December arrived at Hogwarts with a flurry of snow and holiday excitement, transforming the castle into a winter wonderland of frosted windowpanes and towering Christmas trees. In the study group's unused classroom, a crackling fire warded off the chill as Chris, Susan, Hannah, Hermione, Daphne, and Harry bent over their books and parchments. Several weeks had passed since they'd solved the golden egg's riddle, and while Harry's underwater task still loomed in the distance, their focus had shifted slightly toward end-of-term assignments and the approaching holidays. The comfortable silence of concentrated study was occasionally broken by the scratch of quills or the rustle of turning pages, a familiar rhythm they'd established over their months together.
Astoria sat cross-legged on the floor near Chris's desk, leafing through a second-year Charms textbook with more enthusiasm than focus, her strawberry blonde hair falling in waves around her face. Every few minutes, her eyes would dart up to check if Chris had noticed her diligent studying, but his attention remained fixed on his Arithmancy calculations.
The clock on the wall chimed five, and Chris set down his quill with a decisive motion. He leaned back in his chair, surveying the group with a thoughtful expression that drew their attention even before he spoke.
"Right, the Yule Ball is coming up soon," he announced, his tone casual but with an underlying purpose that made everyone look up from their work.
"Oh!" Hannah exclaimed, her blonde plaits bouncing as she straightened. "Professor Sprout mentioned it last week. It's part of the Triwizard Tournament tradition, isn't it?"
Hermione nodded, setting aside her Ancient Runes translation. "Yes, it's held on Christmas night. I've been reading about it in 'Hogwarts: A History.' The last one was over a century ago."
Chris smiled, his sapphire eyes gleaming with amusement. "Instead of everyone scrambling to find dates, I was thinking... why don't we all go together? As a group of friends?"
The suggestion hung in the air for a moment as each person processed it in their own way. Hermione's expression shifted from surprise to intrigue, clearly weighing the merits of such an arrangement. Hannah and Susan exchanged excited glances, their eyes lighting up at the prospect of attending a formal ball with friends rather than navigating the awkward waters of date-finding, though Susan knew she would've gone with Chris. Daphne, ever composed, subtly raised an eyebrow, her ice-blue eyes revealing nothing of her thoughts as she considered the social implications. Harry looked slightly relieved; he hadn't given much thought to the ball yet, and the idea of attending with friends rather than finding a date lifted an invisible weight from his shoulders.
"It would be more fun, less pressure," Chris continued, filling the thoughtful silence. "We could even meet up beforehand, perhaps have a pre-ball get-together. Make an evening of it."
Hermione tucked a strand of bushy hair behind her ear, nodding thoughtfully. "That's actually a very sensible idea, Chris. It would avoid all the usual fuss." Her practical nature appreciated the elegant solution to what could otherwise be a source of social anxiety.
Susan's face broke into a warm smile, her cheeks pinking slightly as she glanced at Chris. "Oh, that sounds lovely, Chris! It would be so much fun to go with all of us." The warmth in her voice revealed her genuine enthusiasm for the idea.
"Yes!" Hannah agreed, clapping her hands together. "And we can help each other pick out robes! I've been so worried about choosing something on my own." Her naturally sociable personality embraced the collaborative approach to the formal event.
Daphne, who had been silently evaluating the suggestion, finally gave a slight nod of approval. "It is... a practical solution," she admitted, her refined voice carrying just a hint of warmth beneath its usual coolness. "And it would certainly make a statement." The Slytherin in her recognized the potential social advantages of such an unusual mixed-house group attending together.
Astoria, who had abandoned all pretense of studying at the mention of a ball, bounced to her feet and rushed to Chris's side. "Can I come too?" she asked eagerly, her eyes wide with hope. "I can wear my best dress, and I already know how to dance, Mother made sure of that!"
Daphne fixed her younger sister with a firm look. "It's fourth years and above only, Astoria. You know that."
Astoria's face fell, her lower lip jutting out in a practiced pout that had likely won her many concessions at home. She turned her pleading gaze to Chris, silently begging him to override her sister's statement.
