Seventh Time's the Charm

Chapter 8 - Under the Mistletoe

For the past week, the castle had been inundated with talk about the Yule Ball. Nearly every fourth year and above had chosen to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, and they all seemed obsessed with the upcoming ball. Groups of girls whispered in the corridors, giggling anytime boys walked past and comparing notes on what they planned to wear. The boys cast furtive glances, surreptitiously encouraging each other to ask their school crush...

"Why do they have to move in packs?" Ron moaned one night, as he, Hermione, and Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room. A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration lay open on Harry's lap as he absentmindedly stroked Crookshanks. The cat had seated himself right next to Harry and Hermione, who had her feet up on the couch's arm and nestled her back into Harry's side as she alternated between her notebook and The Art of Cursebreaking.

Ron continued his lament, "I don't understand how you're supposed to get one on their own to ask them."

"You're overthinking it, Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "There's plenty of opportunities, especially right after classes end. Just politely strike up a conversation and I'm sure you can figure it out from there."

"Thanks, Hermione," Ron mumbled, carefully adding two more Exploding Snap cards to his card castle. "Seems like a lot of work though."

"Doesn't seem that bad to me," Harry said with a shrug.

Ron let out an exasperated sigh.

"Of course you aren't worried. You're a champion. You beat a Hungarian Horntail. They've been queuing up to go with you ever since the ball was announced."

Ron's voice was laced with suppressed bitterness.

"They have?" Hermione asked curiously, sitting up to look at Harry with amusement.

"Sure, all in the last week or so," Ron said, as Harry glanced at Hermione apologetically. "There was a third-year from Hufflepuff, a second-year, and even this really good-looking fifth-year. He turned 'em all down too."

Hermione grinned. "Good."

"Good! Good?" Ron exclaimed. "The man is clearly insane. If I was in his place, and pretty girls kept coming up to me-"

"Now what's this we're hearing about pretty girls?"

They turned to see Fred and George standing nearby, an identical smirk plastered across their faces.

"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, rolling his eyes.

"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 turn you into an owl and have you deliver the letters instead," 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 Fred.

"Who're you going with, then?" said Ron.

"Angelina," said Fred without hesitation.

"What?" said Ron, taken aback. "You've already asked her?"

"Not yet," said Fred. "Watch and learn."

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.