The Great Hall had undergone a metamorphosis, its familiar, practical expanse transformed into a winter wonderland that drew gasps of wonder from students as they entered. Walls of ice lined the perimeter, their crystalline surfaces catching and fracturing the light from thousands of fairy lights that floated like stars in the enchanted ceiling. Where the house tables normally stood, dozens of smaller, round tables draped in white linen had been arranged, each adorned with centerpieces of ice sculptures that somehow remained pristine despite the warmth of the crowded room.
Chris stepped through the entrance, Susan's hand resting lightly in the crook of his elbow, with Hannah, Hermione, and Daphne following close behind. Their arrival drew more than a few curious glances. It wasn't just their mixed-house composition that attracted attention, though that alone was unusual enough, but the undeniable elegance they collectively presented.
Chris cut a striking figure in his midnight blue dress robes, the subtle silver embroidery at the collar and cuffs catching the light with each movement. His white hair with electric blue streaks had been styled in a loose ponytail, giving him a polished yet effortless appearance that enhanced his natural charisma. Beside him, Susan glowed in her gold dress, the fabric shimmering as though woven from actual precious metal, her red-blonde hair swept up in an elegant knot that exposed the graceful curve of her neck.
Hannah had chosen the pale blue dress with silver stars they'd admired in the shop, the magical constellations shifting across the fabric like a private sky. Hermione had surprised them all with a periwinkle blue gown of floating, gossamer material that transformed her usual scholarly appearance into something altogether more sophisticated, her typically bushy hair tamed into a sleek updo that revealed delicate silver earrings.
Perhaps most striking was Daphne, who had selected a gown of deep emerald that complemented her Slytherin allegiance while transcending house pride. The dress clung to her tall, elegant frame before flaring slightly at her knees, and with her blonde hair cascading in perfect waves down her back, she embodied the aristocratic poise for which the Greengrass family was known.
"Well," Chris said, his eyes taking in the magical spectacle before them, "they've certainly outdone themselves."
"It's beautiful," Susan breathed, her gaze traveling from the ice sculptures to the enchanted snow falling gently from the ceiling, disappearing before it could touch any of the elegantly dressed students below. "Like something from a fairytale."
Hannah was already swaying slightly to the soft background music provided by the Weird Sisters, who were setting up their instruments on a raised platform at the far end of the hall. "I can't believe we're actually here," she said, her excitement bubbling through her composed exterior. "A real Yule Ball!"
"It is rather impressive," Daphne conceded, though her tone remained measured, as though she were accustomed to such grandeur. Her eyes, however, betrayed a hint of genuine appreciation as they swept over the transformed space.
Hermione was examining the enchanted ceiling with academic interest as usual. "The spellwork is extraordinary," she noted. "They've adapted the standard weather charm to create controlled snowfall with a vanishing component. I wonder if Professor Flitwick, "
"Perhaps we could save the magical theory for tomorrow," Chris suggested with gentle amusement. "Tonight is for enjoying, not analyzing."
They made their way deeper into the hall, selecting a table near enough to the dance floor to observe the proceedings but not so close as to be constantly jostled by dancers. The champions had not yet made their entrance, but anticipation buzzed through the crowd like electricity, students craning their necks toward the entrance whenever the great doors opened to admit new arrivals.
"Harry should be entering soon," Hermione said, a touch of nervousness in her voice on behalf of her friend. "I hope he remembers the dance steps McGonagall taught them."
"He'll be fine," Chris assured her with the quiet confidence that often made others believe his words without question. "Ginny will guide him if necessary."
As if summoned by their conversation, the doors to the Great Hall swung open wider, and Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the chatter: "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Triwizard champions and their partners!"
A hush fell over the crowd as Cedric Diggory entered first, looking handsome and confident in dress robes of charcoal gray, Cho Chang radiant beside him in a silver gown. They were followed by Viktor Krum, who had exchanged his usual slouch for surprisingly good posture, escorting a beautiful Beauxbatons student whose flowing blue dress mirrored the color of her school uniform.
Then came Fleur Delacour, her silver-blonde hair swept up in an elaborate arrangement that emphasized her delicate features. Her dress of silver-gray satin seemed to emit a faint, silvery glow that could have been either magical enhancement or simply the effect of her Veela heritage. Beside her, Roger Davies looked simultaneously stunned and smug, as though he couldn't quite believe his luck but was nonetheless determined to show her off. To most observers, Fleur's smile was dazzling, her bearing perfect, but Chris's perceptive gaze caught the slight stiffness in her posture, the way her eyes occasionally drifted over the crowd as if seeking a more worthy companion.
