The Tenth Weasley - CH - 138

Snow blanketed the Hogwarts grounds that evening, glimmering like crushed diamonds beneath the moonlight. Lanterns of gold and silver hovered along the paths, casting long shadows over the frosted lawns. The castle itself glowed with soft enchantments — every window lit, every tower crowned with a halo of starlight.

Inside, the Great Hall had been utterly transformed. Gone were the house banners and dining tables. In their place stood a polished obsidian dance floor that reflected the candles floating above, and along the walls hung draperies of blue velvet and silver thread. Crystal icicles dangled from the enchanted ceiling, refracting the light into shards of color that danced across the guests as they arrived.

It was, without question, the grandest sight Hogwarts had seen in decades. And for Harry Weasley, it was easily one of the most terrifying.

He stood in the entrance hall beside Hermione, tugging at the collar of his dark suit for what must have been the fiftieth time. The black dress robes, tailored from dragon-hide with faint silver lining, fit him almost too well — courtesy of Hermione’s relentless supervision during their shopping trip.

“You look fine,” she said, smoothing his sleeve for the fifth time.

Harry gave a half-smile. “I feel like I’m about to attend my own funeral.”

Hermione laughed softly, the sound almost lost beneath the echoing chatter of students gathering nearby. Her gown shimmered faintly under the light — a deep blue that caught silver when she moved. Her hair had been charmed into loose curls that framed her face, and for the first time, she seemed completely unaware of how radiant she looked.

“You’ll be fine,” she said again, taking his hand. “Just don’t step on my toes.”

“Again?” he teased. “No promises.”

When the doors opened, a rush of winter air swept through the corridor. Professors and Ministry officials filed into the Great Hall, followed by the delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Viktor Krum entered with Anya Petrovna on his arm, both of them striking and elegant, and behind them came Fleur Delacour, her silver gown glowing as if woven from moonlight. Heads turned everywhere she went.

Harry caught Hermione’s quick glance in Fleur’s direction — the tiniest flicker of discomfort before she masked it with a smile.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Ignore the Veela.”

Hermione’s lips curved faintly. “I’m trying.”

Professor McGonagall’s voice rang clear above the murmur. “Champions and their partners — to the floor!”

A hush fell over the hall. The music began — a slow, elegant waltz from the enchanted orchestra at the far end of the room. Harry felt every eye in Hogwarts on him as he stepped forward, Hermione’s hand steady in his.

“Left foot first,” she whispered, smiling nervously.

“Right,” he muttered — and immediately took the wrong one.

Hermione gasped as he nearly stumbled, and Harry quickly righted himself, turning it into an awkward spin that made three nearby professors chuckle. The crowd laughed softly, but Hermione’s grip only tightened.

“Relax,” she whispered. “Follow my lead.”

And somehow, he did.

The rhythm found him like magic — or perhaps it was just her. Her movements were light, graceful, guiding him through each step until their motion became one. The laughter around them softened into applause, and by the time the first song ended, even Karkaroff looked faintly impressed.

Hermione was smiling, flushed and breathless, and Harry realized he was grinning too.

“You did it,” she whispered.

“Barely,” he said, catching her hand before bowing gallantly. “But I’ll take it.”

The hall erupted into full dance as the orchestra struck up a livelier tune.

Couples flooded the floor — robes swirling, lights gleaming. Fred and George had already swapped partners twice, to the amusement of a group of Beauxbatons girls. Ron, meanwhile, was stiffly attempting to waltz with Astoria Greengrass, who was clearly more amused than offended by his two left feet.

“Sorry—sorry again!” Ron muttered as he nearly stepped on her hem.

Astoria giggled. “At this rate, you’ll duel the floor before the night’s over.”

Across the room, Neville was dancing with Rose Potter, both surprisingly coordinated. Rose’s crimson gown glowed faintly against the silver light, and Neville looked happier than anyone had seen him all year.

“You’re a natural,” Rose said with a smile.