Chris chuckled, gently patting her head. "Your sister's right, I'm afraid. Those are the rules." As Astoria's expression crumpled further, he added, "But I promise I'll take you to the next ball, when you're old enough. You have my word."
This instantly restored Astoria's sunny disposition. "Really? You promise?" When Chris nodded, she beamed triumphantly at Daphne, as if she'd won a significant victory.
Harry, who had been quietly absorbing the conversation, finally spoke up. "Yeah, I like that idea!" His relief was palpable in his voice. "Thanks, Chris."
Chris turned to Harry, a mischievous glint appearing in his eye. "Except for you, Harry. You'll need a date for the opening dance as a champion." He paused, letting the information sink in as Harry's expression shifted from relief to dawning horror.
"Opening dance?" Harry repeated weakly. "What opening dance?"
"The champions and their partners open the ball with the first dance," Chris explained, watching Harry's face pale. "It's tradition. The whole school will be watching."
Harry swallowed hard, looking as though he might be reconsidering his enthusiasm for the tournament all over again.
"You should ask Ginny Weasley," Chris suggested casually, though his tone couldn't quite disguise his deliberate intent. "Your little stalker."
Harry's face flushed crimson, his embarrassment radiating from him in almost visible waves. "She's not my, I mean, I don't think she…" he stammered, unable to form a coherent defense.
The girls exchanged amused glances, some suppressing giggles at Harry's mortification. Hermione bit her lip to hold back a smile, while Hannah and Susan were less successful in hiding their amusement. Even Daphne's lips twitched slightly at the corners.
"It's a good suggestion, actually," Hermione offered, taking pity on Harry. "Ginny's quite nice, and I think she'd be thrilled."
"Settled, then," Chris declared, as though Harry had agreed rather than merely blushed furiously. "We'll all go together as a group, and Harry will ask Ginny to be his date for the opening dance."
"We should all go to Hogsmeade this weekend to get our formal wear," Susan suggested, her practical nature already moving to the planning stage. "We could make a day of it."
"Excellent idea," Hannah agreed enthusiastically. "I've heard there's a shop near the Three Broomsticks that specializes in formal robes."
As the conversation turned to logistics and fashion, Harry shot Chris a look that was equal parts gratitude for the group solution and mild panic at the prospect of asking Ginny to the ball. Chris merely smiled back, his eyes twinkling with quiet satisfaction at how neatly his suggestion had been embraced by them all.
...
Hogsmeade village sparkled under a fresh blanket of snow, its thatched cottages and shop windows decorated with evergreen boughs and twinkling fairy lights. Students dotted the High Street, their laughter rising like steam in the crisp December air as they darted between shops with scarves wound tightly against the winter chill. The study group made their way through the crowded street, a colorful assortment of house scarves among them, Hufflepuff yellow, Slytherin green, and Gryffindor red, marking them as an unusual alliance in the otherwise house-divided student population. Their destination, a shop called "Madam Twilfitt's Formal Finery," glowed invitingly at the end of a small side street, its display window showcasing mannequins in shimmering dress robes that occasionally twirled of their own accord.
"I've never been in here before," Hermione admitted as they approached the shop, her breath forming tiny clouds in the cold air. "I didn't even know Hogsmeade had a dedicated formal wear store."
"It's rather exclusive," Daphne explained, her tone suggesting that she, unlike the others, was quite familiar with the establishment. "My mother orders from their catalog. They normally cater to a more... selective clientele."
Chris pushed open the door, triggering a delicate silver bell that chimed melodiously throughout the shop. Warm air scented with lavender and fresh fabric enveloped them as they entered a space that seemed impossibly larger inside than its exterior suggested. Racks of dress robes in every color imaginable lined the walls, while enchanted mirrors offered compliments or gentle criticism to those brave enough to seek their opinions.
A tall witch with elaborately pinned silver hair glided toward them, her measuring tape floating obediently at her shoulder. "Welcome to Madam Twilfitt's," she greeted, her eyes sweeping over the group with professional assessment. "How may I assist you today?"
"We're shopping for the Yule Ball," Chris explained with easy confidence. "Dresses for the ladies, formal robes for myself and Harry."
The witch nodded approvingly. "Of course. The young ladies will find our collection to the right, gentlemen to the left. I'll be available should you require assistance with sizing or style recommendations."