Last came Harry, looking surprisingly composed in his bottle-green dress robes despite the telltale flush of nervousness creeping up his neck. Beside him walked Ginny Weasley, her flaming red hair a striking contrast against the emerald dress she and Harry had discussed that day in the shop. Her freckled face was alight with shy joy, her brown eyes sparkling as she gazed up at her date.
As the pair passed near their table, Chris let out a clear, appreciative wolf whistle, accompanied by a wide grin. Harry's head snapped toward the sound, his composure momentarily fracturing as his blush deepened. Ginny, rather than being embarrassed, beamed even brighter, giving a small, playful curtsy in their direction before gently tugging Harry onward.
Susan elbowed Chris lightly in the ribs, though her expression was more amused than reproving. "You did that on purpose," she accused in a whisper.
"Of course I did," Chris replied, unrepentant. "Look how happy they both are."
And indeed, despite Harry's momentary fluster, there was an undeniable contentment in his expression as he and Ginny joined the other champions in the center of the dance floor. The music swelled, a graceful waltz that signaled the beginning of the formal dance.
Harry's movements were initially stiff, his concentration evident in the slight furrow of his brow as he mentally counted steps. Ginny followed his lead with natural grace, her encouraging smile never faltering even when he nearly stepped on her toes. Gradually, Harry's shoulders relaxed, and by the second chorus, he was moving with more confidence, even managing a smile when he successfully executed a turn.
"He's doing better than I expected," Hermione observed, visibly relieved.
"Thanks to you drilling him on those practice steps," Hannah added kindly.
As the first dance continued, other couples began to join the champions on the floor. Chris extended his hand to Susan with a slight bow. "Shall we?"
Her answering smile was warm as she placed her hand in his. "Absolutely."
Together they moved onto the dance floor, Chris leading with the easy confidence of someone raised in the traditions of wizarding society. As they twirled past Harry and Ginny, Chris caught Harry's eye and gave him an approving nod, receiving a grateful smile in return.
The Yule Ball had officially begun, and with it, an evening that promised magic beyond the spells that had transformed the Great Hall.
...
The night progressed in a swirl of music and laughter, the initial formality of the ball giving way to genuine enjoyment as students from all three schools mingled on the dance floor. Chris guided Susan through a particularly complex turn, her gold dress catching the light as she spun beneath his raised arm before returning to his embrace. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion and happiness, her eyes bright as they met his.
"You're quite good at this," she remarked, her voice carrying a hint of breathlessness that had nothing to do with the dance.
Chris smiled, his hand warm against the small of her back as he guided her through the steps. "My mother insisted on proper training," he replied. "She believed dancing to be an essential social skill for any young man."
"Well, I'm grateful to her," Susan said, her fingers tightening slightly where they rested on his shoulder. "Though I suspect you'd excel at anything you attempted."
Their eyes held for a moment, the music and surrounding dancers fading to background as something unspoken passed between them. Chris felt the subtle shift, the way the air seemed to thicken. Susan's lips parted slightly, as though she might say more, and he found himself leaning imperceptibly closer.
It was then that his peripheral vision caught a flash of something small and iridescent. A beetle, unusually bright and patterned, hovered near the champions' table where Harry sat with Ginny, laughing at something she'd said. The insect's movements were too purposeful, too deliberate for a normal beetle, especially one inside during winter.
Chris's eyes narrowed slightly, his knowledge instantly connecting the dots. Rita Skeeter. An unregistered Animagus, using her beetle form to eavesdrop on private conversations, information he possessed not from this timeline but from memories carried over from his previous life. The journalist had already published several inflammatory articles about Harry, twisting facts and inventing quotes to sell her sensationalist narrative.
Without breaking stride in the dance, Chris subtly flicked his wrist. A small glass jar conjured in his palm, concealed from general view by a Notice-Me-Not charm that made the eye slide past it without registering its presence. The spellwork was seamless, wandless, and entirely nonverbal, courtesy of the merged Hallows.
"What's wrong?" Susan asked, sensing his momentary distraction despite his flawless continuation of the dance.