Neville blushed. “I practiced… a little. On my own. In front of the mirror.”

“That’s adorable.”

He smiled, nervous but proud, and they continued spinning under the enchanted snowflakes that drifted lazily above the dancers.

Ginny, meanwhile, was laughing loudly as Charlie twirled her — far more confident with dragons than with rhythm, but doing well enough not to trip.

“You’re actually not bad at this,” Ginny teased.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Charlie grinned. “I’ve had to dance around dragon tails before.”

Hermione and Harry watched from the side for a moment, catching their breath between songs.

“They look happy,” Hermione said softly.

“That's my brother and sister,” Harry replied matter of factly.

Just then, the crowd parted slightly, and Fleur Delacour appeared. Her gown shimmered like liquid silver, and for a heartbeat, the hall seemed to quiet.

“‘Arry,” she said with a dazzling smile. “You dance better than I expected.”

Harry chuckled awkwardly. “I had good training.”

Fleur’s gaze shifted to Hermione. “You are lucky, Miss Granger. Not every boy would refuse me for ‘is date.”

Hermione smiled politely, though her jaw tightened slightly. “I’m aware.”

Fleur tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Still, I will keep ‘oping ‘e changes ‘is mind.”

“Not happening,” Harry said firmly, earning a rare smirk from Hermione.

Fleur laughed lightly, bowing her head. “You are truly ze Gryffindor type — loyal and brave. Enjoy your night.”

As she moved away, Hermione exhaled slowly. “She’s impossible.”

Harry grinned. “You handled her perfectly.”

“I wanted to hex her hair,” Hermione muttered.

“Maybe save that for next time.”

Hours passed in waves of laughter and motion. The orchestra changed from waltzes to reels, to charming Celtic tunes that even McGonagall couldn’t resist tapping her foot to. Plates of floating hors d’oeuvres circled the room, enchanted champagne glasses refilled themselves, and the air was filled with perfume, magic, and warmth.

At one corner, Hagrid was loudly trying to teach Madame Maxime how to dance the Highland Jig. The floor shook beneath them, and several guests quickly backed away for safety.

Fred and George had somehow snuck into the orchestra’s magical system, causing random bursts of confetti to appear whenever someone made a dramatic spin.

“Fred, you’re going to get expelled,” Percy warned from nearby.

Fred winked. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Percy, already dancing stiffly with a Ministry official’s daughter, sighed.

Harry and Hermione finally retreated to one of the open balconies for air. The cold wind bit gently against their cheeks, but the view was magnificent — snow falling over the lake, the Durmstrang ship lit like a lantern, the carriages of Beauxbatons gleaming in the distance.

Hermione leaned against the railing, her eyes glowing in the moonlight. “It’s beautiful.”

Harry nodded. “It is.”

She looked up at him, catching his gaze. “I meant the night.”

He smiled faintly. “I know.”

For a while, neither spoke. The music drifted faintly from the hall, muffled by the snow.

Then Hermione said softly, “You know… I was scared.”

“Of the dance?”

She shook her head. “Of losing you. When Fleur asked you.”

Harry blinked, surprised. “Hermione—”

“I know it’s silly,” she went on, voice small. “You’ve told me how you feel, but still… she’s so beautiful, and everyone looks at her like she’s a dream. And me — I’ve always just been the girl who reads too much.”

Harry turned her gently toward him. “You’re not just the girl who reads too much. You’re the one who taught me to dance, who argues with me, who saves me from my own recklessness every other week.”

He smiled. “You’re not a dream, Hermione. You’re real. And I wouldn’t trade that for all the Veela magic in the world.”

Her eyes softened, shining with warmth. “You mean that?”

“Completely.”

Then, without another word, he leaned down and kissed her — a soft, brief, perfect moment under the falling snow.

When they finally pulled apart, Hermione laughed quietly. “Now I’m going to be impossible for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll risk it.”

