|| hermione/ fem reader ||
a slytherin like you can't possibly be entangled with a muggle-born.
Where loyalty is everything, you are given a crucial mission: lead Harry Potter to the Dark Lord, who has declared his return. As you navigate this dang...
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"The Yule Ball has been a tradition of the—" Professor McGonagall paused, glancing at Filch, who was fumbling with the record player and making an array of clattering noises.
"—Triwizard Tournament since its inception. On Christmas Eve, we gather in the Great Hall with our guests for a night of well-mannered frivolity." She surveyed the students seated in rows on either side of the room, her gaze firm yet encouraging.
"As representatives of the host school, I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward. And I mean that literally, because the Yule Ball is, first and foremost..a dance."
A wave of reactions swept through the room, some students exchanged excited glances, while others grimaced at the thought of having to dance.
Y/N sensed someone from behind watching her and turned to find Hermione's gaze locked onto hers. It was a moment that made her pulse quicken.
Y/N wasn't with Professor Snape and the other Slytherins for their instruction on the Yule Ball. The room was overcrowded, forcing some students to be split up, and today, Y/N found herself among the Gryffindors. The situation felt strange — like stepping into a world that didn't quite fit her.
Hermione offered a warm smile, and without thinking, Y/N responded with a halfhearted smile of her own, one that faded quickly before anyone else could notice. It was a quick gesture, meant only for Hermione's eyes.
Y/N turned her attention back to Professor McGonagall, but noticing Hermione's gaze still lingering on her. Y/N noticed the girls around Hermione whispering, casting glances her way.
"Silence!" Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the chatter, and the room went quiet instantly. "The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for nearly ten centuries. I will not have you besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons."
"Try saying that five times faster," Fred whispered to George.
"Babbling, bumbling band of baboons," George smirked, prompting Fred to repeat the phrase in a hushed tone.
"Now, to dance is to let the body breathe. Inside every girl, a secret swan slumbers, longing to burst forth and take flight." She gestured gently toward the girls, her arms open wide.
Ron, sitting nearby, looked around with a chuckle. Leaning toward Seamus, he said, "Something is about to burst out of Eloise Midgen, but I don't think it's a swan." Laughter erupted among the boys, but quickly hushed as Professor McGonagall's gaze fell on Ron.
"And inside every boy, a lordly lion prepared to prance. Mr. Weasley," she called, striding closer.
"Yes," Ron mumbled, sinking deeper into his seat.
"Will you join me, please?" She extended her hand toward him. Ron hesitated, but Professor McGonagall grabbed the collar of his sweater and pulled him to his feet.