"Nothing at all," Chris assured her, guiding her into another turn that brought them closer to the champions' table. As they spun past, he executed a quick, fluid motion with his free hand. The jar's mouth widened momentarily, creating a gentle suction that pulled the unsuspecting beetle inside before sealing itself with an inaudible pop.
Jar secured in his palm, Chris completed another circuit of the dance floor before the music drew to a close. He smiled down at Susan, genuine warmth in his eyes despite the interruption to their moment.
"Excuse me for a moment," he said, his tone apologetic. "I just spotted something rather interesting that requires my attention. I'll be right back."
Susan blinked, clearly confused by his sudden need to depart but too trusting to question him directly. "Of course," she replied. "Is everything alright?"
"Perfectly," he assured her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "Save me a dance?"
Her smile returned, though tinged with curiosity. "Always."
Chris made his way through the crowded hall with casual purpose, nodding to acquaintances as he passed but never slowing his stride. The jar remained concealed in his hand, the beetle inside now buzzing frantically against the glass. He slipped from the Great Hall into the quieter corridor beyond, his footsteps echoing slightly against the stone floor as he sought an appropriate venue for the coming conversation.
An unused classroom several doors down proved suitable. Chris entered, closing the door behind him with a soft click before casting a nonverbal Silencing Charm to ensure privacy. The room was dusty from disuse, desks stacked against one wall, moonlight streaming through tall windows to cast long shadows across the floor.
He placed the jar on a desk in the center of the room, observing the agitated beetle within for a moment before tapping the glass with his wand. "I know exactly who you are, Ms. Skeeter," he said conversationally. "Perhaps you'd prefer to transform back so we can speak like civilized people?"
The beetle froze, its antennae quivering as though assessing the situation. Then, with clear reluctance, it began to change. The transformation was both fascinating and unsettling to watch, chitin melting into fabric, tiny legs elongating into human limbs, antennae morphing into rigid, curled blonde hair. Within seconds, Rita Skeeter stood before him, her jeweled spectacles slightly askew, her acid-green robes rumpled from the abrupt change.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice sharp with indignation though her eyes darted nervously around the room, assessing her situation. "How dare you manhandle a member of the press! I have half a mind to, "
"To what, exactly?" Chris interrupted, his tone pleasant but undercut with steel. "Report me for exposing your illegal Animagus status? I believe the Ministry imposes quite substantial fines for failing to register. Imprisonment, in some cases."
Rita's mouth snapped shut, her heavily painted lips pressing into a thin line as she regarded him with new wariness. "Who are you?" she asked finally.
"Christopher Emrys," he replied simply. "But who I am matters less than what I want."
"And what exactly does a schoolboy want from me?" Rita's attempt at condescension was undermined by the slight tremor in her voice.
"Three things," Chris said, holding up fingers to enumerate his points. "First, you will never print a single word about me or any of my friends. Not one syllable, not one implication, nothing."
Rita scoffed, reaching for her wand. "You think you can dictate to me, "
Before her fingers could close around the handle, Chris executed a perfect wandless Expelliarmus. Rita's wand flew from her robes, arcing gracefully through the air to land in his outstretched hand. Her eyes widened in genuine shock, professional curiosity momentarily overwhelming her anger.
"That's not possible," she whispered. "Wandless magic of that caliber, you're just a student!"
"Clearly, I'm not 'just' anything," Chris replied evenly. "Now, shall I continue? My second condition is that you tone back the bad press about Harry Potter. He's an underage champion who didn't enter himself in this tournament. He deserves fair coverage, not your fabricated scandals."
Rita's journalistic instincts visibly warred with her self-preservation. "You can't seriously expect me to pass up the biggest story of the year," she protested, though with less conviction than before.
"I expect you to be more creative," Chris countered. "Which brings me to my third condition, and the one I think you'll find most appealing." He paused, ensuring he had her complete attention. "I want you to investigate Albus Dumbledore's past. The darker truths, the secrets he's buried. And I want you to publish what you find."
Something shifted in Rita's expression, a predatory interest kindling behind her garish spectacles. "Dumbledore?" she repeated, clearly intrigued despite herself. "You want me to dig up dirt on Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age?"
"The so-called greatest wizard," Chris corrected coldly. "I believe you'll find his legacy is built on carefully constructed myths that conceal some very ugly truths."
Rita studied him, her reporter's instinct clearly sensing a story beneath his request. "Why would you want to damage Dumbledore's reputation? What has he done to you?"