As the night deepened, Dumbledore himself took the stage to announce the final waltz — the “Midnight Dance,” as tradition called it. Couples returned to the floor, lanterns dimmed, and the enchanted ceiling shimmered with starlight.

Harry and Hermione joined the others, hands intertwined.

Nearby, Neville twirled Rose with surprising grace. Ron, still trying not to step on Astoria’s dress, received encouraging smiles that only made him blush harder. Ginny and Charlie were laughing uncontrollably as they spun the wrong way through the crowd, bumping into Fred and George, who used the opportunity to switch partners mid-step again.

Luna floated by in a pale silver gown, her date — the fifth-year Gryffindor with the messy hair and creature-patterned tie — spinning her gently as if she weighed nothing. Her dreamy smile said everything.

The music swelled, slow and haunting, like moonlight in sound.

Harry and Hermione moved together easily now — no missteps, no stumbles, just rhythm and closeness. Around them, the world blurred into color and motion, laughter and music blending into one perfect memory.

For once, there was no talk of tournaments, of danger, of prophecies or politics. Just warmth, light, and the strange, beautiful peace of two people finding each other again and again.

As the song faded, Hermione rested her head against his shoulder. “You did it,” she whispered.

Harry smiled. “Did what?”

“Danced without falling.”

He laughed softly. “Guess miracles do happen.”

She nudged him playfully. “Don’t get used to it.”

When the final notes faded, the hall erupted into applause. The champions bowed, the orchestra vanished with a flourish, and the enchanted snow above dissolved into glittering sparks.

Students began to drift out in clusters, their laughter echoing through the corridors. Fred and George escorted a pair of giggling Beauxbatons girls toward the courtyard. Neville offered Rose his arm with shy confidence. Ron, exhausted but cheerful, promised Astoria he’d “learn a proper step before next year.”

Harry and Hermione lingered near the doorway, watching their friends disappear into the night.

“Not bad for our first ball,” Hermione said.

Harry grinned. “I only fell once. That’s a personal record.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “You were wonderful, Harry.”

He looked at her, eyes soft. “You too. You always are.”

They stepped out into the cold, the snow crunching beneath their feet, the night alive with the last echoes of laughter and music.

And as they crossed the bridge back toward the Durmstrang ship, the moonlight shining over the lake, Hermione glanced at him and whispered:

“You know… for someone who hates dancing, you made tonight feel perfect.”

Harry smiled, pulling her close as they walked. “That’s because it was.

A shriek shattered the stillness of the cabin.

Harry jolted awake, his vision blurred, his mind still fogged by the remnants of sleep. For a split second, he thought they were under attack. But then his eyes adjusted to the pale morning light filtering through the curtains of his quarters aboard the Durmstrang ship.

And the truth hit him: Hermione was sitting upright beside him, hair wild, eyes wide, and a look of pure horror plastered across her face.

“Harry!” she hissed, clutching the blanket around her like it was a lifeline. “What—how—what are we doing here!?”

Harry blinked groggily. “Sleeping?”

“Harry!”

That one woke him completely. He sat up at once, panic flickering through him as flashes of the night before returned. The Ball. The music. The balcony. The laughter. And then the two of them talking in his cabin long after everyone had gone to bed — about how magical the night had been, how surreal it all felt, how quiet the world seemed after the noise of the party.

And at some point, they must have both drifted off, still in their dress robes, side by side on top of the blanket.

“Oh,” Harry said after a moment. “Right. We fell asleep.”

Hermione’s expression flickered between relief and mortification. “Fell asleep!? Harry, do you realize what this looks like if anyone finds out!?”

“Probably that we were very tired,” he offered.

She glared. “No one will think that!”

He scratched the back of his neck, realizing just how right she was. If even one of the Durmstrang students saw Hermione sneaking out of the champion’s cabin early in the morning, the gossip would spread through the castle before breakfast.

Hermione let out a strangled groan, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, this is bad. This is really bad. Lavender and Parvati will never let me live this down!”