The group naturally divided, with Hannah, Susan, Hermione, and Daphne moving eagerly toward the women's section, while Chris and Harry headed more reluctantly toward the men's. Within minutes, the girls were fully immersed in the joy of dress hunting, exclaiming over fabrics and designs with increasing enthusiasm.
Susan held up a soft gold gown against herself, turning to Hannah for approval. "What do you think? Too Hufflepuff?"
"It's gorgeous with your coloring," Hannah replied, already clutching a pale blue dress patterned with tiny silver stars that shifted position when the fabric moved. "Try it on!"
Hermione browsed more methodically, her fingers trailing over fabrics with thoughtful consideration rather than impulsive excitement. Daphne, meanwhile, headed straight for a rack of more sophisticated designs, her discerning eye immediately identifying several possibilities worthy of her attention.
On the men's side, Harry stood awkwardly before a display of formal robes, looking as though he'd rather face another dragon than make a fashion decision. He fingered the sleeve of a bottle-green robe, his expression uncertain.
"That one," Chris said decisively, appearing at Harry's shoulder. "The green will match your eyes." He pulled the robe from the rack and handed it to Harry, who accepted it with the relieved expression of someone glad to have the decision made for him.
"Thanks," Harry mumbled, glancing toward the women's section with a mixture of awe and bewilderment at their enthusiastic approach to clothes shopping.
Chris selected his own robes quickly, a deep midnight blue set with subtle silver embroidery at the collar and cuffs, before turning his attention back to the shop at large. His eyes swept the space until they landed on a familiar flash of vibrant red hair several aisles over. Ginny Weasley stood alone, her small fingers gently touching the fabric of a pretty emerald dress with a wistful expression on her freckled face.
A smile of satisfaction crossed Chris's face as he nudged Harry. "Look over there," he said quietly, nodding toward where Ginny stood. "Seems like fate, doesn't it?"
Harry followed Chris's gaze, his eyes widening slightly when he spotted Ginny. "She's... shopping for a dress? But I thought you said she didn't have a date yet."
"Perhaps she's hopeful," Chris suggested, his tone carefully neutral though his eyes gleamed with purpose. "Or perhaps she's just looking. Either way, this is your chance, Harry. Go on, ask her now."
Harry's face paled slightly, then flushed. "Ask who? What?" he stammered, though it was clear from his expression that he knew exactly what Chris meant.
Chris lowered his voice, but his tone was insistent. "Ginny. Ask her to the Yule Ball. Now. If you wait, she'll go with someone else, and you'll regret it." He paused, letting his words sink in. "I heard Neville Longbottom is working up the courage to ask her."
Harry's eyes darted back to Ginny, who was now holding the emerald dress against herself, studying her reflection with a small, hopeful smile. Something shifted in his expression, resolve mixed with nervousness.
"But what do I say?" he asked, his voice dropping to an anxious whisper.
"Just be straightforward," Chris advised. "Tell her you need a partner for the opening dance, and you'd like it to be her." He gave Harry a reassuring clap on the shoulder. "You've faced a dragon, Harry. Surely you can ask one girl to a dance."
Before Harry could formulate another objection, Chris turned toward the women's section. "Right, let's leave Harry to it," he announced, moving deliberately toward the girls. "We still have our own shopping to do."
Susan looked up as Chris approached, a question in her eyes as she noticed Harry still standing alone by the formal robes. Chris gave her a subtle nod and guided the conversation smoothly toward the dresses they'd selected, effectively drawing everyone's attention away from Harry and giving him the space to approach Ginny without an audience.
"I think we should all try on what we've chosen," Chris suggested. "Then we can give each other proper feedback."
As the group moved toward the fitting rooms, Chris glanced back once to see Harry taking a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, and making his way toward the red-haired girl who still stood contemplating the emerald dress. Harry's face bore the same expression of determined fear he'd worn before facing the Hungarian Horntail, terror mixed with courage, his hand clenched at his side not around a wand this time, but in an unconscious gesture of nerves.
The fitting room door closed behind Chris, leaving Harry standing awkwardly near Ginny, poised on the brink of making his decision.