"Let's just say I've seen behind the grandfatherly facade," Chris replied, his voice hardening slightly. "He manipulates people. Plays games with lives. It's time someone exposed the real Albus Dumbledore."
He extended her wand, handle first, but didn't release it immediately when she grabbed it. "Do we have an agreement? You'll take a magical oath, and in return, I'll swear not to reveal your Animagus status."
Rita's eyes narrowed in calculation. "What specifically should I investigate?"
"Start with his family," Chris suggested, releasing the wand at last. "You might find something particularly interesting about his sister. About how she died... accidentally."
Rita's breath caught audibly. "His sister? Dumbledore had a sister? I never knew that!" The scent of scandal was almost visible in her widening eyes, the prospect of a truly earth-shattering exposé clearly overriding any lingering resentment about her capture.
"Indeed," Chris confirmed. "So, do we have a deal?"
Rita hesitated only briefly before nodding, ambition winning out over pride. "We have a deal, Mr. Emrys. Though I must say, you're an unusual boy. I'd love to know your story someday."
"No, you wouldn't," Chris replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Now, shall we make this official? The oath is simple enough..."
...
Chris removed the Silencing Charm with a casual flick of his wrist as he exited the classroom, leaving Rita Skeeter to compose herself before returning to the ball. The weight of the confrontation slipped from his shoulders with each step toward the Great Hall, his mind compartmentalizing the strategic victory and turning instead to the celebration awaiting him. By the time he reached the grand doors, a smile had replaced his earlier intensity, the music and laughter washing over him like a cleansing tide, pulling him back into the moment, a rare evening where even he could set aside his greater ambitions and simply enjoy the company of friends.
The ball had reached its peak in his absence. The Weird Sisters had abandoned their more formal opening numbers for livelier tunes that had transformed the dance floor into a sea of movement. Ice sculptures still glittered under the fairy lights, though some had begun to melt slightly, their perfect edges softening into more organic shapes. At the edge of the hall, Professor Flitwick conducted a small ensemble of enchanted instruments that played a countermelody to the band, creating an unusual but harmonious blend of classical and contemporary sounds.
Chris spotted his friends immediately. Susan's golden dress caught the light as she twirled with Hannah, both laughing as they attempted a complicated series of steps that resembled a wizard's waltz but had clearly evolved into something more playful. Nearby, Hermione danced with Viktor Krum, her periwinkle dress floating around her as he guided her through a formal dance that stood out amid the more casual movements surrounding them. Even Daphne had abandoned some of her usual reserve, moving with elegant precision to the music, though her expression remained more composed than the open joy on the other girls' faces.
He made his way toward them, weaving through dancing couples. Susan saw him first, her face brightening as she broke away from Hannah and moved to meet him.
"There you are!" she said, slightly breathless from dancing. "I was beginning to think you'd abandoned us entirely."
"Never," Chris replied, taking her hand and spinning her once before drawing her closer. "Just a small matter that needed handling."
Hannah joined them, her star-speckled dress twinkling merrily with her movements. "You missed Professor Snape almost smiling," she informed him solemnly. "Dumbledore said something that made him look less sour than usual for at least five seconds. It was terrifying."
Chris laughed, the sound genuine despite the complexity of his feelings toward both mentioned professors. "Truly a Christmas miracle," he agreed, glancing around the hall with casual interest. His eyes found Harry and Ginny on the opposite side of the dance floor, both looking considerably more relaxed than during the opening dance. Harry was actually laughing, his head thrown back at something Ginny had said, while she looked up at him with a mixture of pride and pleasure at having provoked such a reaction.
"They look happy," Hermione noted, appearing at Chris's elbow with Viktor a respectful step behind her. "Harry, I mean. And Ginny. She's been wonderful for him tonight."
"Indeed," Chris agreed, satisfaction warming his voice. "He deserves an evening without the weight of the tournament on his shoulders."
Daphne joined their growing circle, her assessment more pragmatic but no less accurate. "Weasley's actually quite suitable for Potter," she observed. "She's not intimidated by his fame, but she's clearly impressed by him as a person. A balance few achieve around him."
The music shifted to something slower, the lead singer of the Weird Sisters stepping forward with a ballad that immediately drew couples closer together on the dance floor. Chris was about to ask Susan to dance when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He turned to find Fleur Delacour standing behind him, her silver-gray dress shimmering under the fairy lights, her Veela allure carefully modulated but still palpable in the slight catch of breath from nearby male students.