Harry frowned. “They gossip that much?”

She shot him a look. “They once spread a rumor that Professor Trelawney’s cat was an Animagus because it followed her everywhere!”

“Fair point.”

Harry swung his legs off the bed, trying to think. The floorboards creaked faintly beneath him. Outside, the ship was alive with morning noises — footsteps, voices, and the distant sound of breakfast being served in the hall.

Hermione was pacing now, muttering under her breath. “Okay, if I leave now, maybe no one will see me… but what if Karkaroff’s patrolling the corridor? Or worse — Viktor! Oh no, he’ll definitely tell people. Harry, this is a disaster!”

Harry reached under his trunk and pulled out something shimmering — soft, light, and very familiar.

Hermione froze mid-panic.

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. “You could always borrow this.”

Her eyes widened. “You’d let me—?”

“Of course,” he said. “I can escort you to the deck. No one will notice a thing.”

Hermione hesitated. “Harry, that’s… actually brilliant.”

“I have my moments.”

She huffed, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A little,” he admitted.

After a moment of glaring at him, she sighed, clutching her shoes in one hand as Harry helped her drape the cloak over herself. It rippled and vanished, leaving only her faint outline in the morning light.

“Alright,” she whispered, voice muffled by the fabric. “Lead the way, Commander.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Follow me, Sneaky Witch.”

They moved carefully through the narrow corridor of the Durmstrang ship. The floorboards groaned underfoot, but the sound of chatter from above covered most of it. Harry walked ahead, pretending to adjust his cuffs while Hermione crept silently behind him, the faint shimmer of the cloak just barely visible when the sunlight hit.

Every few steps, she whispered nervously. “Do you see anyone?”

“No. Coast is clear.”

“What if someone—”

“Hermione,” he whispered back, grinning, “I’ve snuck through Hogwarts past Filch, Peeves, and Professor's patrols. I think I can handle a sleepy Durmstrang breakfast shift.”

“Show-off.”

As they turned the corner toward the stairs leading to the deck, they nearly collided with Viktor Krum himself, who was coming down with a mug of steaming tea in one hand.

Harry froze.

Krum squinted at him. “You are up early, Weasley.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Harry said quickly. “Too noisy.”

Krum grunted. “You vould get used to it. The ship creaks like dragon’s bones.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, forcing a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Krum’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, then he nodded and continued past. The moment he was out of sight, Hermione’s invisible hand smacked Harry’s shoulder lightly.

“See? That’s what I mean!” she hissed.

He chuckled under his breath. “He didn’t see you. Relax.”

When they finally reached the deck, the morning sun burst over the horizon, scattering gold light across the lake. The Hogwarts castle shimmered on the far shore, its towers gleaming like frozen spires. The air was cold, crisp, and filled with the faint chatter of students returning from early breakfast.

Harry stepped aside as Hermione carefully slipped off the cloak, her face flushed with both relief and embarrassment.

“Merlin’s beard,” she whispered, clutching it tightly. “We actually made it.”

Harry smirked. “Told you. No one saw a thing.”

She exhaled shakily, brushing her hair back into place. “Thank you. Honestly, I thought I’d have to live the rest of my life hiding under that blanket.”

“Would’ve been awkward explaining it to your professors.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

But before she could say more, a pair of familiar voices drifted from the gangway.

“Parvati, hurry up!” came Lavender Brown’s high-pitched whisper.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Parvati said, stumbling up the ramp, her cloak half-on. “You think anyone noticed we weren’t back last night?”

Hermione froze.

Harry blinked. “Wait — they didn’t sleep in their dorm either?”

Lavender giggled. “Please, Hermione’s probably still in the library. No one will notice a thing!”

Parvati laughed with her. “Good. Let’s just pretend we got lost on the way back from the feast.”

They hurried across the deck, whispering about some secret late-night adventure, completely oblivious to the two people standing just a few steps away.