"
"Will you go with me? As a friend?" I ask.
He laughs. "Sure, H!"