"Might I borrow you for a dance?" she asked, her French accent giving the words a musical quality. Her blue eyes held his with surprising directness, communicating something beyond the simple request. "Roger has stepped away to fetch drinks, and I would prefer not to stand idle."
Chris recognized the excuse for what it was, Roger Davies had been practically hanging on her every movement all evening, but he accepted with a gracious nod. "It would be my pleasure," he said, glancing at Susan with a questioning look.
Susan's smile tightened almost imperceptibly, but she nodded her permission. "Of course," she said, her voice warm despite the flicker of jealousy in her eyes. "But I'm claiming the last dance," she added to Fleur, her tone light but firm.
"Naturally," Fleur agreed with equal pleasantness, though both girls understood the subtle negotiation taking place.
Chris offered his arm to Fleur, leading her to a less crowded section of the dance floor. As they began to move to the music, he noticed the way her steps matched his perfectly, as though they had danced together countless times before.
"You are quite the surprise, Christopher Emrys," Fleur said softly as they turned. "I have been watching you this evening. You move through this gathering like water, fluid, adaptable, yet with undeniable power beneath the surface."
"High praise from a champion," Chris replied, guiding her through a gentle spin. "Though I might say the same of you. You've handled Davies with remarkable patience all evening."
Fleur's laugh was like silver bells, delicate but with a hint of sharpness. "He is... enthusiastic," she conceded. "But harmless. It is refreshing to dance with someone who sees beyond the Veela."
"Your heritage is part of you," Chris acknowledged, "but hardly the most interesting part."
Something in Fleur's eyes softened at his words, a guardedness he hadn't fully recognized until it began to lower. "In France, after the tournament, perhaps you might visit," she suggested, her voice carrying a warmth typically reserved for close friends. "My family would welcome you. Especially my little sister, she would adore your hair."
Chris smiled, genuinely touched by the invitation. "I'd like that," he said, meaning it despite knowing how complicated his future plans might make such a visit.
The song ended too soon for both of them, and as they parted, Fleur brushed her lips against his cheek in the traditional French farewell. "Until next time," she murmured before gliding away, leaving a subtle trace of her floral perfume lingering in the air.
True to her word, Susan appeared at his side as the band announced their final set for the evening. "Last dance?" she asked, her extended hand both a question and a claim.
"As promised," Chris agreed, drawing her into his arms as the music began, slower and more intimate than the earlier pieces. They moved together with practiced ease, their bodies finding a natural rhythm that required no thought, allowing conversation to flow unhindered.
"You and Fleur seemed to have a lot to talk about," Susan observed, her tone curious.
"She's invited me to visit her family in France after the tournament," Chris replied honestly. "I think she's lonely there, despite all the attention. It's not easy being seen primarily for your appearance rather than your abilities."
Susan's eyes softened with understanding. "That's something I've always appreciated about you," she said quietly. "You really see people, not just what they show the world, but who they truly are."
The irony of her statement wasn't lost on Chris, given how much of himself he necessarily kept hidden, but he felt a genuine warmth spread through his chest at her words. "Some people are worth seeing clearly," he replied, holding her gaze.
As the final notes of music faded away, Professor Dumbledore's voice rose above the crowd, thanking everyone for a magnificent evening and wishing them pleasant dreams. Students began to disperse, some lingering to exchange final words with friends from other houses or schools, others making their way toward dormitories with tired feet and happy faces.
Chris gathered his group, Susan, Hannah, Hermione, and Daphne, for the walk back to their respective common rooms. Harry and Ginny joined them briefly at the doors, Harry's face flushed with exertion and lingering excitement from the evening.
"Thank you," he said to Chris, the simple words carrying a deeper meaning they both understood. "For everything."
"My pleasure," Chris replied, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Happy Christmas, Harry."
As they parted ways in the entrance hall, Daphne toward the dungeons, Hermione and Harry toward Gryffindor Tower, and Chris with the Hufflepuff girls toward their common room, Chris felt a quiet satisfaction settle in his chest. The Yule Ball had been more than just a festive evening; it had been another step forward. Harry had found a moment of normalcy and joy, Rita Skeeter had been secured as an unwitting ally, and his own circle of influence continued to grow.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. But tonight, as the sounds of the ball faded behind them and Susan's hand found his in the dimly lit corridor, Christopher Emrys allowed himself to simply be a fourth-year student enjoying the simple pleasure of a Christmas celebration.